Troy Aikman had always been a particular favorite of mine. His blond hair, blue eyes, square jaw, bulging thighs and tight ass had fueled many a fantasy as I watched him quarterback the Dallas Cowboys to three Super Bowl wins.
I had now determined that it was time for Troy to join my stable.
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kattt, Dr. Kattt to many. I left my successful career as a psychologist to become a sports agent. Along with me I brought my rather “unorthodox” clinical methods including hypnotism, drug therapy and -- lets be frank -- brainwashing, and used those methods on my clients. In no time I had a tremendous blue-chip roster of athlete-clients, all of whom had a whole new worldview after they hired me. I often refer to them as my “stable.”
I take great pleasure in slowly crushing the arrogant iron will of straight beautiful jocks and making them my submissive gay puppets. The last time we spoke, I shared with you the story of how I “persuaded” super stud quarterback John Elway to become my client -- and much more. My current tale begins after Elway, along with former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Steve Young is safely in the stable.
For years I had been intrigued by the persistent rumors that Troy Aikman was gay. As with most of such rumors, this one turned out to be false. Both Elway and Young -- who were incapable of misleading me -- confirmed that Troy was, in fact, straight. Furthermore, just this past summer, Troy broke many hearts by tying the knot with a long-time girlfriend.
How sad, I thought to myself. Imagine all those gay men out there who year after year hope and pray that one of their major sports heroes will turn out to be gay. Now, another one of their dreams had been shattered. The myth of Troy's homosexuality was just the latest “urban legend” among the community of gay sports fans. A myth that would never come true and would leave gay sports fans still hoping that some day one of their idols would come out.
Wait a minute! A thought so ripe with both poignance and eros crossed my mind that I nearly got dizzy. I had been so busy building up and enjoying my own stable of hot professional athletes that I had forgotten about the rest of the community. Up to this point, I had kept the members of my stable for my own personal pleasure and hid their new-found gay identities in order to protect their marketability and my ability to lure in more prospects without suspicion. Now, however, maybe it was time for me to use my powers to give a little back to the community. Maybe I could -- in a very public way -- turn Troy Aikman into the fantasy fag so many gay sports fans had dreamed he was. To do so would mean a major triumph for liberation and the crushing of straight male dominance and stereotypes. Moreover, millions of gay men would get the thrill of their lives. If Troy's own autonomy, personality and independence would have to be obliterated along the way, so be it!
This would be a tricky proposition, however. If I decided to take Troy public, I would have to -- unlike with my other slaves -- distance myself. I would not want anyone to get suspicious and suspect that I was the cause. I began developing a plan and used Troy's good pals Elway and Young as bait. . .
Everyone knew that Troy had suffered multiple concussions over the last several years. Because Troy played so hard and tough and never ducked a hit, such head injuries were inevitable. That Troy was so brave and fearless was one of the things that made him such a desirable target for conquest. In any event, those repeated concussions were among the precipitating factors in his decision to retire this season despite being only 34 and extremely fit. Even now, however, Troy still got occasional headaches and dizzy spells. This would be my angle in.
In early May, Troy got a call from his old friend Steve Young. It turns out Steve had himself suffered multiple concussions during his playing days and had also fought through the resultant headaches and dizzy spells. Fortunately Steve's agent, Dr. Kattt, was a former medical doctor and psychologist and had tremendous methods for permanently clearing out your head and eliminating the headaches and dizziness. Dr. Kattt focussed on complete mind and body therapy for high-performance athletes. One weekend at Dr. Kattt's spa and Troy would be a new man. Would Troy like to join Steve and old buddy John Elway for a weekend at the spa? It would be a chance to reinvigorate while enjoying time with good friends. Troy readily accepted. As Steve hung up the phone, I stroked his jaw and placed my thumb into his waiting mouth. As the once strong-willed, independent-minded football player began to suck, his bright, shining eyes looked adoringly into mine. He was pleased that he had been of service and eager to be used as the object he had become.
That weekend Troy arrived at my secluded mountain spa. He had a pleasant lunch with myself, Elway and Young. He was totally relaxed and at ease. “So doc, when do you begin working on my old noggin?” He smiled as he rapped his knuckles against the side of his blond head. God, his teeth were huge, straight and dazzling white, like a toothpaste add. “Very soon,” I said, “very soon.”
After lunch Troy changed into the spa-provided clothes of a pair of spandex bike shorts and a tank top. He soon arrived at the therapy room ready and anxious to be worked on. He brought the same can-do, take-charge attitude to this endeavor that he did to his on-field heroics.
The conditioning room was large and soundproof, with mirrors on all the walls. In the middle of the room was a large cushioned chair, like one that could be found in a dentist's office. The headrest was filled with electronic equipment and the arm rests had restraints and cuffs on them. Troy looked slightly askance at the contraption, but figured that if Elway and Young vouched for Dr. Kattt's methods, they must work.
In no time, Troy was reclined in the chair, with straps running across his ample chest and over his furry, bulging, tanned forearms. Electronic leads were attached to his temples. He looked up and I began to explain the procedure to him. “Troy, one method for eliminating the ongoing impacts of multiple concussions is to literally blast away those cobwebs with electronic pulses. Thats what we are going to start doing today.”
“Gee doc, that sounds a little dangerous, almost like electro-shock.”
“Don't be silly Troy,” I laughed as I patted a reassuring hand on his muscular shoulder. God he was solid.
Before I left for the control room, I placed a rubber guard in his mouth so that he would not choke on his tongue and patted him once more on the shoulder. As I left the room, Troy began to struggle against his bonds. I looked down through the plate glass windows of the control room, smiled at Troy's ineffectual efforts and began to manipulate the relevant buttons and knobs. Unlike some struggle on the field of play, this situation was not one that his physical prowess and indomitable will would overcome. Nor would his beauty and charm allow him to seduce his way out of it, as he had seduced co-eds, models, actresses and all the women he came across since he was a teenager.
I pushed the first button. Troy felt as though he had been hit by lightning. Suddenly he felt an enormous rush. Overwhelmed, he gasped and slumped back in the chair. It felt as if his entire body were on fire. Soon, an overwhelming sexual high took over. Troys eyes crossed and he began to practically vibrate. In the control room I laughed. The electronic equipment was directly stimulating the pleasure receptors in Troy's brain. Skinner had done seminal work showing that rats or other animals, could, through direct stimulation by electronic shocks, be conditioned to want nothing more than the pleasure jolt. Soon they would abandon food, sex, anything to get the pleasure fix.
All-American quarterback heartthrob Troy Aikman was now undergoing a much more sophisticated type of conditioning, but it was based on the same premise. The pleasure now streaming through Troy's body was a thousand times greater than that provided to him by any cheerleader or Hollywood actress who had ever pleasured him. The pleasure dosages would repeat themselves over and over for the next seven hours. By the time they were finished, Troy's buffed, pumped, sculpted and healthy body would be hooked like a heroin junkie's to the pleasure jolts. Handled correctly, Troy could be led to obliterate -- of his own accord -- entire aspects of his personality and being in order to get a fix of the pleasure. And I intended to handle this in precisely the right way. Troy would be taught to associate the pleasure jolt with forms of behavior that I would find desirable in the new Troy and to associate the absence of the pleasure fix with aspects of his personality that I wanted to expunge.
I looked down from my perch and cranked the pleasure knob higher. Troy was now coming like a racehorse. “Feels good, doesn't it, Troy? I'll bet you're forgetting all about your headaches.” Troy stared blankly, unable to even get his eyes to focus. The pleasure was so intense and searing, it was as if a bright light was burining away his consciousness. He was too awestruck even to speak.
For the next seven hours, while the pleasure jolts were coursing through Troy's body, there were simultaneous subliminal messages streaming into the room through the mirrors via a series of pre-arranged tapes. Those subliminal tapes detailed in Troy's subconscious a very specific series of actions by Troy. The actions and desires of Troy that the tapes detailed would seem like the vague outlines of a dream when Troy came out of this state, yet his subconscious would forevermore associate these actions with the pleasure jolt.
I always enjoy movies like The Manchurian Candidate or Invasion of The Bodysnatchers, not so much for their own merits as movies, but for the reaction they inevitably provoke from the naive public; “That's ridiculous! Nobody can be brainwashed to do things they don't want”; “One person can't control somebody else's mind.” Such thinking always made people like me much easier to overlook. It made my job that much easier. Football icon Troy Aikman would now discover to his ultimate regret that one man could indeed control and even restructure the mind and personality of another, even a mind as strong and willful as Troy's.
Had I been dealing with a physical subject less healthy and in shape than Troy I would have administered a much lower dosage of the pleasure fix and for a much shorter time period. Excitement and exhileration at this level and duration could esily have caused a heart attack or stroke in someone older or less fit. But Troy's youth and strength meant that I could work quickly and efficiently to addict him in as short a time as possible.
As the seventh hour of stimulation came to a close, I went down to the floor of the conditioning room. Troy's eyes were wide open and completely dilated. I shut down the machine and Troy began to come to. Shortly, he began twitching and jerking, like a heroin addict denied his fix. “I. . . I need that feeling. . . more.” Troy's deep voice had taken on a plaintive, child-like tone.
“Feeling? Troy, you have been asleep for seven hours. It must have been a dream. Just relax and rest.”
He was desperate now. “No!” he wailed. “I need it!”
“Troy, it was just a dream. Relax.”
I walked out of the room and hit the button activating the subliminals. There were two additional subliminal tapes that would send mental images to Troy through the mirrors in the conditioning room for the next seven hours while he was denied his pleasure fix. The first tape was labeled “Hero/Leader” and recycled images of Troy fighting through the odds to take his team to victory, Troy being the leader and focus of worship from teammates, fans and friends throughout his life. Images of Troy barking out signals at the line of scrimmage, shouting commands in the huddle, exhorting his teammates, being doted on in stores and restaurants by fans, being deferred to by agents, team owners and sportscasters in meetings. The second subliminal tape was labeled “Stud” and recycled images of Troy in his frequent and effortless conquests of women from the time he was a boy. The girl next door when he was thirteen, the cheerleader when he was sixteen, the high school teacher when he was eighteen, the homecoming queen at UCLA, actresses, models, singers, dancers. All of these images of sexual seduction and conquest by the powerful straight and suave stud were also piped in.
By the end of the next seven hours of denial of the electronic pleasure fix, Troy was screaching in the midst of a powerful withdrawal. And -- thanks to the subliminal tapes -- Troy's subconscious linked two elements of his personality with his pain. Now Troy's mind associated his confidence and natural leader tendencies as well as his heterosexual prowess with the absence of the pleasure fix and the presence of his agonizing withdrawal pains.
It was at this point that I rejoined my 6'3” blond-haired, blue-eyed lab rat.
“How are you Troy?”
He looked wasted and gaunt, begging for release. “I need the feeling back, the feeling that you were giving me.”
“What are you talking about? Troy, that was no feeling, it was a dream. You were asleep. I don't know what you are talking about.”
“You have to help me!” he begged.
“Well Troy, being a psychologist, maybe I can help you. People often live in their dreams the thoughts, desires and actions they suppress in their real lives. It is possible that the pleasure you felt from this dream relates to some aspect of your personality that you are submerging or repressing. Maybe if you can remember the dream, and I can help you act it out, you can get that pleasure back.”
I smiled to myself at my quack evil doctor manipulations as the rugged, square-jawed quarterback looked up in an uncharacteristic state of helplessness and hopefulness. “Yeah, you're a doctor, maybe you can help me. I'll try and remember the dream and we can act it out!”
“Okay Troy, you need to remember back to the pleasure and try to recall what thoughts were going through your head at the time you felt the pleasure.”
I looked on in glee as Troy desperately tried to concentrate. Suddenly recognition and revulsion simultaneously became apparent on his visage. A look of confusion and fear crossed his adorable face. I knew then that the subliminal tapes accompanying the pleasure jolts had worked. An internal struggle was raging between all he was and all he would be. I had no doubt how the battle would end. “Okay,” he murmured. The dream now came into his head and he desperately tried to replicate it. “First, I. . . I need to have my clothes off.”
“Well why don't you go ahead and do that Troy, since that is what you want.”
He looked down, blushing and awkward, not at all the self-confident jock. He fumbled unbuttoning pulling off his tank top. I stepped up behind him and helped it off his shoulders in a gallant gesture. As I did, he leaned his beautiful blond head back on my shoulder and brushed his cheek against mine. He then quickly withdrew, a look of shame and bewilderment on his face. I laughed at his confusion. His “dream” was becoming reality, but it was something he would have considered a nightmare before today.
“Its alright, Troy. We need to play this out if you are to have the pleasure you need.”
He shyly kicked off his sneakers and slid off his bike pants. He stood in front of me now, uncertain yet hungry. “What is it you want Troy? What makes you feel the pleasure? Think of your dream and make it come true.”
Troy tried desperately to remember the dream that had brought him the pleasure. Parts of it came to him as if through a fog. “I. . . I need to be on my knees in front of you.”
I pretended to look shocked. “Well, if that is what you want, Troy.”
The superstar quarterback slowly sunk to his knees before me. In a daze, he looked at my crotch, paralyzed with wonder and fear.
“Remember, Troy, remember your dream and follow the path to pleasure. Don't you want to feel that high again?”
Slowly, as if on a string, his arm lifted and pulled down my zipper. In a fog of confused lust he looked as my manhood danced tantalyzingly before his full lips. Suddenly, deep in the recesses of Troy's mind, the conditioning kicked in. A rush of pure adrenaline and pleasure flooded through his bloodstream. Yes! This was it! His dream was coming true! The pleasure was returning! He lunged at my prick and engulfed it.
This was a sweet moment. I looked down at the top of his blond head and saw him debasing and impaling himself on me. Those powerful neck muscles, the undulation of which I used to admire on my television set as he barked out signals in a gallant, fearless manner every Sunday, now worked and striated not in an effort to achieve glory or victory, but merely to massage and pleasure another man's tool.
Those thick full lips that graced so many advertizing billboards were not curled in a manly smirk of triumph, but now were wrapped around my knob in submission and servitude. As I looked down at Troy, I imagined back just a few months to the scene at Troy's ranch. Clad in Stetson, cowboy boots, denim shirt and tight Levis, Troy had gotten on one knee, taken his fiance's hand in his own and had uttered through his mouth in a manly baritone the words asking her to marry him. Now Troy was again on his knees, but not in joy or love, his mouth was being used again, but not to express the hopes of a new life together. Rather, he now was kneeling and using his mouth in mindless subjugation to a heartless predator intent on devouring not just his body, but his very manhood and identity. I was proud of my work so far.
I pushed Troy back on his haunches. He was literally humming from the conditioned excitement that the act of debasement was eliciting in him. His penis stood out straight and dripping. “Troy!” I bellowed. “How can you be doing this to yourself. Think of who you are. You are a leader, a man, not some helpless pussy kneeling before another man. Think, Troy, think of how you are a powerful, self confident man who others, teammates and fans alike look up to and follow.” A cloud passed over Troy's face. As conditioned, thoughts of independence, confidence and personal strength immediately killed off the pleasure fix in Troy's subconscious. Troy whined in desperation like a junkie having his fix taken away.
At that moment, I turned Troy's head so that he faced a full-length mirror showing him on his knees, sweaty and convulsing, muscles in stark relief, collar on his neck, leash held in my hand. Immediatley the conditioned pleasure returned. Troy's subconscious made the final and irresistable link. The old self-confident, macho Troy meant no fix, no pleasure. This Troy, on his knees, used and bullied by another man would get his fix, would get his pleasure jolt. Troy's old personality began to crumble. He must drive away all thoughts of the old Troy. He must become the Troy he saw in the mirror, or the pleasure would go away!
Troy next remembered waking up naked on the floor of the Conditioning Room. I was standing over him. Somehow, Troy sensed this was right, and how things should be. It seemed strange and alien, but the more he thought of it, the more it seemed right. Other men towering over him as if he were small and insignificant. He craved their approval and guidance. Somewhere way back in the recesses of his mind a different Troy screamed in outrage at this notion, but that Troy now seemed like a strange creature in a distant dream -- someone unreal and unknown. As Troy looked at the mirror and saw himself curled at my feet, the rush of pleasure returned again and the screams and resistance of the old Troy beame more and more small and distant until the echoes of that Troy were lost forever.
“Now, Troy, do you want to make the pleasure of your dream become even more of a reality? If so, you must strain and try and remember what else it is that brings the pleasure fix.”
Troy tried to remember and it was as if the clouds opened and the sun came through. “P. . . please, come here!” Troy took my arm and led me to the recliner chair. He stood me at the foot of the chair and climbed into it, facing me. He desperately lunged his legs over my shoulders so that the crook of his knees rested on my shoulder caps. “I. . . I need you inside me.”
“Troy! I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do. You're straight. You don't want this.”
A look of desperate need and panic spread across his tortured, handsome face. “But I need the feeling, I need to get the feeling back!” His voice broke.
“Alright, show me, Troy. Show me how you want it.”
Troy bashfully and awkwardly took my penis and began to place it at the entry to his unviolated, precious citadel. I was consumed with lust. He was like a shy virgin on her wedding night. The dream conditioning had convinced him that this was what he wanted, but his straight ass had never been used or defiled in this way. I would have to help him along the road.
The prize blinked and puckered at me invitingly. It looked clean, strong and pure, just like Troy. I took out some baby oil and handed it to Troy. “Remember the dream, Troy.” Immediately, his cock hardened and he poured copious amounts of the oil onto his calloused, strong quarterback's hand. He then vigorously shoved his oiled fingers into his ass, lubricating his inviolate temple, anointing and preparing himself for my entry. Next, he bathed my penis in the oil, as his desperate, haunted eyes gazed at me hungrily.
His legs still hiked over my shoulders, I placed my hands on his shoulders and began my conquest. As my tip touched the heretofore forbidden entrance, it felt like liquid fire. I thought of how my breaching this fortress would be a victory for all of the lonely hungry men whose longing for straight jocks like Troy had so often been repaid with contempt, scorn, disregard, or even violence. Well, this was one straight quarterback who would now fulfill every fantasy. Troy's eyes were clenched shut. “Open your eyes,” I commanded.
He gazed up in dazed defeat and subjugation. As I pushed on, I ordered him to press down on his sphincter muscles. All of Troy's years of athletic training were now paying off in ultimate pleasure as I used him like a mere piece of meat for my enjoyment. The best way I can describe the feeling of his inner muscles working on my manhood is to compare it to an iron vice covered in plush velvet. The sensation was incomparable.
As the sensation of his muscles working on me mounted, I thought with pleasure that his powerful thighs and ass, built and developed for athletic conquest by years of running, jumping and lifting would now no longer be used for competition and victory, but merely to massage and pleasure the men for whom Troy would become a boy and a toy. I laughed aloud thinking of how the old Troy would have reacted had he known that all of his training and hard work and development of his perfect body would be used to this end. As Troy's eyes crossed in pleasure and submission, I bit into his muscular, meaty thigh and drove still further.
At that point, I hit the prostate. This was always a joyous moment; the revealing of a location and a feeling most straight jocks never imagine they possess. At that moment, I spoke. “Troy, you don't want this. Think about all the women you have had and the pleasure they brought you.” Troy thought back to all of his sweet, seductive sexual conquests and the pleasure fix evaporated. His sense of desperation and need returned. The more he thought of himself on top of some big breasted beauty the more the pleasure left him. At that point, I turned his head so that he saw himself in the mirror; legs hiked on my shoulders, his manly ass being plowed in submission. Troy on bottom, not on top. Immediately the pleasure jolt returned. Yes! Now Troy finally understood. The dream was coming true. His life until now had been a never-ending lie of meaningless relationships with women he cared nothing for. He hated them all, especially that bitch who had tricked him into marrying her. Dr. Kattt was right. He must stop repressing the dream and become the person that would be able to feel the pleasure.
I looked on in triumph as the false and concocted feelings and memories I had implanted wiped away the genuine feelings, emotions and desires of the old Troy. As I drove home on his prostate, simultaneously slipping the gold wedding ring from his finger. Troy came with force and I jabbed my tongue into his ear, whispering. “There, there, boy, now its over. All better now.”
The following Monday afternoon, Troy stood backstage before his press conference was to commence. ESPN, CNN and all the networks and newspapers were present and waiting for his announcement. It had been a busy couple of days. He had filed his divorce papers and signed over control of his financial concerns to an unknown corporation that would manage them for him. Troy then had filled twenty viles with sperm for Dr. Kattt, who said he may use them to breed more jocks like Troy who could be trained in submission and obediance from the day they were born.
Along with all this other actiivity, Troy had also dramatically changed his look. His skin was honey-kissed, having just returned from the tanning salon. His blond hair now had even lighter peroxide highlights. He wore a skin-tight pink Pronto-Uomo ribbed shirt that barely covered his middriff. He wore tight black leather pants that ended just above his ankle. He wore no underwear. Above his square All-American jaw hung a gold earring dangling from his left lobe. Another gold accoutrement -- a pendant -- hung from his muscular neck. It was in made up of three large gold letters - “B - O - Y.” Troy's steely, determined eyes were just as blue, but now did not seem determined or vigilant as in the past. Rather, they were bright and shining and seemed boyish and vulnerable in their search for approval. If Troy could have remembered back to who he had been, he would have remembered that he and his teammates used to laugh with scorn at people who looked as he did now. But that Troy could not be recalled and had disappeared into oblivion.
Troy looked down at the statement that he had prepared or had been prepared for him, he could not remember which. It began with the words “I'm gay, and that's OK.” It went on to explain that he had lived a lie all these years and encouraged everyone to come out and be comfortable with who they were, especially athletes.
As Troy prepared to step out in front of the cameras, I began to exit from the behind-stage door. It was best that I not be directly connected to this. Besides, I needed to get on the road to meet some of the new rookies just signed from the NFL draft. Closing the door behind me I heard the collective gasp as Troy entered the stage and I smiled.