Dedicated
by Wrestlr
3. The New Team Captain
As he sauntered out of the coach’s room in the cheap hotel where the team was staying the night before tomorrow’s away meet, Pete closed the door behind him, pulled his still-new sweatshirt down over his bare chest, and tugged his semi-aroused cock through the crotch of his sweatpants. He was proud of all the hard work his sweatshirt represented: Imprinted under the school crest over his heart were the words Wrestling Team Captain.
His bare feet padded silently on carpet as he walked down the hallway. He felt woozy, a little disoriented, like he always did after these private meetings with Coach Rod. Had Coach hypnotized him again?—Pete was unsure. Maybe. Probably. No matter, he decided, because regardless his mission was crystal-clear in his head. Coach Rod had ordered him to enforce a bed check on the athletes, one of the most useless duties Pete could imagine. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, “if a guy wants to win, he’s not gonna to break trainin’ the night before a meet.” Still, he had to comply with Coach’s instructions.
Pete strolled down the hall. He wore no underwear, and his half-erection shifted under his loose sweatpants, threatening to go full-hard at any moment. Naked and horny: that was how Coach liked his wrestlers to be. Naked and horny and hypnotized, Pete amended. Pete liked wearing just his sweatshirt and sweatpants—no underwear, no socks, no shoes. He could be naked in seconds if he needed, a thought that made his cock pulse. The shaft swung under his sweats as he walked, nudged the pocket with the pass card Coach Rod had given him. The impact sent a little flicker of pleasure from his dick through his body. Pete was horny; those private meetings with Coach Rod always made him so fucking horny. That’s the way I like my wrestlers to be, he could practically hear Coach declaring with a laugh. Pete’s fingers probed again through the cloth covering his crotch; he toyed with his loose, slippery balls and long-shafted cock, felt his cock plump a bit more. Yeah, definitely horny.
Pete whistled softly as he sauntered down the hall. He listened for sounds through the doors, looked for slivers of light at the bottom. Nothing, until almost the very end, the next-to-last door. A noise, a voice, a crack of light under the door. “Dang fuck-heads,” Pete snickered quietly as he pulled the pass card from his pocket. “Time to go tuck the boys in.”
The lock barely made more than a soft click; the door opened easily and quietly. Pete slipped through just as silently.
A small bedside lamp cast dim light. Pete saw two beds, Larry’s shadowed form sitting on the edge of one, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, facing the other bed. Larry was turned away from the door, had not seen Pete enter. Larry wore only a pair of pale boxer shorts. Pete grinned, enjoying the way the sight of Larry’s muscular body kindled a heat in his groin.
On the other bed, stretched out on top of the sheets, lay the new kid, Tony. Naked, fresh streaks of cum from his groin to his chest, his cock still half-erect and angled over one hip. Eyes closed, as if asleep—and he was in a way, the deep sleep of hypnosis, thanks to Larry.
Pete’s bare foot scuffed on the cheap hotel carpet. Larry turned, seemed unsurprised to see Pete standing there. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Pete said back. “Got him all taken care of?” He nodded toward Tony.
“Yep,” Larry grinned. “He had some jitters because it’s his first away match, but I got him all calmed down and smoothed out. He’s picking up on the hypnosis even faster than the wrestling. He went down easy, like he’s been doing it all his life.”
“Think he can win tomorrow? I expect all you bastards to win.” Pete eased closer to Larry. He wanted to be close when he did it, close enough to see the realization in Larry’s eyes, then the submission. That was Pete’s favorite part.
Larry shrugged. “Dunno. I think he’s got a good shot, though. He won his last match—”
“Barely,” Pete hissed.
“—And he’s getting stronger. Hornier too. He was practically a walking hard-on when he first joined the team, and now his cock almost never goes soft, especially when he’s hypnotized. Keeping his cock and ass satisfied is wearing me out.” Larry stretched his shoulders and smirked smugly. “But after the orgasm I just gave him, he’s gonna sleep like a baby all night long.”
Pete grinned back, moving closer still. “How about you? Can you go another round, or are you all worn out?”
“Oh, I’ll be in great shape tomorrow. Trust me—I’m definitely gonna win.”
“That’s good, but it’s not what I meant. Did you cum too?”
“Me?—No, I—”
“Saving yourself for me, huh?” Pete was next to Larry now, and the other wrestler craned his head upward to look at Pete.
“You wish, Pete,” Larry snickered. “Someday, you and that ego of yours are gonna get in more trouble than you can handle.”
“Aww, somebody’s in a mood tonight. Are you horny, Larry? Are you gonna sleep like a baby after your orgasm, sleepyhead?“
Larry blinked, his eyes twitching. “No ... Wait ...” But he was already sinking, thanks to the trigger word.
“Don’t fight it, sleepyhead.“
A quietness spread through Larry’s expression, and a tension faded from his shoulders. He was sinking quickly. Larry’s eyelids flickered, then shut. Yes, Pete thought proud of knowing he had done this to his teammate, this is definitely the best part.
“That’s it, sleepyhead,” Pete purred as he lifted his sweatshirt and pulled it off over his head. “So sleepy. So horny. Ain’t that right, sleepyhead.” Pete pushed down his sweatpants; his cock, three-quarters hard, swung out as he bent to step out of them. Naked, and ready. “Larry, stand up,” Pete said.
Larry stood, swaying slightly in his trance. His shoulders were wide, and the slick, high-arched curves of his chest emphasized the long taper of his torso to his slim waist.
“Good boy, Larry. Now, strip.”
Larry dropped his boxer shorts, his only garment. A strip of pale flesh at his hips interrupted his golden-bronze tan, marked where his swimming trunks had covered his ass and groin. His already stiffening prick arched outward and upward from the thick public hair around the base of his meat; the lean, ivory-smooth column stretched outward, lifting its large, helmet-shaped glans.
Pete climbed onto the bed, reached out to pull Larry by the arm toward. “Come here, Larry.”
As usual, the hypnotized wrestler moved slowly, as if sleepwalking. His massive, hair-thatched chest rose and fell with his deep breathing. Pete pulled him toward the center of the bed. Larry had dark, short-clipped hair, and his features were strong and mature, his thick neck almost lost in bulging shoulder muscles. The breadth of his torso gave him a chunky appearance that announced he was one tough wrestler.
But right then, that tough wrestler was completely under Pete’s control. Pete slid one hand over Larry’s hip, slowly teased his way to Larry’s hard cock as it swung in the air between then. Pete smiled. His hand finally grazed Larry’s tightening testicles, and Larry sighed unconsciously. Larry’s cock, Pete’s too, practically quivered in the air.
Pete gripped the veined stalk and bent down, took the swollen, glazed head into his mouth. He tasted the pre-cum juice already oozing from the tip and began suctioning with sureness. After about a minute, Pete pulled back, put his hands on Larry’s shoulders—“Lie back”—and guided Larry’s torso down to the mattress. With Larry lying on his back—“Yeah, that’s it”—Pete had easy access to his cock, his abs, his chest. As he took Larry’s cock into his mouth again and resumed sucking—“Just relax, so very relaxed”—Pete ran one hand upward over the athlete’s body; his other hand cupped Larry’s balls and probed the skin ridge leading back toward his ass. Larry’s hips pumped slightly by instinct, trying to get his dick deeper into Pete’s warm throat.
Suddenly, Pete pulled back. He pushed his cock at Larry’s mouth, told him to suck it. The hypnotized wrestler licked at Pete’s cock-head and he opened his mouth as Pete pushed his cock between his lips. Pete snorted a quiet laugh, amazed at how greedy Larry was for cock. Awake, Larry always said he liked women more, but he had no trouble leading a hypnotized teammate to a sexual climax and, hypnotized himself, he loved having a cock in his mouth or in his ass—or both at once.
Now on his hands and knees, Larry had Pete’s entire shaft in his mouth. He sucked just the way Pete instructed him. “Open your mouth”—Larry opened his lips wider than Pete thought possible. “Lick it”—Larry used his velvet tongue to swab and lick at Pete’s thick shank and the bulbous crown. Slobbering and gurgling, Larry coated the meat with spit, until his saliva glistened on the shaft and dribbled down over Pete’s big dangling balls and dripped onto the sheets.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” Pete hissed. “Yeah, man, stroke your dick too. Concentrate on how much you want to win during the wrestlin’ match tomorrow. Yeah, jack your cock, buddy. Relax and feel yourself becoming one hundred and ten percent dedicated to winnin’. Stroke it faster, man. Every stroke makes you feel like a winner—you’re gonna do whatever it takes to win.”
Pete felt his balls begin to boil, his orgasm building. “Yeah, buddy. Your mind is dedicated to winnin’. I want you to cum soon, buddy. Can you do that for me? Feel yourself getting’ closer to cummin’.” Pete slammed in and out of Larry’s gurgling mouth as the kneeling wrestler took his dick-thrusts with snorts and slobbering mewls. “I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna cum too. Yeah! Stroke that cock. You’re gonna cum hard, and that’s gonna lock in your dedication to winnin’.”
Pete could not hold himself back any longer. His orgasm spread through him like fire, and his balls erupted. He filled Larry’s mouth with wad after wad, his body bucking beyond his control. His climax spiraled up and up, more and more intense.
He sank back on the bed with sigh as his body went limp and he surrendered to his afterglow. W hen he could open his eyes and form words again, Pete sighed, “Oh, yeah ... Cum for me. Cum for me, bud.”
Larry, still on his hands and knees with one hand pumping away in his crotch, gave a grunt and his body shook. Pete angled his head so that he could see Larry’s cock-head, the blur of Larry’s fist. “Cum for me. Cum now, sleepyhead,” Pete ordered. Larry grunted again, and Pete saw his load start to spurt from his cock-slit.
From the next bed, another moan. Pete looked over and grinned when he realized what he was seeing. Tony, still hypnotized, had overheard and followed Pete’s orders too, must have interpreted them as being meant for him. Tony’s hand pistoned away at his cock and he was squirting out a fresh load of cum. Pete shook his head, grinning, thinking, If Tony proves half as dedicated to wrestling during the match tomorrow as he is to getting his rocks off, he’ll be unstoppable! Maybe he really will win the Olympics!
Pete climbed off of the bed. “All right, boys. Feel your dedication lockin’ in.” He reached for his sweatpants, began pulling them on. “I want you to go to sleep now and sleep deeply—a deep, restful sleep—and you’ll wake up refreshed tomorrow mornin’, dedicated and ready to win, got it?”
Larry and Tony both made little noises of assent.
“Good. Now go to sleep. Sleep deeply.” Pete shook his head, grinning, as he picked up his sweatshirt and let himself out into the hallway.
The next door was the last one in the corridor. This was Pete’s room, the one he had been assigned to share with Mac. At first, Pete had been wary when he heard he was assigned to room with Mac: though they were friendly as teammates, they had been rivals for the team captain job, rivals for who had the biggest dick too. But now Pete found he was looking forward to this: Mac had a big dick, and Pete was going to enjoy hypnotizing him. Just one sleepyhead would do the trick. Pete tugged at his crotch, liking the fucked-out heaviness in his cock and balls, as he used the keycard in his other hand to open the door.
“Where the hell’ve you been?” a deep, masculine voice growled from the bed against the near wall—not angrily but sounding almost impatient, and a little slow from drowsiness.
“Screwin’ the rest of the team,” Pete snickered, grinning, as he lobbed his sweatshirt onto the other bed, his.
“You’re so full of shit,” Mac laughed. He lay naked on the bed. Dark-haired and ruggedly built, his huge cock and balls dangling loosely between his powerful thighs.
“But don’t worry. I always save the best for last, Mac.” Pete moved closer to Mac’s bed, like a snake waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The anticipation of watching hypnotic submission fill Mac’s eyes made Pete shiver.
Mac yawned and scratched his balls. “Damn, I’m horny as hell.”
Not as horny as I’ll have you in a couple of minutes, Pete thought. Mac seemed a little sluggish, and Pete wondered what Mac had been doing lying naked on the bed before he entered, whether he would be finding Mac naked on the bed before every away meet. Just another moment, you fuck-head, he thought, savoring the anticipation of seeing Mac’s eyes close, seeing Mac’s cock rise. He was going to enjoy watching Mac submit.
“You’re always horny,” Pete grinned. “I’m thinkin’ you’re nothin’ but a life-support system for your dick.”
Mac’s teeth showed in a relaxed smile. “It takes one to know one, or so I’ve heard, sleepyhead.“
Pete blinked. “What?” How had—What was—
“You heard me, sleepyhead. Get your pants off. I’m gonna plow your butt.“
“... No ...” Pete tried to resist the familiar looseness spreading through his body, the fogginess oozing through his mind. Pete realized what the sluggishness in Mac’s voice had meant: Mac had already been hypnotized, had been hypnotized when Pete walked in, was still hypnotized now. But so, Pete realized, was he.
“Yes, sleepyhead. Coach Rod may have named you team captain when you got him the head coach contract, but I made a deal with him too. I get your ass before every meet, sleepyhead. That’s it. Don’t fight it. Just let the hypnosis take you, sleepyhead.“
Pete wanted to resist, wanted to say no way, but the familiar fog was coiling around his mind, quieting his thoughts. His arms felt so limp and heavy. He recalled now what Coach Rod had told him earlier, that submitting to Mac was part of Pete’s mission: A dick up your ass will keep that fucking ego of yours in check: Keep ya humble. You’re not better than the rest of the team just ’cause you’re captain. How had he forgotten?—Coach Rod told him to forget until it was time. Mac was not the one messing with him, Pete realized, not really—Coach was. One hypnotized wrestler messing with another thanks to Coach’s orders. Now that he understood that, some part of Pete stop resisting. His last thought—Damn you, Coach Rod—spiraled away as the entrancement swallowed him completely.
“I heard you next door,” Mac said, thumbing his wood, “moaning and groaning like a damned sex fiend. Got me so horny I just gotta fuck your ass, Pete.” Mac shifted his legs apart. “Now, tell me how Coach Rod likes his inner circle to be?”
Thinking was difficult, but the answer bubbled up through the clouds in Pete’s mind. “Naked ... and horny ...”
“Are you naked?”
Pete needed a moment for the answer to rise. Sweatpants ... “No ...“
“Then we need to fix that, wrestler. Get yourself naked and horny, just like you do for Coach Rod.”
Pete let the instructions wash through his mind a moment. Sweatpants. That was the problem. He had to take them off. His thumbs somehow found the waistband as his body moved automatically, and his sweatpants were pushed down. Naked. His cock sprang out, hard and eager. Pete stepped free of the pants puddled around his ankles—done. Horny. That part was taken care of already. Mission accomplished.
“Turn around, sleepyhead. Let me see your butt.“
Pete turned.
“Real nice ass—round and solid. Face me.”
Pete turned again.
Mac’s eyes were glued to Pete’s crotch. “You’ve got the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. Mine’s just about as long, but yours is a lot thicker. Stroke your dick, sleepyhead.“
Pete rolled his hand along his heavy-crowned ram and felt it throb in response.
“As team captain, you’re supposed to motivate me so I’ll win tomorrow’s match. You know what would motivate me most?”
Pete could not think of anything, so he remained silent.
“Well, I’ll tell you, mister team captain. I’m gonna fuck your ass good and hard. That sound good to you? Say ‘yes,’ sleepyhead.“
So Pete said, “Yes ...”
Pete followed Mac’s instructions: He climbed onto the bed, laid on his back, pulled his knees to his chest. Mac’s fingers and his tongue teased at Pete’s ball sack, his asshole, and the sensitive ridge of skin connecting them. The ruckus Mac was raising on Pete’s nerve-endings, his repeated instructions to relax, his exhortations for Pete to let go, embrace the horniness he felt, finally started overcoming the hesitance that Pete felt about submitting to his rival; that hesitation had kept Pete hovering in only a light trance, unwilling to surrender fully, but now he was slipping deeper. Mac’s thick finger inside Pete’s ass touched the hard knob of his prostate, made Pete’s cock bounce against his belly, and the familiar lassitude pushed Pete deeper, until finally he lost his grip and succumbed. Pete felt his muscles go limp, his ass relax around Mac’s finger, and he knew Mac would realize he had won, but Pete no longer cared. He was a wrestler and one of Coach’s inner circle, sleepyhead, well-trained, obedient, and right where he was supposed to be.
Pete’s ankles rested on Mac’s shoulders. Mac grasped his steely cock and nudged the blunt head beneath Pete’s lose-dangling nuts and into the passage between his legs. Pete was vaguely aware of the pressure against his ass, Mac’s lubricated dick demanding entry, as Mac pushed his powerful haunches forward. The breach of Pete’s ass was inevitable, and he floated in a cloud of relaxation, not caring, letting it happen.
Mac shifted position. The crown of his rod fell away, then was guided a moment later back to the center of Pete’s puckered asshole. The pressure resumed. “Christ!” Mac muttered. “Man, you’re tight as hell tonight!” Then the head slid through, followed by inches of shaft, then more inches. “There! You’ve got it all, buddy,” Mac moaned. “I’m balls-deep in your butthole!” Holding Pete in place, Mac demanded, “Tell me you want me to fuck you, sleepyhead.“
Pete’s voice came from far away. “Fuck ... me. Fuck ...”
“Damn right I’m gonna fuck your ass, mister team captain!”
Mac began sliding his spike into Pete’s asshole deliberate slowness, as if savoring the fact of penetrating Pete as much as the friction of their bodies moving together. Mac shifted Pete’s legs from his shoulders and spread them wide. “Oh, yeah—nice, tight ass,” Mac murmured. He rotated his hips, corkscrewing his tool all the way to the hilt in Pete’s gripping pit. “I’m gonna tear up your ass, mister team captain. I’m gonna wreck it so’s you’ll feel it for a week!” He ran his palms down Pete’s solid thighs to his crotch, playing with the sturdy cock and nuts. “Yeah, you’re going to get your hot ass fucked like never before!”
Pumping slowly, Mac worked his hands upward over Pete’s torso, groping at his slick skin and hard-tipped nipples and hair-splashed chest. A hoarse growl of pleasure, and Mac gripped Pete’s massive shoulders to hold him in position as he hammer-rammed Pete’s ass in short, brutal strokes. The bedsprings screeched, and the two bodies bounded together. Time after time, Mac shifted position and rhythm, easing off when Pete’s rigid cock spattered pre-cum against his belly, hard-driving when the captain retreated from the edge of climax. While their bodies were clamped together, Pete’s mind floated, lost in the sea of relaxing calm and maleness. He loved the feeling of being fucked, the way everything in his head calmed down when he was getting fucked. Everything faded away until Pete’s awareness was left with only the yes-yes-yes of that cock sliding deliciously over his nerve endings, in and out of his ass.
“Ready to shoot?” Mac whispered hoarsely. “Gonna get your rocks off, sleepyhead? Stroke your cock, sleepyhead. I’m gonna cum soon. Get ready to cum too, Pete. Get ready ’cause it won’t be—Fuck!—Now, Pete! Cum now!”
Mac slammed hard into Pete’s ass, his body pinning Pete beneath him. Mac buried his face in Pete’s shoulder as he moaned in absolute release. Mac’s body trembled through the shockwaves of his orgasm, and the extra pressure of Mac’s torso pressing against Pete’s dick tipped Pete too into his climax. Pete’s dick convulsed and spurted steady repeated bursts of hot liquid between their bodies, against Pete’s stomach.
“Aw, man,” Mac sighed as he eased his softening prick out of Pete’s ass and rolled off of him. “Sweet ass. Fucking sweet ass.” He pulled a towel off the nightstand, wiped off his cock and Pete’s cum-drenched belly.
Mac flopped down on the bed alongside Pete, an arm draped over Pete’s chest. “You’re mine until tomorrow after the meet, sleepyhead, but right now I need some sleep—we both do. Just close your eyes and sleep, sleepyhead; sleep deep. Tomorrow you’re gonna be well-rested, and you’re gonna go into your match, and you’re gonna be a hundred percent dedicated to winning it. But before that, if you’re a good boy, maybe tomorrow morning when we wake up I’ll let you be dedicated to my cock again before we have to meet the others for breakfast. Sound good, sleepyhead?“