Jackson grinned as he checked his email, and saw the email, the subject line: Your custom file. Jackson was a bit of a hypnosis freak–in particular, he liked the idea of being hypnotized into becoming a rough, muscular leather master. He was just a fucking middle manager at some massive corporate firm, completely powerless, but with hypnosis, he could at least be somebody. And his own custom file, from one of his favorite writers. He didn’t like most of his stories, but he had a way of making the files and stories seem so real, when he was in a trance–when he found out that the guy made custom made, tailored guided imagery, he couldn’t help but order one.

He plugged in his special headphones and pulled his cock out of his suit pants, letting himself drift off as the induction played, as the voice he was listening to started talking to him in that soft, soothing voice…

Fuck you’re horny, just can’t stop touching your cock on the work site, can you? Feeling it in your grubby work pants, go on, slip into that porta-potty there, drop those pants and sit down on that grimy seat a bit wet from one of your mate’s piss, but you like that, don’t you?…

What was this? This isn’t what he’d asked for. He tried to take off the headphones, and stop the file, but he…he wasn’t at a computer, was he? He was…was…

Rub that cock in that dirty jock of yours, feel those cum and piss stains you’ve been building up for months, but you need a cigarette too–what’s a good wank without a cigarette? You pull one out and light it up, feeling that rush, feel that throb in your cock. You savor it for a moment, your reeking pits, the stench of the filth beneath you. Your cock is dripping now, soaking the front of your jock…

It was so real, so more real than the other ones, he could feel his body, his pudgy gut, the stubble on his face, his hard hat as he slipped his cock out of his filthy jockstrap and started jacking it, taking a few deep draws off his cigarette.

Getting close aren’t you? Thinking about your mates outside the toilet, their musky, sweaty bodies. Good thing they all know your a faggot right? A nasty, cocksucking faggot, drinking their piss, slurping down their cum like a total slut. You love it, you’re so close now, you nasty fucker…

Jackson groaned as he came, shooting cum all over the front of his suit, still zoned out, and the file still had close to half an hour remaining. And he would listen to it many, many more times over the coming months, coming closer to his new ideal–rarely showering, smoking like a chimney, slurping up his own cum and piss at every moment–and ordering more files of course. As many files as he could afford with his severance pay, after he was fired for pissing all over himself in the bathroom at his job.