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A Newer World Order (by Richard Pickman)

Chapter 6

Phillip woke the day after his encounter with Lex Luger, the professional wrestler, feeling totally exhausted, scarcely able to move. And, what was worse, he could barely sense any other minds, much less influence them. Even his roommate Dennis, the first subject he had practiced using his newfound gifts on, and whose mind he was therefore most familiar with, was closed to him.

Fortunately, he had instituted obedience programming some time ago so that, even with his abilities diminished, Dennis would still do what Phillip told him. So, while convalescing, Dennis selflessly took care of his roommate and good friend.

As the day went by, Phillip became more worried at this turn of events. This must be some adverse unforeseen side effect from the conversion process. Nothing in any of his reading and studies had prepared him for this. Had he taxed himself too much? How long would it take for him to recover? Was it, could it be, that he had lost his powers forever?

However, the following day he felt well enough to get out of bed and move around. And the day after that, he was back to normal, with no lingering after effects.

Phillip then began to realize that was not completely true. In fact, he felt healthier than he had ever felt before. His abilities, too, seemed to have increased a bit. He discovered he could reach minds at a further distance than he had previously, and was able to read them with slightly greater depth and clarity. <<Well, looks like there aren't only disadvantages, but fringe benefits that I hadn't anticipated.>> He also felt a small, odd mental tugging to the southeast, which he was at a loss to explain.

When Phillip checked his e-mail, he saw a message from velosaty001, dated the previous day. <<Very prompt of Lexxie. Let's see what he has to say.>> He opened and began reading.

<<I think he's going to work out excellently.>> Phillip, amused, sent a response. Then, on a hunch, he sent another e-mail.

Hours later, Phillip received a reply to his second e-mail. The WWF tour was in Albuquerque. Consulting a map, Phillip realized that the tugging was coming from exactly that direction. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. In his mind, he saw a glowing thread stretching away from him. It had a smooth, silky 'feel' to it, and what he could only think of as a 'taste' of obedience and subservience that he somehow knew was Luger's. Hard as he tried, though, Phillip could not pick up anything more distinct. <<Must be the distance. Wonder what it'll be like when he's with me. I'll just have to get some new toys to dabble with that won't be going so far away, to find out. Think I'll wait, though, for Lexxie's little present.>>

A few days afterwards, a package arrived at a post office box Phillip had set up under an assumed identity. The package was from Lawrence Pfohl, Luger's real name. Soon, Phillip was counting the thousand dollars that had been mailed to him. All in twenty-dollar bills, there would be no check or credit card trails to be traced. After this, Phillip had instructed Luger to withdraw the monthly 'tribute' a little at a time, only a hundred dollars every two to three days, setting each part aside until the full thousand was accumulated. Phillip wanted to make sure no suspicions were raised by frequent large cash withdrawals.

Much as Phillip would have liked to use his new plaything again immediately, he knew there would not be a break in Luger's schedule for a while. He regretfully sent an e-mail telling Luger they would be unable to see each other for a couple of months, because he wanted their 'relationship' to remain discreet. He informed the wrestler to buy a large dildo, use it on himself nightly, but not to cum no matter how much he wanted to, and not to have sex with anyone else. Luger was also told to buy a video camera. Phillip would send very specific instructions later about how he wanted the wrestler to 'relieve' himself, capturing every moment for his master's future diversion.

Phillip planned to let Luger stew for a couple of weeks, maybe longer. The thought of the massive muscular man drilling himself with a huge dildo every night, waiting desperately for permission for release day after day, gave Phillip an exquisite thrill. In the meantime, getting the football team was the next problem he wanted to tackle.

Chapter 7

Just after midnight the next evening, Phillip parked his car three blocks away from the house of Mark Kendall (the football coach), and walked the rest of the way. As he strolled, he gently diverted the attention of the residents, both human and animal, so that he passed unnoticed through the quiet suburban neighborhood. Even a patrol car passing through made a sharp turn and drove away before getting close enough to see him, as the two officers inside unexpectedly got an uncontrollable craving for donuts.

Within a block of the coach's house, Phillip mentally reached out. Kendall and his wife were asleep, as he knew they would be after having scanned Kendall's mind earlier that day. He deepened Mrs. Kendall's sleep, making sure she would not awaken until the next morning. He then made the coach sleepwalk downstairs. When Phillip got to the front porch, the door was open, Kendall standing there somnambulantly, wearing a loosely belted dark brown robe.

Phillip had Coach Kendall lead him upstairs to the bedroom. Once there, the robe fell to the floor, leaving him standing before Phillip in all his naked, albeit flaccid, glory. The ruggedly handsome man, ordinarily exceedingly dynamic, was now immobile; blank, expressionless blue-grey eyes staring ahead. The strapping 29-year-old coach was several inches taller than Phillip, with brown hair that was cut short. It was evident that he kept himself in top shape.

Phillip quickly got out of his clothes. Then, for a second time, he used the procedure that had worked so spectacularly on Lex Luger. As before, he put his hands on the other man's face, and had the coach put his own hands under Phillip's arms. When their cocks touched, he felt the shock of connection. Kendall stiffened as he felt it too. Phillip then projected the image of himself into the coach's mind, with the control phrases repeating themselves . . .

"You will obey me in all things. Not because you have to, but because you want to.

My happiness is your entire reason for being. I am the center, the be-all and end-all

of your existence. You will do what I want you to do, think what I wish you to think,

feel how I desire you to feel, and believe as I tell you to believe."

Phillip felt some slight resistance, but, because Kendall was still asleep, it was minimal. In a minute, the coach's eyes glowed briefly. This was the outward manifestation of Phillip's extinguishing the light of free will in another man. Soon, Coach Mark Kendall no longer belonged to himself, but to Phillip, in every possible way.

"OK, Mark. Wakey-wakey."

Kendall awakened and saw his Master standing naked before him.

"Oh, Master," he whispered, kneeling, as he immediately began to harden, "I am yours, all yours." Then, seeing Phillip's rigid, throbbing organ before him, he opened his mouth without prompting and started giving him a blowjob.

"That's good, Mark. Yeah, suck it. I can tell already you're going to make a fine addition." He was completely getting off on the well-built older man, who before would have altogether ignored Phillip, eagerly devouring him. Gripping both sides of Kendall's head tightly, Phillip began roughly facefucking him. The coach only moaned, happy to be treated however his master wanted.

Kendall's enthusiastic attempts were allowed to continue for a few minutes. But Phillip wanted to break in the coach properly. "Stop sucking, Mark. Get on the bed next to your wife, on all fours. I'm going to fuck you like the whore you are."

"Oh, please, Master. I am your whore. Fuck me, break in my virgin ass, make me yours."

With that, Phillip spit into his hand, lubing himself. Then he knelt behind Kendall and shoved all the way into the coach in one brutal thrust, making him yell in pain. His wife, though, slept on undisturbed, snoring softly. Phillip grabbed a handful of the coach's hair and harshly yanked his head back. "Did I say you could scream, bitch?"

"No, Master," Kendall whined.

"Good. And don't cum until I tell you. Now," said Phillip, letting go, "show me how much you want this, Mark. Tell me how much you NEED it."

With that, Kendall began ferociously impaling himself on Phillip's fleshy lance. "I need it, Master. I've got to have your tool inside me. I'm such a whore for it. Use me, Master, ride my ass, make me your cock slut. I'm yours, oh God, I'm all yours. Uhhhh, you're so big, Master. Hammer me, plow me, screw me, fuck meeeeee!"

Phillip was nearly motionless, letting the coach do all the work. At last, on the edge of orgasm, he grabbed Kendall's shoulders. "I'm going to cum! Use that hot muscle ass to milk me dry!!" Then Phillip blasted into the coach, who squeezed out every last bit he could.

Finally, Phillip pulled out and sat on the edge of the bed, his legs quivering from exertion and post-coital bliss. He slapped the coach's butt. "That was very good, Mark. You've made your Master happy. Stay that way for now." Kendall whimpered like a happy puppy, dripping pre-cum on the bed sheets, filled with delight that he had brought his master pleasure.

When he was able, Phillip got off the bed and went into the bathroom, bringing out a glass. "Stand up, Mark. Now, when I tell you, shoot your load into this glass. OK, go for it."

Kendall sighed as he pumped himself into the glass. When he stopped, it was filled by about an inch.

"Now, drink up your protein shake. It's so good, and so good for you."

Kendall willingly drank, licking the glass to get every drop.

"I want the football team to be my property like you are, Mark. And you're going to help me, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes, Master. I'll do anything you want."

"Good. Now, get yourself cleaned up, then go back to sleep. And don't talk to anyone about this, understand?"

"Of course, Master."

"That's a good little puppet." With that, Phillip left, the key to achieving possession of the football team firmly in his mental grasp.

Chapter 8

The following day, Phillip felt worn out, as he had after converting Luger, but not quite so severely. <<I guess I'm improving with practice.>> And, in fact, by the end of the following day, he had recovered, and felt more full of vitality than after his last period of recuperation.<<It sure takes it out of me at first, but I seem to get more out of it each time.>>

He also felt the same bond as he did with Luger, and could tell exactly where the coach was. Even though beyond his normal range, Phillip could, with concentration, pick up Kendall's thoughts and send basic commands. <<This just keeps getting better and better.>>

<<So, I've got Mark. What's the next move?>>

<<Well, what are my options? Converting the team all at once is out of the question. Hell, I'm not sure I can do more than one person a day. Even if I can, it would probably put me in a hospital for who knows how long, if it doesn't actually kill me!>>

<<But if I convert them one at a time, then, best case, I could be bedridden for a month, or more. I don't want to wait that long to enjoy all my new pets. Not to mention having no powers for all that time. Hmmm.>>

<<I don't really want to convert all of them anyway. There're only a few that I want to 'own'. It would be so much more convenient, though, if I controlled them all. And the idea of 'owning' the whole team . . . God, it gets me so hot. Let me think.>>

<<Maybe . . . Maybe I'll only convert the ones I really want. As for the rest, well, there are other ways, especially with Mr. Kendall's help. I can take it slow, make sure it works like I want. The best things, after all, ARE worth waiting for.>>

So, over the next few weeks Phillip began priming the unknowing players. Coach Kendall, zealously ready to help in enslaving the young men he was responsible for, gave Phillip unlimited access to the athletic dorms. Powerful as he was becoming, range was still a factor, and being able to be at close quarters made things easier. So, while the team slept, Phillip inserted strong compulsions deep in the players' subconscious minds. At the right time, with the proper trigger, they would instantly slip into a state of trance so deep that their minds would be totally open to any reprogramming Phillip desired. He would also be able to do the reprogramming simultaneously, without the drain of conversion.

This super-hypnosis was an experiment as much as anything else, to test the limits of his abilities. Having a bunch of sexy jocks at his disposal, and the fantasies he could fulfill with them, made Phillip want to rush the process. But he knew it was more important to be certain that the every one of them was utterly under his sway. Therefore, carefully, patiently, Phillip brought the men closer to the end of their independence, and the beginning of their ultimate submission to him.

Moreover, he planted commands into the subconscious minds of the players that were on his list for conversion, to make that process easier. <<But only the studliest, and the most stuck-up, get that supreme honor.>> He could, of course, change them while they were asleep. But he wanted to be able to play with each one right after they were converted, and with some privacy.

And it was not as if Phillip was being sexually deprived. By this time, he was nailing the coach almost nightly. Often his wife was in the house, sometimes in the same room. Awake or asleep, she remained heedless of what was going on, no matter how much noise was made, thanks to Phillip. He could do something similar in the dorms, making the other players oblivious, but the idea did not hold the same attraction.

Phillip was cautiously reprogramming some other unwary souls as well, which the team would eventually discover after it was too late.

So, a couple of times a week, he would add to his collection. One of his favorite sessions had been with Theodore "Moose" McMahon. Six feet, seven inches tall and two hundred and eighty-five pounds, the nickname was obviously apt. But rumor had it that McMahon was as sizable as a moose in every way, including being hung like one. Phillip had personally confirmed that such speculations had, in fact, underestimated the truth.

Like the others, Phillip had Kendall call the fullback to his office to talk with him alone late one afternoon.

"So, Coach, what's up?" McMahon asked as a ducked his head to get through the door, nervously running a hand through his light auburn hair.

"Sit down, son, sit down. Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to talk to you about that game we played a few months back against the Valley College Wildcats."

"What are you talking about, Coach? There's no team called the Valley College Wildcats." Hearing the name of the fictitious team from the coach only mildly puzzled Moose. But when he said it himself, he suddenly felt completely disoriented, confused. The coach had just said something that made no sense, but he could not recall what it was. Something about football, another team . . .

"It's all right, Moose. Don't worry. Everything's fine. You don't want to move. You just want to sit there and be completely relaxed."

All of his muscles automatically untensing, a wave of calm washed over Moose. He heard the door shut behind him, then a pair of hands was kneading his shoulders, relaxing him further.

"That's better, isn't it, Moose?" a soothing voice inquired from behind him, "It feels good to relax. You want to listen to me, Moose, and do whatever I tell you. You want to let someone else take control. Mark knows what that feels like, don't you, Mark."

"Yes, Master, it feels so good to let you control me."

McMahon dimly knew there was something strange going on, but could not figure out what. The presence of someone else in the office, whose voice Moose only hazily recognized, should have worried him, but the reason why eluded him. In fact, the more he tried to concentrate, the more unfocused his mind became. It was simpler not to think, just listen.

"Stand up. It's so hot in here, isn't it? Look, Coach is taking off his clothes to cool off. You should, too. You'll feel much more comfortable."

A murmur in his head, like a muffled scream, seemed to be trying to tell him something. Don't take off your clothes! But why not? It was sweltering! Have to get naked.

Soon, the two men's clothes were in a pile on and around the chair Moose had been sitting in. Feeling more at ease, Moose still had a tiny nagging feeling that there was something wrong, something about not having any clothes on, but he ignored it. He had to hear what the voice was going to say next. It was good not to think, to do what you were told.

"See, isn't that better? Now, I want you to put your hands under my arms. That's it." Phillip's hands went to McMahon's head and as their dicks touched, he felt that familiar jolt of connection. The rest was inevitable.

McMahon's mind would normally be no match for Phillip's. In his current enforced relaxed condition, this was even more true. Eyes blazing like dazzling emeralds, he readily became another servant to Phillip's will.

Phillip did not want abject worship from him, at least not yet, wanting to engage in a little fantasy first. So when the transformation was complete, Phillip took a step back, then gave McMahon a telepathic suggestion to alter his identity temporarily. Instantly, he smacked his chest with his right fist, grunting, "Me Tarzan, lord of jungle."

"Who am I?"

"Tarzan's Lord. Must obey. Command Tarzan."

"Turn around. See that man? That's Coach Kendall. He's bent over the desk ready and waiting. When I tell you, I want you to fuck him with your big jungle cock."

"Tarzan fuck Coach with big jungle cock when Lord say."

"That's a good little monkey boy. I'm going to get Tarzan's cock ready." Squeezing some lubrication into his hand, Phillip reached around and slowly began stroking the length of the pseudo-savage's mighty manhood, barely able to enclose it. "Unnnnh, Lord's hand feel goooood."

Soon, Moose's member was slick with lube and pre-cum. Judging things ready, Phillip let go. "All right, jungle man, go for it." With a growl, the ersatz Tarzan plunged fully into Kendall, who purred like a contented cat. Considering how many different things Phillip had been jamming up Kendall's ass, it was no surprise that it had loosened so much that even Moose's immense endowment could be accommodated easily. McMahon feverishly pounded into the coach like the barbaric, feral animal-man he believed he was. But Phillip had made Kendall like it rough, so he only pleaded for more: harder, longer and deeper.

"Stop for a second, Tarzan. I need to get inside you. You want that more than anything, don't you."

"Yes, Lord. Need Lord in Tarzan." He groaned as he felt Phillip push inside him. A part of him knew he had never had another man do this to him, but he could think of nothing but getting all of his Lord into him. He shoved back, gritting his teeth from the painful intrusion. Finally, he could go no further and sighed in contentment.

Phillip let Moose adjust to the unaccustomed anal infiltration. It was definitely one of the tightest asses he'd ever been in. "Hold still, both of you." Steadily, he pulled out almost all the way, then slid in again. Running his hands over the football player's sweaty back, he increased the pace until he felt himself sliding easily in and out of the gargantuan jock.

"OK, you can start again, my jungle slave."

"Am jungle slave, Lord." The pace resumed, Phillip ramming McMahon with nearly as much berserk energy as the mock primitive was grinding into the coach. Eventually, unable to hold on any longer, he moved his hands down, grabbing Moose's waist firmly. "Do it, ape-man! Shoot" With a bestial howl, McMahon blew his load into the coach, joined by Phillip's shout as he sprayed what felt like gallons into the giant-dicked fullback.

"That's good, Tarzan. Now you need to help the coach. You're thirsty, and the only thing that'll quench that thirst is his man juices."

"Thirsty. Need man juice." Flipping the coach over, he busily began sucking.

"Give it to him, coach! Drink it all up, jungle man!" McMahon greedily swallowed the coach's cascade of cum. Even when Kendall had finished, he kept at it like a baby suckling at its mother's breast.

"That's enough. You can stop now. Well done."

"Good obey Lord. Good fucking coach. Lord fuck Tarzan very good. Love coach man juices."

"Well put. You've pleased me greatly. All right, you're you again."

"Uh, wha . . . um, thanks Master. I'm so happy I pleased you so much. That was great!"

"And we'll do more soon, Moose. Or should I call you Teddy? Yes, I think I like that better, 'cause you're my big cuddly teddy bear."

"Please call me whatever you want. And I'm ready for more whenever you are. I'm yours, Master. All of me is yours."

"It is, isn't it? Every gorgeous inch. Go ahead, get dressed, both of you, and do whatever you were going to do after this. And Teddy, don't tell anyone what happened here. This is our secret. I'll get with you soon for some more fun." Moose was sitting, putting his pants on, when Phillip trailed a hand across the fullback's broad dark furred chest, sending a shiver of anticipation through the enormous football player. Once dressed, he stood and received a long, lingering kiss from Phillip before being sent on his way.

<<All that strength, all that dick, it's all mine now. After seeing him in action, I think I may have him help me break in some of the rest of the team. After he gets through with them, they'll be nice and loosened up for me.>> Phillip stood outside Kendall's office as he locked up, then leaned against the door, arms folded, watching the two men walk away. Each would look back every few steps to see their master, who they could scarcely bear to be parted from. Phillip would smile and nod, silently encouraging them to keep walking. At one point, while Moose was getting another glimpse, Phillip leisurely licked his lips, and the fullback came close to fainting. Finally, the two men receded from sight, and Phillip returned to his apartment. It was time for his daily mental exercises, after which he would think to what uses he could put his newest acquisition.

Chapter 9

The long-awaited day when Phillip would take charge of the rest of team was finally here. He had already 'owned' the six best, brawniest, sexiest guys on the team. Doing it was practically routine now. Still, he thought it best if he only used the process on no more than one person each day. Considering what it took out of him, he decided he should be choosy, getting only the best for his efforts.

A few hours after converting someone, if he was not already asleep, he would be overcome by exhaustion, swiftly slipping into unconsciousness. Upon waking, he would be physically and mentally debilitated. He could get out of bed and walk around his apartment, but little else. And his psychic faculties were drastically muted. He would gradually improve, until another wave of exhaustion would hit him 12 hours after he had first regained consciousness. When he woke up again, he felt fully restored.

More than fully restored, in fact. With each man who was subsumed into his enthralled fraternity, he felt healthier, more dynamic. When he was in close physical proximity to any of his 'Elites' (the name he had chosen to differentiate them from those, like the rest of the football team, whose indoctrination would not be as absolute), that feeling of well-being increased, and the range and effectiveness of his powers escalated dramatically as well. It was as though, once changed, they somehow served as batteries he could tap to augment his mental abilities. <<Definitely something that'll help with today's little endeavor. With the coach and all the team together, I'll have seven Elites at my disposal. Only Lexxie will be missing. I've never had so many together at once. It's felt fantastic with only one or two. I'm looking forward to this in more ways than one!>>

The coach had called the players together for a conference on a Saturday morning at 11, in the team's locker room. Most of them grumbled about having to come in on a Saturday, especially after the season was over. What did the coach want, anyway? But each player was there at the appointed time. Phillip had made sure of that.

The building was empty except for the players, the coach, and Phillip. Standing casually in one corner, all but the coach were oblivious to Phillip's presence. At the proper time, he would let the team see him. For now, he relaxed, watching as Kendall performed the scenario Phillip had given him earlier.

Each of the players noticed that the coach was standing next to a small table in the center of the locker room, with something on it covered by a towel, but what it was, and why it was there, or what the coach wanted, was still a mystery.

After all the guys had arranged themselves around the room, some standing and some sitting on benches, the coach began to speak.

"I'm glad you all could make it this morning. First off, I want to congratulate you all again on what a great season we just had. We may not have won the NEC championship, but we came damn close."

"But we can do better. And we're going to do better. And we're not going to wait until next season. Starting next week, we're going to have at least two practices a month, to keep in top form, and improve our game. When next season rolls around, we're going to win that title!"

The players all began muttering. Moose McMahon said, "That's a lot to ask, Coach. Some of us are behind on our schoolwork as it is. If we start practicing that much during the off-season, we might not be able to keep up our grades."

Phillip grinned. <<Right on cue. It pays to rehearse.>>

"That's right, coach," another piped in. "I've got a 2.5 average right now. I can't afford to go any lower."

"It's all right, guys. Besides the regular practice, we'll be working on your concentration. Those exercises you're going to do will strengthen your focus, which will help your schoolwork, too. I guarantee you'll ace the next test that you take, and if you don't, I'll call off the extra practices. Fair?"

"I guess so, Coach. But what kind of exercises?"

"I'm glad you asked, Moose. A major part of the exercises is having an object to symbolize your goals. When you think of the object, you'll find you're able to concentrate better, memorize things more easily, and push yourself harder than you ever thought you could."

The team was eagerly hanging on the coach's every word now. "We want to win. On the field, in school, in our lives. Here is the symbol for all your dreams," the coach announced as he reached over to remove the towel with a flourish, "The Bowl of Victory."

Lying exposed now on the table was an unadorned golden bowl, two feet wide and at least a foot deep, resting on an ornamental four-legged silvery base.

All conversation had ceased abruptly, as the players' eyes were riveted to the bowl. A pencil that one of them had been playing with dropped to the floor, forgotten. The team appeared thoroughly beguiled by the bowl.

Which, of course, they were. The phrase 'Bowl of Victory' along with the revelation of the object itself, was the trigger. Phillip stepped forward, examining the team. He sensed undercurrents of resistance from the minds of two or three of them. A touch on their foreheads, a moment of concentration, and those few remnants of opposition were erased. The entire team was now helpless, thoroughly vulnerable to Phillip's manipulation.

Actually, almost the entire team. Now was the opportunity for Phillip to see how much having so many Elites here would help. He could already feel the extra potential just from being near them. Contact would multiply it even further. <<Mark, behind me, on my right. Teddy, behind on the left. The rest of you, behind them and put your hands on their shoulders, or the shoulders of someone touching them. All right, Mark, Teddy, put your hands on my shoulders.>>

At the moment of contact, Phillip suddenly felt more energized than he had ever been. Standing up straighter, he felt his perception expanding. He could feel every mind on campus, and was able to focus on any individual and know their deepest thoughts. Then he noticed a puzzling wordless murmur that hovered at the fringe of his awareness. It took him a few moments to realize that he was feeling the minds of every sentient creature in the area as well. Birds, squirrels, dogs, even insects, were now a part of his mindscape. With a mental nudge, an owl took flight from a tree in a small copse on the far edge of campus, and Phillip felt the dizzying sensation of flying, riding thermals, climbing higher into the sky until the hubbub of other life in the area made him lose it. Then he caught the wisp of a butterfly's mind, flitting around a flowerbed in front of the library, tasting their nectar with it.

Reluctantly, Phillip brought his mind back to the locker room. The experience of the world had been intoxicating. He wanted to explore it more, but that could wait. He had other things to accomplish today.

<<HEAR AND OBEY ALL . . . >> Phillip stopped as the team staggered and fell as if an earthquake had struck. <<Damn! Didn't realize it would be THAT much of a boost. Gotta tone it down some. I don't want to put them in a coma before I've even started!>>

Phillip scanned the men before him, and determined that they were merely stunned. A minute later, with a bit of mental coaxing, they were restored to their former entranced state, and had resumed the positions they had before.

<<Testing, 1, 2, 3. Can you all hear me?>> Choruses of 'I can hear you' reverberated throughout the room.

<<Good. Now, listen to everything I tell you, and obey it totally.>>

<<You are all now my slaves. You enjoy doing what I tell you to do. Pleasing me is what you live for. When you are alone with me, or you are absolutely sure there are only other slaves present, you will call me 'Lord'. But your slavery is a secret, so tell no one else about it, under any circumstances.>>

Phillip was using his heightened talent to amplify, not so much the volume of his mind, but the intensity. He could feel the commands he was giving penetrating even deeper than he had hoped, being absorbed into the psyches of the football players, becoming an integral part of their personalities.

<<You are unbelievably turned on by other slaves of mine. However, I make you at least three times hornier than any slave. You will not get hard, or show this in any other way, while you are in public.>>

<<When you are alone with me, or with other slaves, though, you will be horny. The more slaves you are with, the more aroused you will be. If I say 'Turn off', you will have no sexual desires at all. If I say 'Turn on', you will be turned on as will be normal depending on where you are. And you will only be able to cum when I allow it.>>

<< Those of you without girlfriends will remain single. The few of you who are gay will stay single, too. Those of you who have girlfriends that you are treating badly will break up with them and date nobody afterwards.>>

<<The rest of you will stay with your girlfriends. You will not, under any circumstances, marry them, nor get engaged to them if you aren't already. When your girlfriends want to have sex, you will be able to become aroused and engage in whatever foreplay is normal for you. When she wants you to fuck her, you will say 'Baby, I'm already inside you'. This will put her in a trance, where she will feel as if she's having sex with you. It will also make you no longer aroused in any way. After the fantasy is finished, she will fall asleep, completely believing that the two of you had sex.>>

<<You will not go out and party. You will use all the spare time you have either for studying, or for exercise. You will not force yourself on anyone, say anything unkind to anyone, or intentionally cause harm to anyone, except in self-defense, or when I tell you otherwise. You will avoid getting into any situations where you may violate these orders. You will act as you did before, unless doing so would conflict with the orders I have given you. If anyone notices a difference in your behavior and asks you, tell them you are focusing on school and your future, or that it's coach's orders. Should they persist in asking, or appear overly skeptical, report to this to the coach.>>

<<During practices, you will obey the coach completely. Only my orders overrule his. You will rearrange your schedules to accommodate the practices, and any added training I decide to give to you. If something happens that will mean you might miss a practice, you will tell the coach immediately.>>

Phillip let their new self-perception sink in, becoming part of the fabric of the players' identities. He could feel their minds re-orienting, adjusting to the information they had been given. The mental feedback was amazing. Though not individually as intense as when he converted someone, the simultaneous focus of almost thirty minds on total obedience to Phillip nearly inundated him. His Elites were able, though, to fortify him, so he could withstand the ocean of submissiveness crashing against his mind.

Phillip looked at the men around him in smug satisfaction. More than 30 young men, all in peak condition, at the loftiest pinnacle of their physical and sexual prowess, were ready to do whatever Phillip wanted them to do.

When he was satisfied that the reprogramming was firmly in place, he said, "Boys, there are only slaves of mine here. Now, wake up." The team came out of their daze. When they saw Phillip standing before them, and all the other slaves around them, a groan came out of them, filling the room. The jocks fell to their knees to worship their new Master, their crotches rapidly swelling. Unable to think coherently with all the erotic stimulation surrounding them, disconnected words escaped from them.

"Lord, you . . . unnnnh! . . . command me . . . ohhhh . . . so horny! . . . uuugh . . . somebody suck me . . . awww, fuuuuuuuck . . . mmmm . . . feels so good . . ."

The players were all struggling to shed their clothes while groping each other. Phillip observed the spectacle with delicious merriment. "Enough of that for now, boys. Turn off."

Suddenly, the players' minds were completely empty of any pornographic passions. Not knowing what to do, they looked to Phillip for guidance.

"That's better. Up on your feet. There'll be plenty of time for that later. I think they're ready for practice. Mark, they're all yours."

The coach made the disheveled players change into long sleeved shirts that were two sizes too small, cutoff football jerseys and white spandex shorts. As they passed Phillip on the way out to the field, each one bowed respectfully to him. He was happy to see that the clothing was nearly as revealing as if they were completely naked. Phillip did not want any of them getting sick from practicing outside in the cold, but he did want to see every muscle in play on each one of these men. <<The team's current uniforms should do that nicely.>>

The locker room now empty, Phillip headed outside and sat in the bleachers a few rows up. The coach was looking at Phillip as he settled down on one of the chilly plastic bench. The team was standing, unmoving as statues, wisps of frosty breath coming out of their mouths, eyes on the coach. With a nod from Phillip, Kendall began the practice, putting the team through their paces for his Master's pleasure. The team, too, knew that their Master was watching, which made them work more strenuously. After an hour and a half, the players were drenched in sweat, their shirts and jerseys pasted to their chests, their shorts stained dark from the extreme workout.

Calling an end to the practice, the coach told the team they could hit the showers. Exhausted, they straggled back into the locker room, looking up at Phillip as they went inside, glowing when they saw him beaming down at them. Knowing that their Master was happy made the grueling practice worth every minute. Once inside, they peeled off their damp uniforms, and went into the team's shower room.

Phillip walked in, stood outside the shower room, watching for a while with mischievous enjoyment as his tired, soaked minions cleaned themselves.

"All right, guys, turn on." Suddenly, the team's lascivious appetites returned. Burning yearnings flared, dicks instantly hardened, lips found lips, hands roamed over slick soapy bodies. Some paired up, while others got in groups of three or four. Some were sucking as they beat off, or were sucked themselves.

While the orgy was happening, Phillip had shed his clothes. With a gesture from Phillip, Kendall dropped to his knees and began servicing his Master. The sight of all those jocks doing each other, like something out of a steamy, seamy adult movie, knowing that they were totally subject to his slightest whim, and the atmosphere of insatiability that he was experiencing with his non-mundane senses, almost made Phillip lose it, but he had enough self-control not to. Just. He had further plans for the afternoon.

Many of the players were close to cumming, looking at Phillip, whimpering to be allowed to cum. "Guys, turn off." All the sexual fervor in the team abruptly vanished. "I told you that you could only cum when I wanted. And I don't want that to happen yet. You need to save up for the ceremony. Come on out, and I'll explain."

The players left the shower, gathered in the locker room, still naked, giving Phillip their now undivided attention.

"It'll take less time if I do it this way." Closing his eyes, Phillip projected the details of the ritual he had created into the minds of the players. Soon, they all knew exactly what to say and do during the impending unorthodox rite.

"The first ceremony will happen after practice the week after next. From now on, I want each of you to spend at least an hour each day getting stimulated sexually. You will do so in the company of at least one other slave. Suck, or fuck, or handjobs, let your imaginations go. You will not be able to cum, though. And you must be sure this is private, with no potential witnesses. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now, each of you must demonstrate your devotion to me." The players immediately formed a line. The first player knelt before Phillip's glistening erection and proclaimed, "I am yours, Lord, all yours." Soon, his nose was buried in Phillip's pubic hair, the young man choking a little from having the head tickling the back of his throat. He bobbed up and down several times while running his tongue along the length. Then he stood up, moving off into a corner while the next player repeated the act. After a few minutes, all the players had paid homage to him.

By now Phillip needed to cum so badly it hurt. He wanted to do it in the coach's mouth, dominating the man who dominated the team for him. His eyes met Kendall's, and suddenly Phillip's raw need, elevated by the psychic power of the Elites in the room, extended itself out and enveloped the coach's mind. Dragging him closer, it threw him to the ground, and soon had him working on Phillip's engorged shaft. Now only an instrument of his Master's carnal hunger, he struggled frantically to satisfy it. He began to feel dizzy, since he had little chance to breathe, but the Hunger did not care, nor would he have, if he were able to think. Soon, feeling on the verge of passing out, his Master's pole pulsed, his mouth filling with salty cream, which he anxiously swallowed. Still, the force and amount of Phillip's ejaculation caused some to leak out, dribbling down Kendall's chin. Some of that erotic bliss spilled out into the team's minds, eliciting groans from all of them. They watched in rapt attention, jealous that the coach was bringing their Master such ecstasy, yet happy that they were being granted the privilege of sharing the feelings.

Phillip, coming down off his orgasmic high, was able to relax his iron grip on Kendall's mind. <<Jesus CHRIST! I just wanted him to, and he did. That was too . . . shit! I didn't know I could . . . damn, just when I think it can't get any better!>> Then he noticed the team's envious expressions. "Don't worry, guys. You'll all be doing this sooner or later." The players sighed in relief, virtually simultaneously. Phillip's eyes widened, thrilled at how unified in their worship of him the team was becoming.

"All right, guys, get dressed, and go ahead with your normal lives. And I'll see you all in two weeks."

"Yes, Lord!"

Later, as the players began to leave, one of them came up to Phillip. "M-m-my lord, I . . . I have a problem. My cousin John is coming in from out of town in two weeks. We haven't seen each other in months. We always spend lots of time together. Going to practice while he's here might make him suspicious."

Phillip could not remember the young man's name, so he did a light mental probe. Stanley Sandridge, that was it. In the process, he also picked up an image of Stanley's cousin. The shock of recognition made him reel. << Good god, THAT'S his cousin?! Oh, this is beyond too good! >> He turned his attention back to the patiently waiting player. "No, no, Stanley, that won't be a problem. In fact, why don't you invite him to meet you here after practice is over. Tell him that will be at 1:00 P.M., and to come right into the locker room. Once he's here, I'll make sure he joins the ceremony."

"I'll do as you command, lord. I'm so happy I won't have to miss practice."

Stanley walked out, leaving Phillip alone with his thoughts. << Somebody somewhere must really like me. Another celebrity, AND a professional athlete! And it's THAT professional athlete. That arrogant SOB has no idea what he's in for. I'm going to have to come up with something extra special. This is an opportunity I'm not going to waste. >>

Chapter 10

It was clear, cold, and breezy two Saturdays later. Stanley's cousin John, his tall frame wrapped in a thick bulky coat and tight fitting jeans, was taking long strides toward the stadium. The chill early afternoon wind stung his face, his cheeks already rosy, making him move faster to get inside somewhere warm.

"What the fuck are they doing practicing in the off-season? And it's fucking freezing! I have one weekend off where I don't have to be out on a mound pitching, freezing my balls off, and what am I doing? Freezing my balls off! If it hadn't been so long since Stan and I had a chance to hang out, I wouldn't be outside in this weather, that's for sure! What're you looking at?!" John had been thinking out loud, attracting the attention of a passing stranger, who now burrowed his head into his jacket, walking more quickly to get away.

"Geez, people give you so much grief for just talking. Like that reporter . . . fuck, I hate reporters!"

Finally, the stadium loomed near, making John hurry to get shelter. He wandered through the maze of corridors until he reached the playing field. Seeing it empty, he jogged across until he reached the dark, yawning opening leading to the team locker rooms.

As he went in, he paused, letting his eyes adapt to the light change. Standing there, he heard an odd sound, like the drone of bagpipes playing distantly, echoing through the corridors. Once he could see again clearly, he continued, following Stanley's directions.

Further in, John realized he was hearing low moaning, as if from a number of people. "Maybe they're doing some stretches so they don't tighten up," he muttered. But somehow, it did not sound like that.

Once he reached the locker room, John stopped, stunned, at the scene before him. He could see where the sound was coming from, and why, but it made even less sense to him now. What looked to be every member of the football team was standing in a circle, naked. They were jerking themselves off, moaning, dazed expressions on the faces of those he could see, including his cousin Stanley.

"What the fuck's going on here?! Stan, you can't be a fag!"

"Yes, he can be, John. 'Cause I want him to be."

"Who said that? What . . . " he started to exclaim as he turned around. He saw a casually dressed wiry young man standing there, his hand near John's face. He felt dizzy, like he was blacking out. It felt like it was just for a moment. Yet when he recovered, somehow he was turned back around, facing the team circle jerk. The young man was in front of him still, with two others, incredibly well-muscled and naked, standing on either side caressing and kissing his now nude body. He tried to get away, but was frozen, unable to move anything but his head. Then, when he tried to close his eyes to block out the alarming vision, he found he could not do that, either.

"Well, well, well, John Rocker. It's such an honor to meet you. And I'm so glad you could join the party. But of course, how could you say no to your favorite cousin, eh? You did very well, Stanley." He called over his shoulder to the sports celebrity's cousin, then returned his attention to the paralyzed athlete before him. "At a loss for words, John? That's so unlike you. I'm sure you can come up with something to say."

Suddenly, the flood of invective the notorious pitcher had been incapable of uttering poured out. "Who the fuck are you? What the fuck did you do to me? What did you do to Stan, you pervert? When I get my hands on you, faggot, I'm gonna beat you . . ."

"Shut up, asshole." Rocker was rendered mute again in mid-rant. "You need to have some fun." After a brief pause, the young man spoke again. "Look down. To paraphrase, 'The man doth protest too much, methinks.'"

Turning his gaze downward, he was shocked to discover that, somehow, he was completely naked, too. But, what was worse, he was slowly jerking himself off. It was as though his hand had a mind of it's own. No matter how much he tried, he could not stop himself.

"See, Johnny, you're getting into the spirit of things. You don't mind if I call you Johnny, do you? What, no clever comebacks? That's fine by me. Considering what normally comes out of your mouth, I think I can find other uses for it. Just stay right there, keep doing what you're doing, and don't leave. Oh, that's right, you're not in a position to leave, are you. But you'll be in other positions soon enough." Chuckling wickedly, he looked at the two men adoring his body. They were both now on their knees. One, a tall, beefy black man, was kissing his toes. The other, shorter, dark-skinned, and Hispanic looking, had begun to give him a blowjob.

"Steve, Jose, Johnny here has been a bad boy. He needs to be taught a lesson. You know what to do."

The two men arose and went to the hunky jock. Steve got behind him, drawling in a resonant bass voice, "Bend over and spread 'em, white boy. You're about to lose every cherry you've ever had." Fighting to no avail, his feet moved further apart as he leaned forward, his right hand never missing a beat as he continued to masturbate. Jose's cock (the thickest on the team) was inches in front of his face. The Hispanic man moved closer, and Rocker's mouth automatically opened.

In the meantime, Steve had been lubing up his impressive foot -longer (the longest on the team). When Jose was several inches in, Steve put the tip of his steely column at the entrance to Rocker's virgin hole, and plunged in. His shriek of agony from the violation was muffled because his mouth was filled with Jose. Steve relentlessly pushed deeper and deeper until his pubic hair was tickling Rocker's butt. "Hey, Jose, looks like the cracker here likes his dark meat, don't he?" Laughing, he began to pull out until only an inch or so was in, then pushed back inside. He set up a lazy rhythm, each thrust making the macho athlete take more and more of Jose into his mouth.

After a while, the unbelievable pain decreased, and little jolts of pleasure started to go through him. He began taking a more active part in his rape, shoving back against Steve as he ravenously devoured Jose. Through it all, the horrified baseball player was totally aware of what was happening to him. By now, tears were streaming down his face, desperately wanting the molestation to end. His body, however, seemed to have other ideas.

Jose bent over to whisper into Rocker's ear. "That's good, puta. You like my big chorizo, don't you? Only a real maricon could suck it so good," He and Steve had stopped moving now, since the masculine sports star was working with reckless abandon on the rods skewering him.

Directing his thoughts so only Jose and Steve could hear them, Phillip commanded, <<Good work, boys. Now, cum!>>

Steve rammed all the way in, then gushered into Rocker's tortured ass, while Jose shot again and again down his throat. Not letting even a trickle out, he gulped it all down, even though he did not want to.

"Very good. Now, join the rest, so we can begin the ceremony. You, too, Johnny."

The ring of men spread out to make room for the three. Even though they had cum, Jose and Steve still had a healthy supply left, from their days of deprivation. Phillip waited a few minutes, letting Jose and Steve 'recharge' for another load. He was standing on a bench behind the coach, getting an eagle's eye view of all the action. His eyes drank in the exhibition beneath him, while his mind absorbed with diabolical glee the sensations of the players, basking in the knowledge that it was all due to him. When he felt in their minds that they were primed, Phillip laid his hands on Kendall's head, the signal to commence.

At the word 'Lord', everyone erupted like a volcano. Jets of cum from all directions hit the metallic surface, oozing down into the bottom of the bowl. Even Rocker could not hold back. Grunts, groans, and moans filled the air from the long delayed gratification. Jostling each other to shake every bit into the bowl, minutes passed until all the men were finished. Once done, the heavy breathing football jocks, gleaming from their lusty aerobics, sighed and sank into the warm afterglow. Rocker's shame only increased when he thought about how much he had enjoyed what he had done

<<The best is yet to cum.>> Smirking, Phillip gave a silent command to the coach to go on.

"Behold the Chalice of Union, behold the Bowl of Victory." The trigger phrase sent most of the players immediately into a profound trance, leaving only Phillip, the Elites, and Rocker fully conscious.

The ceremony had two purposes. One was to have the players display their unconditional loyalty and submission, which Phillip imagined could become more addictive than the sex he would have with them. <<I wonder if the Medici Popes, or any dictator in history, had the kind of power that I have. This could go to my head SO fast. I'm not going to take chances, but, MAN, this just turns me on beyond my wildest dreams!>>

The second reason was to let Phillip inspect their minds regularly, ensuring that none of them were slipping their bridles, as it were. If any of them showed signs of this happening, he could easily reassert his rule. And the design of the ceremony, the words the players spoke while entranced during it, would accentuate Phillip's control again and again.

"Excellent, Johnny. Give the bowl to Coach and he can pour the leftovers back into the jar." Rocker obeyed. The coach filled the jar, then nearly filled another one that Phillip had thoughtfully brought, with the now high-protein honey. This souvenir of the team's total obedience was only the first of many that Phillip expected to receive. <<That's what that new shelf in the bedroom's for. My special trophy shelf.>>

"You did just fine, Johnny. It wasn't so bad, was it? It was? Well, it's not as though I really care. Considering your words and actions in the past, and your current thoughts, you deserve a lot worse. Yes, I can read you mind, and what a filthy place it is. Be glad I went easy on you. What am I going to do with you now, you wonder? You DO make a good deal of money, and I could just have you give me all of it, and let you have enough to live on. But no, that's not enough. I've got something MUCH worse, far more degrading, and lucrative in mind."

Phillip had Rocker stand in front of him, then called over Kendall, Moose, Steve, and Jose. All were Elites, and as they all touched Phillip, he could feel the additional power surging through him. Reaching down to touch the baseball player's temples, Phillip probed deep into his mind, magnifying his influence. <<Not the full conversion for you, Johnny. Not yet, at least. I want you to squirm some first.>>

Walking out of the locker room with Stanley later, Rocker had no conscious memories of the events of the last hour. His only reminders were an odd ache in his rectum and jaw, and a vague, uncomfortable impression of disgust. Yet whenever he tried to think about these strange feelings, his mind seemed to slip to other thoughts, unable to resolve them.

During dinner that evening, Stanley watched his cousin's eyes lose focus now and again as his mind occasionally drifted. Phillip had told Stanley to behave normally, observe his cousin, and report back after dinner. Smiling inwardly, he thought of Phillip's plans for his well-known cousin. He was so happy to be able to help his Master in any way, even with Rocker's imminent public disgrace. If his Master wanted him to do it, it must be a good thing to do, because it would make his Master happy. After all, Stanley thought cheerfully, that's my purpose, to obey and bring happiness to my Master.

That night, in his dreams, Rocker relived the appalling abuse he had been put through, with some even more twisted variations. He tossed and turned in his sleep, weeping and moaning. He heard Phillip's voice telling him, "Awake, you'll remember nothing. Asleep, you'll remember everything. Every night. Night after night. You're going to suffer, John. You're a low, contemptible thing that deserves to suffer. You're weak, John. Weak, insignificant, worthless. And you haven't even begun to learn the true meaning of humiliation. But you will, John. You will learn. Because I'm your tutor, and I'm going to love teaching you every single, agonizing, excruciating lesson."

Not much more than a week afterwards, the considerably wealthier Phillip was convulsed with fits of laughter on the floor of his new upscale apartment he shared with Moose McMahon. Strewn on the floor beside him were the tabloids Stanley had brought him. Each one had a picture of John Rocker with a different man. He was dancing with one, holding hands with another, kissing yet a third. Headlines blared from the covers. "JOHN ROCKER DANCES NIGHT AWAY AT GAY BAR!", "ROCKER REALLY A SWITCH HITTER!!", "ROCKER CAUGHT SMOOCHING, WITH A GUY!!!"

Phillip, of course, had staged it all, with cousin Stanley taking the pictures. He made sure that only Rocker's face was visible, so only he would be embarrassed. Already, though, some of the men that Rocker had made out with were coming forward to tell their stories of nights of wild passion with the infamous athlete. None were true, as Phillip had rendered him impotent and unwilling to engage in sex with anyone, until such time as he decided otherwise. Still, since the claims added to Rocker's shame, he did not mind. And the amount of money the various tabloids had paid for the pictures was even more than Phillip could have hoped.

There was a press conference that had been hastily scheduled for the end of the week. When Phillip recovered from his hysterical glee, he would contact Rocker and have him offer no denials about his actions. When asked why, or any personal questions, he would simply reply "No comment." After that, he knew he could get the mainstream media to pay top dollar for the pictures he had not released yet. <<Not to mention the videos of him at all those other gay bars I had him go to. I'm going to be more than set for life. And am I going to be able to throw one HELL of an apartment-warming party!>>

The vilification of the hate-filled homophobe by the media was something Phillip would savor, like a fine, full-bodied wine. Eventually, the baseball player would likely become one of his Elites, like Lex Luger. But until then, he would sit back and enjoy the show.

Phillip started to giggle again at the thought of Luger. It had been over a month since he had been converted, and he had been carrying out Phillip's instructions religiously. He was using the largest dildos on the market on himself, and was now thinking of using two at a time. The nightly stimulation and lack of relief were giving him a constant raging hard-on, which he was barely managing to conceal. He was sending Phillip several e-mails every day, pleading pitifully to be given more orders and pathetically begging for the permission to cum.

Now that the team was completely his, Phillip felt he could devote some attention now to the first one he had changed into an Elite. He finally sent the e-mail he had written and saved some time ago. In it was the permission Luger had been waiting for, along with detailed directions of exactly how he was to do so while recording the event. That particular e-mail had gone through numerous drafts, but had been worth every dick throbbing minute it had taken. Phillip eagerly awaited to the arrival of the video.

The sound of the front door opening interrupted his train of thought. McMahon ran in and picked up Phillip.

"I've missed you so much, my beloved. It was unbearable being away from you for so long." Phillip had been doing some fine-tuning since Moose had moved in a few days ago. The mountainous hulk was now the quintessential embodiment of the incurable romantic.

"Teddy, you were only at school for six hours."

"Twenty-one thousand, seven hundred and thirty two seconds, dearest Lord of my heart, each one a lonely, desolate infinity without you. But we're together again, and I need to make up for the time we were apart. I could have brought you flowers, or candy, or diamonds, but I wanted to give you the best present in the world. My love." Crushing him close, he kissed Phillip for what seemed like a rapturous eternity.

Later, as McMahon carried him to their bedroom, discarded clothes scattered right and left, Phillip nestled his head on the towering man's shoulder, musing about the future. Thanks to John Rocker, he would have enough money to make more of his fantasies into reality, in more ways than one. <<A trip to a video store, acquire a short term rental on a warehouse, get a few other odds and ends, and I'll have everything ready to really use the team. Oh, and I've got to get working on the script! There's a lovely little niche in the gay adult entertainment industry that's just been waiting to be exploited. And I'm going to be the man that does it.>>

Gently laying him down on the huge bed, Moose began to cover Phillip with a tender rain of kisses. <<Watch out, world, Phillip's coming, and soon you all will be, too!>>

To Be Continued . . .