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bigboysfalldeep · 1 month ago

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The neighbour - male hypnosis

Turan stood in front of his closet, just wearing black boxers, looking for something to wear. His fingers brushed across multiple shirts, when a sudden thought flashed inside his mind. An image, a glimpse of something that had happened before.

Blinking a few times, he pushed this thought away, but he couldn't shake it off completely. He heard a man's voice, faint but clear.

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

Turan ran a hand across his face, confused.

He remembers something, a feeling, such a good feeling, and he knew, he needed that again.

The familiar buzz, faint but insistent, creeping along his skin as his mind began to blur. His heart rate quickened, his breaths grew shallow. He swallowed hard, already anticipating the rush that would soon take over.

He grabbed a pair of black shorts, and slid one leg in, then the other, the thin fabric clinging to his skin.

Turan exhaled sharply, the sensation electric, the first wave of that familiar fuzziness washing over him. It was subtle at first, a gentle hum in the background of his mind.

He sighed deeply, almost involuntarily, his body already responding to the feeling.

"Keep going."

The silky material hugged his legs snugly, a strange comfort settling into his muscles. His fingers lingered on the waistband for just a moment longer than necessary, stroking the fabric, enjoying the way it felt against his skin.

He could feel the fuzziness intensifying, the edges of his thoughts becoming blurry. With a deep breath, he grabbed a matching jersey, pulling it over his head and down over his chest. The material brushed his skin, sending a fresh wave of sensation through him.

Turan couldn’t help it—his hand instinctively slid down his torso, fingers grazing the fabric, feeling the heat building beneath his skin.

His breath hitched, eyes closing as he stroked himself, the motion slow, deliberate. It felt good—too good.

"Let this feeling linger, feel it, crave it."

His heart raced, the fuzziness deepening. His mind, once sharp and focused, now felt distant, wrapped in cotton. It was like falling, slowly but surely, into a trance.

His fingers lingered on the shirt, tracing the lines of his chest, his stomach. His mind kept telling him to stop, to focus, but his body moved on its own.

He stroked harder, his head lolling slightly to the side, a quiet moan escaping his lips.

His entire body felt electric, every inch of him hyper-aware of the fabric pressing against his flesh. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his pulse pounding in his ears.

With effort, he pulled his hand away, even as his fingers ached to continue.

There was a single piece missing, his socks.

He swayed slightly, his legs weak beneath him, but he forced himself to stay upright.

With shaky fingers, Turan bent down to pull on his white socks. It was harder than it should have been.

His body was no longer fully under his control. Every movement was slow, almost sluggish, as if he were moving underwater. But somehow, through the haze, he managed to slip his feet into the socks.

The simple act sent another shiver of pleasure up his spine, the feeling so intense he could barely stand it.

Turan was barely aware of the world around him now. His head spun, his body trembled. He swayed on his feet, eyes unfocused, heart pounding.

His hands moved of their own accord, sliding down his chest, his stomach, lower~

"Let it all go."

Something snapped inside him.

The trance, the fuzziness—it all exploded at once, flooding his mind, drowning out everything else. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred.

His hands moved without thought, mindlessly stroking his body, tracing the lines of his shirt, pushing himself to the edge.

Turan stumbled toward the mirror, barely able to keep his balance. His reflection stared back at him, but he hardly recognized the man he saw.

His eyes were glazed, unfocused, lips parted as he breathed heavily. His hands moved across his body with a mind of their own, stroking, pressing, exploring.

In front of the mirror, Turan's hands slid lower, his body trembling, his eyes unfocused as he stared at his reflection, barely aware of what he was doing anymore. The trance had him completely, and there was no escaping it now.

The palm of his hand pressed against the length of his throbbing dick, the shorts barely able to contain him.

He let out a moan that was building up inside him for the last minutes, as his head lolled to the side again.

Beneath his strokes, he felt dampness now spreading through the fabric of his shorts- he was leaking, his body unable to fight the pressure and pleasure coursing through him.

"You will only be able to cum, if I allow it."

Turan tried hard, his muscles straining beneath the fabric of his clothes. All of him was begging for a release, to submit, but it wasn't time just yet.

He pulled away again, his legs disobeying him.

Turan stumbled into the living room, mindlessly turning on the TV before sitting down.

A beautiful, blue spiral appeared before him, spinning and turning, solidifying the conditioning already rooted deep inside his mind.

The wet patch at his crotch spread further, staining his shorts visibly. He was gone, lost in the haze, his body gave in completely.

For what felt like an eternity, he sat there, watching the screen while stroking himself absentmindedly.

Then, from behind him, he heard the door creak open. A flash of awareness sparked in his mind—a brief moment of clarity through the fog of pleasure.

Someone had entered the room. Turan’s breath hitched, part of him hoping—praying—that it was someone who would help, someone who could pull him out of this.

But when he turned his head slightly, still unable to fully stop his movements, he saw his neighbour, Jack, standing there.

The young man leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

Turan’s heart pounded harder, but it wasn’t from the pleasure anymore—it was fear, or maybe confusion.

His body was still moving, his hands still stroking his own body through his clothes, one hand through the wet fabric of his shorts, the other through the tight, damp fabric of his shirt.

Jacks’s smirk widened as he pushed himself off the doorframe and slowly walked toward Turan, his eyes gleaming with something that made Turan’s stomach twist.

There was no concern in his expression, no confusion—only satisfaction.

“Well, well…” Jack said softly, his voice smooth and almost patronizing as he closed the distance between them. “Look at you.”

Turan tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked breath as his hands continued their mindless stroking, the trance too strong, the sensations too powerful to stop.

His muscles ached with the need to obey the hypnotic commands still locked inside his brain, making him touch, stroke, lose himself.

Jack stopped in front of him, reaching for Turan's chin, lifting it up, so their gaze's met.

"Get up, boy."

Without thinking, Turan got up, the wet and damp fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“You’re doing so well,” Jack murmured into Turan's ear, his voice dripping with praise. “So obedient.”

Turan's pulse skyrocketed, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, panic, and desire.

He wanted to push Jack away, to tell him to stop, but his body was still locked in that hypnotic state, unable to resist the commands that had been planted deep within him.

Jack’s hands roamed slowly over Turan's body, moving in sync with Turan’s own trembling movements.

His touch wasn’t forceful, but it wasn’t gentle either—it was calculated, deliberate, like Jack knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re probably wondering why this is happening,” Jack continued, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. “Why you can’t stop yourself, why you’re stuck in this trance every time you put on these clothes."

Turan’s heart raced, the words sinking into his fogged brain.

Why? Why had this happened? The memory of the night they met, that strange session that felt like a blur now, flashed through his mind.

Jack chuckled softly, his hands firmly running across Turan's firm chest.

“You see, I am a hypnotist.”

Turan’s body went rigid against Jack’s palm, his breath catching in his throat.

A hypnotist?

Jack's strokes got firmer as he continued. “I needed to find a way to have you, boy. You’re so hot, so desirable. I needed you. And this…” He gestured to Turan’s trembling, mindless state. “This is the way I love most.”

Turan’s breaths were coming in short, ragged gasps now, his body trembling with both the overwhelming sensations from the trance and the shock of Jack’s words.

“That’s a way I can have you, boy” Jack said softly, almost soothingly. “There is no resistance, no denying. And this… this is how I make sure that happens.”

Jack’s hands moved lower, sliding over Turan’s hips, stroking the fabric of his shirt as he stroked harder.

“And the best part? You love it. You can’t help but love it. These clothes, the trance, the feeling. It’s all been conditioned into you.”

Turan’s eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling violently as Jack’s words sank into his fogged mind.

He wanted to resist, to fight, but the sensations, the trance—it was all too much. His body continued to move, helplessly responding to the commands buried deep inside him.

Jack’s grip on him tightened, his voice a soft purr in Turan’s ear. “Good boy. Just let it happen.”

Turan’s knees buckled, and Jack held him up, guiding him through the haze, through the sensations, through the trance that had become his prison.

Jack’s hands slid lower, his fingers grazing Turan’s hips, teasing him through the fabric. Turan’s breaths came out in short, ragged gasps, the intensity of the sensations overwhelming him.

His knees were weak, his whole body trembling, and he could feel the arousal building inside him, relentless, consuming.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Jack’s voice was low, taunting, his lips brushing against Turan’s ear as his hand moved deliberately, stroking him.

The sensation was unbearable, sending waves of pleasure through Turan’s body, making him gasp and shudder. “I can feel it, boy. You’re right on the edge.”

Turan’s body responded with a surge of arousal, his hips instinctively pressing into Jack’s hand, his breaths coming in desperate, uneven pants.

He was so close—too close. His mind was a fog, drowning in the pleasure, the trance holding him captive.

Jack's smirk widened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Turan’s ear.

“Good boy.”

Turan’s arousal throbbed painfully, trapped beneath the tight material of his shorts. He was so close, the sensations too much to bear.

His breaths came in desperate, ragged gasps as he stood on the brink, teetering between pleasure and collapse.

Jack’s hand slid lower, brushing over Turan’s waist before pressing against the bulge of his arousal.

The pressure was light at first, teasing, but then Jack pushed harder, his palm rubbing against Turan’s throbbing length, eliciting a low, guttural moan from deep in Turan’s throat.

His knees buckled slightly, his body trembling violently as the wetness spread under Jack’s palm, the fabric growing damp as Turan’s body gave in completely.

Jack’s smirk widened as he felt it—felt Turan’s release soaking through the shorts.

“Good boy,” he murmured, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “That’s it, boy. Just give in.”

Turan moaned softly, his body sagging as the waves of pleasure finally overwhelmed him, leaving him weak and trembling.

He could barely stand, his legs threatening to give out beneath him, but Jack was there, his arms wrapping around Turan’s waist to steady him.

“You did so well,” Jack whispered into Turan’s ear, his voice soft now, almost comforting as he held Turan upright.

“I need you like this, boy. I need you to be like this, so I can have you for myself.”

Turan’s body trembled in Jack’s arms, his breaths still coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His mind was a mess, still fogged by the trance, the pleasure, the shock of what had just happened.

He wanted to say something, to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was lean into Jack’s hold, his body too weak, too spent to resist anymore.

And as Jack held him there, his own arousal evident now, Turan couldn’t help but submit fully, his body surrendering to the control, the power, the inescapable reality that this was what Jack desired.

And there was nothing Turan could do about it.

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