Date: Thu, 25 Nov 2010 20:09:02 +0000
From: Some Chap <just_some_chap@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: New Direction for One Direction Part 4

This story deals with (highly) adult themes, and is really not at all
appropriate for children. Copyright me.

The intimate details revealed in this story is not to be construed as an
admission on my part that I'm really quite good friends with the boys of
One Direction. I do not know them, and this is complete fiction. As far as
I know.

This should go without saying, but incase it does need to be said: I have
absolutely no idea how hypnotism works, and I use it in this story as a
plot device, which I mold to suit my own individual tastes and desires for
the story, nothing more.

The product of my somewhat fanciful mind, this story follows the exploits
of a man who is, quite simply, mad. As a result, aspiring to follow in his
footsteps should itself be considered a sign of mental instability.

*********

Well, I've had a right old time of it recently, let me tell you! Work,
trips for work, and illness have compelled me to stop thinking about sex
with One Direction so often, and so my normally highly regimented schedule
was thrown out of whack, hence the delay in getting this chapter out. I am
immensely grateful for all the emails sent to try and get me to finish this
chapter, as always, welcome emails. I try to reply to everything I
receive. This one contains both more hypnotism-elements, and more
authoritarian elements, if such a thing is possible. As a 'thanks' to all
those who have messaged me over the past 3 weeks or so, I have *tried* to
incorporate as many suggestions/requests for what to do with the boys as
possible. As ever, I hope it is enjoyable. Finally, this chapter may
consider itself dedicated to all of you Harry look-a-likes ;-)

**********

The third part of my first story, submitted after over a decade of
dutifully reading the nifty archieves, I would be most grateful for any
comments to be sent to: just_some_chap@hotmail.co.uk

But please, unlike the mad doctor, don't be too harsh :)

It is not necessary to read the first, second or third part prior to this
part, but if you enjoy this, you will probably enjoy the others.

(Gay, celeb, auth, mc, adult/youth)



Chapter the Fourth: Zayn Malik - The Dark One

I was most surprised to get an invitation to the show, given that I
appeared to be making an enemy of Simon, one of the show's Executive
Producers. Yet, invited I was. I got a call on Tuesday; some flunkie from
ITV explained to me that I was invited in gratitude for my excellent work
and admirable discretion concerning One Direction. Little did she know I
had a lot of very good reasons to keep my activities discreet. Whilst I do
love jail boys, I didn't particularly want to join their ranks after being
convicted of statutory rape. No, better to remain discreet.

Not that the boys knew this, of course. Since I'd started amassing
photographic evidence of Harry's seemingly outrageous homosexuality, the
threat of making the whole thing so horribly public gave me some much
needed leverage. Leverage I intended to continue to exploit.

Saturday 13th November, 2010

I turned up for the live show a little early. Apparently, one of the acts
had requested my presence to help them with their nerves before the
show. That person was Harry Styles, and he had made the request, at my
request. Whilst taking pictures of him getting fucked, it had made sense to
put his number into my phone. I enjoyed having 24/7 contact with him...he
knew better then to ignore my calls. I particularly enjoyed calling him at
6.10am, just after I got up for work, and instructed him to immediately go
to the kitchen, get a cucumber from the fridge, and take a video of him
sticking it up his tight-ish arse - and for it to be sent to my own phone
within ten minutes, or I'd be calling a friend of mine at News
International. And like the little teen fuckbag that he is, he did it. You
couldn't really see his face on the video, so it wouldn't really work for
blackmail; but it was certainly fun to watch.

But, I'm getting distracted. As I said, I turned up before the show was due
to air, and was taken backstage to meet young Harry. When I arrived to meet
him however, I was somewhat annoyed to find that he wasn't alone; he and
Zayn were sitting together in a dressing room, chatting. The room was
fairly plain; white walls, with a long mirror, counter with various hair
products adorning it, and chairs placed before them, like at the barbers.
When I walked in, Harry sighed and said curtly, "what are you doing here?"
To which my response was to get out my guest pass for the show, replete
with the request that Harry had asked me to come early, and say, "why don't
you tell me, songbird?"  Zayn watched the exchange with amusement. I held
out my hand and introduced myself to him; he grudgingly returned the
handshake. He said after a minute of idle small-talk, "it's weird man; the
other boys really swear by you. But Harry always seems...less keen."
"Yeah," I replied, looking at Harry, "that's because Harry lacks
motivation. But I *think* he's starting to see that I can really help turn
his life around; make him into a new person."  We all sat in silence for a
minute, before I had an idea. "Zayn, why don't you let me help you out? I
seem to remember Simon telling me-" by which I meant, I seem to remember
reading on a One Direction fansite "-that you are quite nervous before
shows. I can help with that, if you like...and I mean, if the rest of the
boys are such big fans..."  "I don't think that's a good idea," Harry said.
"Now now, Harry, don't start telling the lad what to do. He can make up his
own mind, I'm sure."  "Yeah, I fucking can, Harry," said a flustered Zayn.
"I just don't think you should do it, he...he can do anything to you when
you're asleep."  "Oh, Harry," I said, chuckling. "Honestly, is there
anything you can think of, that I've done, to take advantage of my position
of authority, since this whole thing started with you walking into my
office so many weeks ago?"  Harry's eyes narrowed as he stared at me for a
moment. For my part, I was loving every minute. "No."  "Well then. I tell
you what, Zayn," I said, as if thinking of this for the first time, "how
about if Mr. Cynical here stays in the room whilst I help you?"  Harry's
wide-eyed reaction went un-noticed as Zayn replied quickly, "yeah, that's a
brilliant idea. Ok, let's do it."

Lets, I thought.

Retrieving my gizmo, I set it to a melodic pattern, and instructed Zayn to
look at it. As he did so, his eyes began to lose focus. I checked to make
sure the door was locked, before returning to the swivel chair I had placed
before Zayn's own, more comfortable hair-salon chair. I began the
induction, eying up the developed, big body he was hiding under his black
shirt and jeans.  "Zayn, I want you to imagine that you are in a large
city. It is a foreign city, which you have never been to before. You are in
a busy market place; the hot sun is beating down, and people are walking
past you in every direction. How do you feel."  "Ok..."  "The people are
unfamiliar to you. They don't appear approachable, and they certainly don't
speak the same language as yourself. It occurs to you that you don't know
anyone, at all, in the entire city, and you can't remember how you got
here. How do you feel now?"  Harry sat there, watching me unhappily, his
arms folded. Zayn responded, "N...nervous."  "Yes, Zayn. I imagine you do
feel nervous. How will you ever get home?"  "I...I don't know."  "Luckily,
Zayn, I'm here. And even though I'm just a voice in your head, I know how
you can get home. I can lead you out of this city. Would you like that?"
"Yeah...yeah, I'd like that..."  "But for me to do that, Zayn, you must
place your trust in me. After all, it's not really going to work if, in
order for you to get home, I ask you to do something, and then you don't do
it, now will it?"  "No..."  "So Zayn, do you trust me?"  "Yeah...I guess
so."  "Right. As you look around the market, you notice lots of different
stalls, all selling many wonderful things. I want you to look at each
stall, and at each item on them, and as you move from item to item, you
will feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into this trance. Do you
understand, Zayn? With each item, you will step deeper into your own mind;
and you will welcome this, together the warm, embracing envelopment of your
conscious mind by your subconscious. Do you understand?"  As he sat there,
a little grin appeared on his face. "Yeah."  "That's right, Zayn; you have
nothing to worry about. You trust me completely, and I am here to help
you. Together, we will help you. Together, we will leave the city."  As I
finished my induction, I left Zayn slouched there, relaxed with his eyes
closed, slipping further into his own enslavement. I turned to Harry. "Get
your fucking trousers off."  "Jesus Christ," he replied, "the show starts
in a fucking hour!"  "Then that means we've got an hour. I can tell you've
already had your face powdered or whatever poofs like you have done, and
your wearing the clothes you're going to be wearing on stage. So. How
about, YOU take the trousers OFF, so then, you won't have to go on stage
with jizz stains on them?"

"Man..." he was about to complain yet again but, realising that he had
already stood and was undoing the clasp of his smart trousers, I think he
thought better of it. He slipped off his shoes, and the trousers slid down
his toned legs, pooling at his ankles. He clumsily stepped out of them, and
sat back down, in a huff. He was now dressed in a cream coloured T-Shirt,
black addidas socks, and lose purple boxer-shorts. He wasn't hard. I would
have to give Zayn five minutes or so for him to deepen his trance
sufficiently, so I decided to keep myself occupied with Harry for the
moment. "Come over here, Harry." He reluctantly stood, and slowly walked
over until he was standing infront of me. I put my two hands on his flanks,
and spun him round, and then pulled him down onto my knee.  The boys long
legs were forced to splay open slightly, due to the close proximity of my
knee to the floor. Reaching round him, I put my right hand on his left pec,
and pulled him back, until he was lying against my torso. As I gently
rubbed his toned chest, fingering his cute little nipples to erection, I
rested my chin on his left shoulder so I could look down his lanky frame,
while my left hand delved into his boxers.

The hand alternating between nips detected an intake in breath as I did
this, and his ass on my knee hardened momentarily. 'He really should be
used to this sort of thing by now,' I thought. Carrying on regardless, I
wrapped my hand around his soft cock, absent-mindedly squeezing and pulling
on it like it were a dog's soft toy. With my moist index finger tracing
circles around the fat, mostly sheathed head, the boy rested his head on my
right shoulder, his eyes closed - to lessen the embarrassment, or pretend I
was a girl, I imagine, which just turned me on more. I flexed my cock
against his ass; he shifted his position somewhat, in an effort to get
away, but his movement made me harder. My hand had now extricated his cock
from his undies; I was wanking him, but too slowly for anything to come of
it. I just wanted him horned up, not spunking all over the place. After
five minutes of my hand silently dancing up and down his now erect pole,
him with his eyes closed, me looking at Zayn, I stopped, which seemed to
bring Harry out of his own trance. "That's enough of that. Get off me,
Harry." He dutifully stood up, cock standing proud out of his boxers,
looking down at the floor.  "Zayn, how do you feel?"  "...'k," he said
after a good 30 second pause.  "You can only hear my voice, Zayn. You are
so deeply entranced, that you know the only way you can find your way out
of the city - out of your own mind - is by listening to me, and doing
exactly as I say. That's right, isn't it?"  "Yyyeah."  "Yes, it is." I
looked him over once more. Zayn had black hair, and an unnaturally square
jaw for a seventeen year old. His dark, exotically coloured skin made him
distinctive among his white group-mates. His loose charcoal coloured jeans
weren't particularly revealing, but the black shirt he wore adorned his
frame nicely. Reaching over, I began unbuttoning the shirt from the top,
undoing the silver buttons one at a time. Harry, stood alongside me,
audibly sighed in disgust. I reached over with my other hand and flicked
the head of his semi-erect prick. "AHH, bastard!" He shouted.  "Keep your
thoughts regarding these events to yourself, young man. No-one fucking
cares what you think, about anything. I'm just honest enough to tell you,
that's all. So with that in mind, just shut your fucking mouth, ok? Now as
a punishment, you're going to help me out."  He walked over, cupping his
cock protectively. "Get down between his legs."  "I ain't sucking him off."
"Actually, you'll do whatever your told, you little shit. But in this
instance, your right - you're not sucking him off. Now get down there." I
put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him onto his knees. He didn't have
much space, given the proximity of my own chair to Zayn's, but he's a
nimble little fucker, and found his way down there.  "Take off his shoes."
He undid the laces on Zayn's black puma high-tops, clumsily removing them
from the sleepy big boy, who instinctively flexed his toes at the freedom.
"Take off his socks."  He reached for the black socks, and slowly rolled
them down and off. His feet were large and athletic, with the same husky
complexion as the rest of him, and a shock of fine black hair gilding each
toe. Glancing at the new hightops, I saw they were size 10s. "Right. Now
you're going to make love to his feet, with your tongue."  Harry replied
immediately, "oh fuck right off."  "Listen. Just get your tongue down
there. It's basically the same as eating out a cunt."  He looked
incredulous. "Exactly how is it the same?"  "Both involve lots of licking,
if I remember correctly."  "And how the fuck would you know, fucking
queer."  I pushed his head down as I responded, "because I did a lot of
crazy experimenting when I was in my twenties. Now get down there, fuck
head."  As I continued unbuttoning Zayn's shirt, Harry clumsily licked each
of Zayn's chunky toes. "Pick up his feet; you can get better leverage
then," I said helpfully.  He did what I said, licking between each of his
mate's toes, his eyes closed as he did so.  I stood alongside the two lads,
so I could pull the shirt out of Zayn's trousers, undoing the last button,
and parting the two wings of the shirt.  As I took in the sights of his
fantastic chest, I asked Harry, "what do Zayn's feet taste of, Harry?"  "If
your that eager to know, get down here and lick 'em yourself," he replied
angrily between licks.  "Just answer the fucking question."  "Salt, I
guess."  "Ah. That's sweat."  He coughed and wretched at the idea. I
smacked him on the back of the head after he'd recovered. "Get back to it,
fucker. Suck his toes."

Is it possible to look reluctant when sucking another person's toes? I'm
not sure, but it was bizarre to see Harry with his eyes closed, sucking on
a big toe like it was his favourite toy, but with an angry frown on his
forehead. I quickly took a couple of pics, believing such an expression
really needs to be immortalised. I returned my attention to Zayn. His
pectorals were well defined, and the eight pack below them was
delightful. I ran the fingers of my right hand over the ridges, revelling
in their firmness. My hand glided up from his abdomen, up to the flat
nipple perched atop his left pec. As the pad of my finger ran around the
areola, I leant in and licked his equally flat companion. When I started to
gently grip it between my teeth, playfully almost, I felt them both begin
to crinkle and firm up, as he inhaled a deep lungful of air. I stood back,
still dressed in my M&S pastel blue dress shirt and stone-coloured chinos,
wondering what I could do next. Looking around the room, I had a delicious
idea. "Harry, leave his feet alone." Harry leant back on his heels, a
string of saliva connecting his puffy lips with the middle toe of Zayn's
right foot for a few seconds, until it broke. After a second to get his
senses back, he stood up and stepped back. Both of Zayn's feet were slick
with sweat and saliva, particularly around his long toes.  "Zayn, can you
hear me?"  "Yeah."  "Good. We're starting to make our way out of the
foreign city now. Nearly out, but not quite. When I count to three, you
will wake up, feeling normal. You will however remain in a light trance,
which will dull your mind, making you docile, and trusting of me
personally. You must continue to do what I say, or you will slip back into
a deep trance, and return to the market place in the centre of the city. If
this happens, I will be unable to help you anymore. Do you understand?"
"Ye...yeah," his voice trembled slightly; as expected, his dumb mind
translated the scenario directly, causing a lot of fear within him.
"Good. One, two, THREE."  His eyes slowly opened, and he smiled at Harry,
until he realised Harry wasn't wearing any trousers.  "What the fuck,
dude?" He asked with a look of disgust on his face.  Before Harry could
answer, I said, "Harry's a queer. That doesn't bother you, does it?"
"Well, no. I guess not. But why isn't he wearing any trousers?"  "Because
he doesn't want to. Nothing's wrong with that, is it?"  "Um..." part of him
clearly thought there was. "...well, not really, I guess. But why does he
have his cock sticking out?"  "Oh." I glanced at Harry before returning to
Zayn. "Yeah. Well, that's just a quirk of his, I guess. But again; that's
hardly a problem, now is it, Zayn?"  He smouldering eyes fixed on my own
for a second, wide-eyed. He seemed to be genuinely thinking about the
situation .  "No."  That was the moment I was waiting for, and smiled in
satisfaction at his response. "Right. So now that's sorted," I spun Zayn's
chair round till he faced the mirror. "It's time for your hair cut."
"Ok. My hair looks fine, though..."  "What? No no no, Zayn; I've not
examined it yet, but given how hairy your feet are, combined with that
manly metro-sexual attitude seventeen year olds like you have, I'm willing
to bet your hair is considerably unkempt."  "Oh."  "So, Harry," I spoke
over my shoulder, "if you'd be kind enough to take Zayn's trousers and
underwear off, please."  "For fuck's sake..."  "Time is money, dear. And
presuming you don't want pictures of you sucking off Zayn's little toe to
find their way onto the internet, you'll just fucking do it."

He moved and once again found himself on his knees between Zayn's long
outstretched legs. Undoing the clasp, he reached his hands under Zayn's
arsecheeks, so he could pull the jeans down the boys hairy, fit legs. As
Harry struggled, I reached down and ran my hands through the dark forest
scattered across his inner thigh, feeling the finely chiselled musculature
as I did so. Harry removed the jeans eventually. "Now the boxers." He
rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. Instead, he reached for the waistband of
Zayn's grey Georgio Armani boxer-briefs, rolling them down Zayn's big
frame. His dark seven inch sausage popped out, semi-hard, the cut head
swiping across the back of Harry's left hand, who immediately recoiled as
though he'd just been burned. He stared at Zayn's member like a deer caught
in the headlights, before returning to roll his boxers down and off his
feet, at which point he scurried out from under the table, between the
boy's outstretched thighs. Zayn watched all of this impassively, seemingly
unconcerned. I moved before Zayn, picking up his boxers and pocketing
them. He cock rested, like a serpent, along his right thigh. I ran my
fingers around the rim of his meaty glans, looking him in the eye as I did
so. He was looking back at me, but didn't say anything. Running my finger
over the dome now, I felt him begin to stiffen appreciably, especially when
my nail diddled the point just beneath the fleshy head. I would on occasion
run my finger down the flanks of his shaft, to grasp and yank his furry
rounded ballsack, but I didn't wank him. Once he was hard, I turned to the
sink built into the table on my left, filling it with warm water, and
getting a bic razor from a bag that was on the table. I plugged in the
electric razor, and turned back to Zayn. Reaching behind his back, and
pulling his legs as necessary, I made him slouch down deeper into the
chair, until he was resting on the small of his back. Taking a rounded heel
in each of my sweaty palms, I hoisted his legs up, placing his big feet on
either side of me on the table, where they naturally slid up, flexing and
gripping the edge of the table for support, like a hawk's talons. He was
now lying down on the chair, with his legs at right-angles to his body, and
still wearing his black shirt, albeit opened. His entire crotch was made
available for my perusal and debasement.

I retrieved a comb from the table, and knelt. I wondered where to begin,
being faced with a lush and vibrant black forest of hair over his entire
groin. Gripping his torpedo-shaped prick mid-shaft, I manoeuvred his cock
out of the way, and spent a few quiet minutes running the comb through the
lush black curls above the thick base of his eager cock. After helping
clear the tangles from his pubes, so all the hairs were erect and easy to
snip, I put down the comb and reached for the scissors. I began snipping
away at the docile boys groin, making his hairy mass more manageable. I
focused on the area above his dick, which required me to keep one hand on
his unruly knob, moving it safely out of the way of my scissors when
necessary, and his taint, which was positively festooned with sweaty,
matted black hair. After I'd reduced the scale of the job before me with
the scissors, I put them down and quickly sniffed the fingers that had just
spent the past 10 minutes rooting around Zayn Malik's fragrent public
hair. They smelt predominantly of shower gel; he'd obviously just showered;
but I also smelt the heady scent of in-heat boy, causing my dick to harden
even more. Returning myself to the present, I now reached for the electric
razor. I ran the buzzing instrument around the curling mass directly above
his dick, moving said dick this way and that as I did so. My squeezing and
moving only served to make him harder, however. When I was done, I let his
dick snap back against his cut abs, and gently blew on the area I'd just
cut. Getting in nice and close, I was struck by the spicy scent of his
crotch, and observed his dick jerk with need as I blew the hairs away. I
was somewhat annoyed to realise that the razor must of had some attachment
on it, because whereas I envisioned him being smooth as a baby, he looked
more hairy as a thirteen year old, with a short but highly noticeable
buzz-cut around his prick. Harry, watching the whole time and rubbing his
dick absent-mindedly, looked away as he smiled. I was glad he was getting
into it, but couldn't have him laughing at me like that. "Dunno what your
laughing at," I said, "your next."

Time to break out the bic.

"Harry, take off your boxers."  Harry, pissed off as ever, complied,
handing me the burgundy shorts. I admired his chunky cock and balls once
more, before taking the shorts and dunking them in the water. Harry shouted
"fucker!" I ignored him, and wiped the damp rag around Zayn's short hairs,
wrapping them around his balls and squeezing, before dunking them again and
wiping down the boys taint, with a vigorous couple of swipes down his
visible, black arse furrow. Throwing them back to Harry, who caught them
but didn't seem to know what to do with them, I went to get a bottle of
shaving foam on the other side of the table. Squeezing some into my hand, I
rubbed my palms together, before layering the stuff over his groin, and
upper thighs for good measure. Removing the protective plastic tip from the
bic, I moistened that too, and once again took hold of his erect, now slick
and slippery, shaft. I tried to be methodical and professional, but
couldn't help slowly wanking him as I swept the razor across the fuzzy
hairs at the base of his groin, cleanly denuding him as I did so. Firmly
corkscrewing his cock, I moved the razor down to the base of his shaft,
swiping down and over his laden ballsack, 'accidently' prodding and poking
his walnut sized testes, with each slip of the razor removing his masculine
ball-hair, and revealing the smooth crinkly brown skin beneath.

I continued further south, taking care not to nick him as I scraped away
the tufts of fur between his firm legs. My other hand remained on his cock,
although it was difficult to get traction on him; I think that was more
annoying for him then for me however, with him thrusting into my hand in
frustration whilst I worked him. This made me particularly anxious about
nicking him, as his lower torso was fairly constantly moving into me. I
smiled inwardly when I saw that Harry was now standing in the corner of the
room, watching me, and steadily wanking his cock. Leaving Zayn's cock alone
for a minute so he could calm down, I finished the job, getting him to read
down and spread his tight cheeks apart for me, so I could remove the
crinkly hair from first the left side of his deep trench, and then the
right. Putting the razor down, I got a towel and delighted in rubbing him
down; his fine thighs, his deep ass crack, and the main appendage itself,
of course, fondling his balls and jacking his cock as I did so, enclosed in
the rough fabric of the towel, for a good five minutes. I finally checked
out how good a job I'd done by leaning down, pushing his legs closer to his
chest, and licking up his deep crevice, over his tight little hole, and up
to his balls, licking around them with the tip of my tongue, before taking
one in my mouth to suck on for a few minutes. It tasted of menthol, and
lad. Letting him pop out of my mouth, I eyed Harry's disgusted look, and
smiled at him reassuringly. Still wanking Zayn's cock, running the soft pad
of my thumb over the slimy dome of his knob, I dipped my finger in the
water for a moment, before shoving that finger up his ass, pushing him
further back into the chair, and making his eyes open wide whilst letting
out a pained groan.  "Zayn, do you fancy boys, or girls?"  "G-girls!"

I chuckled at his current predicament, as I often did with straight
boys. "Fair enough. Who's the most attractive woman you can think of?"  As
I asked, my inquiring finger wormed its way deeper up into his insides,
causing him to wriggle in frustration, and moan intermittently. "Cheryl
COLEEE" he said, as my finger poked his prostate, causing his flared knob
to shoot out a little clear juice.  "Well, this is handy, Zayn. Because if
you look behind you, you'll see Cheryl standing there, naked." Zayn looked
over his shoulder at Harry, his eyes partly closed, but bright and alive
with lust. Harry for his part visibly gulped, stopped masturbating himself,
and took a few steps back. Returning my gaze to Zayn, I slid my finger out
of him, feeling his ass muscles unconsciously clamp down on my digit as I
did so, clearly unhappy to part company with it. Zayn's dark eyes had more
life in them, now that I had invigorated him with a quick finger fuck. I
slid the sweaty finger he missed so much along his cushioned lips. Once,
then twice. On the second pass, his lips slid open ever so slightly,
allowing me to slide my finger into his mouth. Initially it just sat in his
mouth, but he eventually started clumsily licking it with his powerful
tongue, and before long, he was gently sucking it, me looking into his eyes
as he did so. After a minute, my finger retreated from his mouth with a
pop, and I extracted myself from the boy's juiced-up cock and hairless
crack, ducked under his left leg (which was still perched on the table),
and adjusted my painful erection. "Your haircut's done, Zayn; get up, now."
He did so, a little unsteadily, but was up all the same, standing to his
full five feet nine inches, naked except for his shirt. I looked at
Harry. He was moving away from me, towards the corner of the room. "Cheryl,
stop," I said, smiling. "You know you want Zayn to fuck you. That's why
you're here. It's also why you're naked. What else could the reason be? Get
on your knees. Right now."  "Just...listen, we can talk about this...all
this...just stay the fuck away from me, ok?" I was continuing to advance on
him; Zayn and his angry erection was behind me, and Harry had his back to
the wall, both figuratively and literally.  I spoke calmly. "Something you
should realise, Harry. Something you should realise, before you get the
impulse to do something stupid. Firstly, this IS going to happen. I know
this; you know this. We know this because, there is no way, absolutely no
way, you are going to risk fucking up your entire career, by allowing those
pictures to get out. Secondly, you do this with Niall, and from what my
camera phone has observed, you quite enjoy it. Why shouldn't you enjoy
this?"  "Because you've made me do that! You've made it so I think I like
it!" He thought for a second. "Fine, hypnotise me into liking this, then!"
"Harry, stop shouting. I'm not going to hypnotise you. You're going to get
fucked, with your own mind in your head. It's the next logical step in our
relationship." I was now before him.

Zayn, for his part, was clearly fed up of the discussion, as he came over
and took matters into his own hands - naked except for his shirt, he used
his superior upper-body strength to pull Harry down onto the floor by his
hair.  "Fuck, Zayn, no!" Shouted Harry. Now on the floor, he scrambled to
get back up, but this did not help; as soon he found himself on his hands
and knees, Zayn knelt behind him, wrapped one arm around the boy's neck and
shoulder to get purchase on him, used his other hand to get a grip of his
fat erect prick, and slammed into Harry very quickly and without any
warning at all. Harry would've screamed out in pain and anguish, were it
not for Zayn's hand that moved to cover his mouth. Zayn slid out until just
the head of his cock was plugging Harry, and then once again slammed into
Harry, resulting in another scream from the desperately unconvinced
teen. This occurred twice more, each time as brutal as the first, before
Zayn started sawing into and out of Harry with a steady, strong rhythm. He
was sprawled over Harry's developed back, moving just his hips as
necessary, like an angry terrier, with his strong right arm now wrapped
around Harry's neck and chest, effectively holding the teenager down as he
was being fucked. I know this because I was kneeling down, watching, with
my right hand on Zayn's pert left bum cheek - just to steady him, you
understand, although I'm not entirely sure if the regular massages and
occasional slaps really helped in this regard. My left hand was wrapped
around Harry's meaty, softening cock, eager to keep him blind to everything
but the testosterone flowing from his fat bollocks into his small brain -
testosterone I had used to my advantage previously, and intended to do so
once again. Sliding under the two like a mechanic at the body shop, I
decided to get a better grip on Harry's one-eyed engine. I was struck by
the stink of teenage groin and ass as I lay there, wallowing in it. I had
become accustomed with Harry's scent, and got off on the fact that so many
girls, and more than a few boys, would love to get as well acquainted with
his stinky nuts as I was. Leaning up, I enveloped those nuts with my mouth
basting the already moist skin with as much saliva as I could produce, with
Harry pushing down on me as I did so. His firming-up cock was lying against
my philtrum; above my lips, below my nose. It was almost a sensory overload
for me; my taste buds were exploding with the texture and manly flavour of
his sweat-riddled boy-sack, whilst my nose took in great big lung fulls of
the delightful scent emanating from the rubbery thick shaft, coated as it
was with a thin film of flavoursome sweat that would stick to my nose
whenever he flexed his prick. After sucking on his nuts like a baby with a
pacifier for what must of been three or four minutes, his cock, now
considerably stiffer, jumped away from my nose, and would every now and
again spit out juice from the flared head, drizzling down my cheek as it
cooled - presumably in reaction to Zayn slip-sliding against his prostate.

Extracting myself from the boy, I thought it was time to get my fill: I
knew the production team must be looking for the two of them; the show had
already started, and they were due to go on in 25 minutes or so. Standing,
or rather, getting up, and stumbling over to Harry's face, I knelt down,
and took a picture, capturing the look of ecstasy on Harry; his eyes closed
in lust, his head cocked to one side as it wobbled forward in time to
Zayn's rhythmic fucking, his lips parted slightly. I smiled, knowing that
Harry was, I believe, beginning to get it.

After taking pictures, I stood back up, and unzipped the fly on my
trousers; my cock leapt out, hitting Harry on his baby-smooth left
cheek. He didn't notice however, too lost in his own reverie as he
was. Taking my cock, I placed the head between Harry's parted lips, and
slowly pushed forward. His lips opened slowly, with my knob gently slipping
between the twin pillows of his lips. His teeth then also opened, like the
pearly gates of heaven, allowing my cock to delve further into the
superstar's hot little mouth. He didn't suck, and he didn't create much of
a vacuum, and his teeth did occasionally scrape, but all the same, I slid
my hand into his recently manicured hair, and face fucked him for all he
was worth - and he was worth a lot. I looked across at my
comrade-in-fucking on the other side of Harry, who smiled at me
lustily. Zayn spoke as if he were drunk; slowly, and with a slur. I think
the induction had genuinely dampened his perceptions. I hoped I could
repair the damage, before realising that in all likelyhood, nobody would
notice either way. He held his free hand out to me, grinning. "We're fuckin
Cheryl Cole, man!"  I gripped his clammy hand, and continued to look at
him, smiling. "Yeah," I said. "Pretty sweet."  We continued like this;
Zayn, both grinning and fucking like a maniac, me, fucking Harry's face
with varying degrees of speed, and Harry, essentially comatose to all
intents and purposes, naked except for his T-Shirt and black addidas socks,
for a good ten minutes. I say comatose; Harry did eventually get into the
spirit of things, slowly bucking against Zayn, and dejectedly swiping his
tongue, more accustomed to exploring gently fragranced pussies then angry
cocks, over the head of my organ. But Zayn, fucking Cheryl Cole as he was,
could not control his excitement indefinitely, and his face crinkled up as
he began to spew down Harry's cunt. The look on Zayn's face set me off, as
Harry gulped down the first two shots, and then - as is tradition - took
the rest of my load on his cute little baby-faced, face. I don't know
exactly what did it or when, but by the time I had finished, Harry was
mid-way through firing his load over the carpet. I counted four strong
shots, coating the floor around my legs in jizz. Zayn unceremoniously
pulled out, wrapped his softening cock around the cotton T-Shirt that Harry
was wearing, and wiped. He forced a last globule of spunk out of his pipe
onto Harry's show clothes, before gently dabbing the head to remove the
last of the moisture. As he did so, I once again chuckled at seeing the
cleanly shaven pubic region of the boy. I for my part wiped my cock in
Harry's hair, giving it even more of a natural glow. I instructed Harry to
clean up his jizz off the carpet, handing him his red boxers to do it with
- which he did without saying a word, pushing the fabric down onto the
carpet to remove as much of the stain as possible, just as his mum had
taught him.

"Right, both of you, get dressed." They did so, Zayn slightly more
mechanically then Harry, who was still a little bleary eyed from the
fucking he'd just received. Once dressed in their dark trousers, I noticed
the spunk stain on Harry's T-Shirt. Opening the wardrobe, I picked out a
dark jacket, and instructed him to put it on. I said to Zayn, "Zayn, when
you hear the door bang closed, you will wake up from your induction. As far
as you remember, you spent the evening chatting to Harry, and picked out a
jacket for him to wear. You will remember having shaven your groin, with
Harry's assistance-" Harry showed no visible reaction to this, just
standing there looking into the middle distance, "-but you think it'd be
better not to mention that to anyone else, and neither the fact that you
and him will keep the area around your cock and balls clean shaven, from
now on. When I say the words, 'Betty Boothroyd Bludgeon's Boris', you will
return to this state. Do you understand?"  He frowned for a
minute. "Yeah..."  I turned to see Harry once again in a trance; I had just
given Zayn the same trigger phrase I had built into Harry's subconscious
several weeks ago, of course. I repeated to him what I had just said to
Zayn, incase he felt obliged to press the nuclear button and claim that
Zayn had raped him. Once this was done

I was about to head for the door and leave, when something caught my
attention, out the corner of my eye. Should I? Could I? Sure I
could. Returning to Harry, now dressed in his trousers, trainers, T-Shirt
and jacket - but still entranced, I reached for the clasp on his trousers,
and lowered them. His lack of underwear made this task even easier than it
otherwise would've been. Moving myself around the boy, I knelt behind his
abused ass. Rubbing his still tight-as-fuck left arse-cheek with my one
hand, I reached for what I wanted from the table. "Harry, reach with your
two hands behind your back, grip your arse cheeks, and pull them apart." He
did so, presenting his puckered hole to my gaze. I pushed his back, so he
leant forward slightly, and slowly slid the Philips Nose Hair Trimmer up
his rectum, until just the 'head' was protruding from his lips. Returning
him to upright, he groaned as the object found its position in him, and his
dick thickened and flexed with renewed need. I refastened his trousers,
squeezing his lengthening shaft as I did so; when zipped up, it was easy to
make out his fleshy cock and fat knob pressing against the material, eager
to get out into the open. Watching Zayn absentmindedly scratch his crotch,
I left the room, to watch what I hoped would be one hell of a show.