Michael spoke to him dismissively. “Now, just stand there and await your orders until you’re cal ed again.”
Things weren’t looking too good for me.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Michael winked at me. “It’s one of my favorite tricks.”
I figured my best bet was to keep him talking while I thought of a plan. “Who’s ‘Stryker?’” I asked.
“Oh that? Just a little alter ego I created for him when it worked to my advantage to have him rough someone up a little. It al ows him an excuse to let his anger out. You know what they say, every bottom wants to be a top, and every top wants to be a bottom.”
“Nice,” I said. “So, I guess it was you who sent Paul to talk with me at the bar the other day.”
“Oh no,” Michael said. “That was Paul working on his own. I didn’t approve of it at al. Of course, I had to punish him for that.”
He looked at Paul. “Stryker: Turn around.”
Paul pivoted. Rows of whip marks crisscrossed his lower back and his ass.
“I think he learned his lesson,” Michael said. “But the damage he did-tel ing you about me, wel, that’s damage I have to undo.”
He sighed. “Yes, I always have to clean up after my brother’s messes.”
“How are you doing this?” I asked Michael.
“Paul has always been my greatest achievement.
He’s the one who gave me my start, you might say.
“Even when we were kids, I knew he idolized me.
It didn’t take much encouragement to turn that into devotion. He would pretty much do whatever I said from the time he was twelve.
“But I wanted more. When I went to col ege, I sought out people who shared my… interests. First, it was just hypnosis. Standard stuff. I was good at it.
Soon, I was putting my classmates under. They thought it was just for fun, but they didn’t know that al the fun was mine.
“From my sophomore year on, I didn’t have a roommate who wasn’t under my control by October. I had boys who did my homework, boys who gave me their al owance. I had one boy who did my laundry every week for three years. He was trained to have an orgasm in his pants every time he handled my dirty boxer shorts.
“My only problem was keeping him from stealing them. That was a hard habit to break.
“And the girls-the girls! That’s where my true passion lies, you know. I had more pussy in col ege than the entire footbal team put together.”
“Classy,” I offered.
Michael leered at me. “Wel, you know what they say: Any slut in a storm.” He flicked a finger towards my dick and I jerked back. He chuckled, then continued.
“In my senior year, though, that’s when I real y took it up a notch. I had a psychology professor who had worked for the CIA in the sixties. I did some research on him, and it turned out he was working on mind control experiments.”
Michael started rubbing my chest and shoulders.
His touch was gentle.
“Can you see why I believe I’m doing the Lord’s work? What are the odds that, given my talents, I’d meet such a gifted mentor? It was meant to be.
“He taught me techniques that weren’t documented anywhere. Of course, in exchange, I had to let him blow me every once in awhile. Yes, he was another little faggot.” Michael gave me a surprised look. “There sure are a lot of you.”
Michael’s hand moved lower. He traced slow circles over my stomach.
“We’re such simple beings. Al of us driven by the desires to seek out pleasure and to avoid pain.
Professor Standler taught me al about using those most basic of human drives to get even more control. To train people to condition themselves for you.”
Michael’s hand gently cupped my bal s.
“Pleasure.” He squeezed. “Pain.”
I doubled over as much as my restraints would al ow. That one hurt.
He laughed. “It’s so simple!”
He went over to the cabinet and took out a black box.
“Of course, over the years, it’s gotten even simpler.” He pul ed out a long syringe.
“Better living through chemistry,” he beamed. “An hour from now, you’l be no worry to me at al.”
“You can’t kil me. Too many people know I’m onto you.”
“Oh, I don’t need to kil you,” Michael said. “I’m thinking I’l keep you around. For fun.” He smacked my ass again. “Control ing boys like you is my definition of fun.”
“You can’t hypnotize someone against their wil,” I said.
“I’m afraid that old wives’ tale is a little dated,”
Michael said. “And what I’m going to do goes far beyond what you know as ‘hypnotism.’
“Today, for example, I’m going to give you a shot of this. It wil make you very suggestible for a period of about twenty-four hours. In that time, I’m going to convince you that not only am I your friend, but that you find me irresistibly attractive.”
He ran his hand over his huge pectoral muscle.
“My guess is that won’t be too much of a stretch for you.”
Great, I thought. In addition to al his other bad traits, he’s ful of himself.
“Not only wil you stop butting your nose into my business, but you’l find yourself compel ed to come back here tomorrow. And the day after that. Within seven days, you’l be doing anything I say.
“Basical y,” Michael said, “you’l belong to me.
Won’t that be fun?”
Michael walked towards me with the needle. I had a plan. If I timed it just right, I should be able to pul up with my arms and get him with a good kick in the gut.
Unfortunately, that was pretty much it for the plan.
After that, I’d stil be tied up.
Unless I got him right on the nose. With the heel of my foot, at just the right angle, I could drive his nasal bone right into his brain. I’ve heard you can kil a man like that.
That worked for me.
Of course, my odds of pul ing it off were pretty low, but it was the best plan I had.
He was getting closer.
I gripped the ropes that held me to ceiling, getting ready to pul up my knees.
He pul ed the plunger back on the syringe.
Focus, I thought. I visualized the movement of my leg, the arc of my foot as it made contact with the middle of his face. Hit him with the heel, the hardest part, and fol ow through with al my strength.
I was ready.
He was almost within reach.
One more step.
Come on, you bastard.
If this didn’t work, I was dead.
I was ready.
The phone rang. From upstairs came a distinctive ring tone. Darth Vader’s theme song from Star Wars.
Michael lowered the syringe. “Ah,” he said. “Talk about the proverbial saved by the bel. It’s wifey, I’m afraid. But don’t worry.” He grabbed my cock and squeezed hard. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“I’l be back soon.”
What “wife?” I wondered. Michael wasn’t married.
He went up the stairs two at a time and closed the door behind him.
This was my chance.
I looked at Paul, who stood ramrod straight awaiting further instructions.
“Paul,” I hissed, “help me!”
He didn’t move.
“Snap out of it!”
Nothing.
“Come on man,” I implored, “wake up.”
I might as wel have been talking to the wal.
I tried to remember how Michael had directed him.
“Pauclass="underline" Up!”
Zip.
“Pauclass="underline" Untie!”
Nada.
“Pauclass="underline" Wake!”
This wasn’t going to work.
I pul ed at my bonds. Nothing. I felt the ropes with my fingers.
Wait, I knew this knot. A standard double eight.
It had been taught to me by Melvin Cuttlebeck, my favorite would-be sadist.
He had also taught me how to get out of one.
I wiggled my fingers. Just enough slack for me to work the knot. I relaxed my mind, took a deep breath, and went to work.
Two minutes later, my first hand slipped free.
Please, I thought, please Michael keep talking to whatever woman you’ve blessed with a Darth Vader ring tone.
It was the work of a minute to free my second hand.