The following morning, Christian awoke with a sense of purpose and a feeling of exhilaration. He'd had no fantastical wet dreams during the night, but given that he'd spent the evening dressed only in degrading T-shirts and jockey shorts as he was pounded with pies by his friend Jake, he really didn't need any. Jake hadn't jerked Christian off using pies as he'd done previously, but he did force Christian to declare himself by whatever was written on his T-shirt at the time. Christian had to announce to Jake loudly, and in a voice full of confident humility (a term of Jake's design, an oxymoron if ever there was one) that he was, "A pie target, Sir!" or that he "Needs to be humiliated, Sir!", and of course the all-time favorite, that "I'm a Stooge, SIR!!!"

After all of that, laid out on the plastic tarp, creamed and pulverized by pies, his demeaning T-shirts of the moments stuck fast to his body, Christian came all on his own amidst the piles of banana filling and broken crust. He was certain that Jake must have known that he'd come and more than once during their scene play, but other than laughing and pointing at him, Jake did nothing to indicate he'd noticed.

But this morning all the mess had been cleaned up, the plastic rinsed off and discarded, the T-shirts carefully laundered and folded neatly upon the old desk at the opposite end of the basement. Today, with the image of the shirtless Jake still fresh in his mind, the muscular man ridiculing him for the stooge that he was, Christian made it a point to leave for work early enough to stop by the gym first.

Passing through the front doors of the gym, Christian was a bit surprised to find it just as busy, in fact more so, than it was when he usually came there in the evenings. Exercisers crowded about, many of whom pursuing their workouts with extreme focus or abandon, most of them with eyes either on the clock or the various wall-mounted television sets, nearly of them set to news channels. At the front desk, a number of gym members crowded in, handing back wet towels and locker keys in exchange for their membership cards before briskly exiting, each one clad in business suit or other smart professional wear, ready to start the day after getting their adrenaline pumping.

As one wave of fit business people departed the health room for the board room, Christian saw an opportunity to slip up to the counter and ask after what he needed. There was a trio of attractive young men in matching red polo shirts working behind the counter with practiced efficiency, shifting easily from laundry cart to key and card slots to computer and register. Christian almost hated to disturb their flow of motion in inquiring after the employee he wanted to see.

But then a voice to his left distracted him. "Head on over to the Kaisers and I'll be with you shortly." Christian turned to see the man he'd come for sending a man in his mid-40's, who looked remarkably good for his age, on to begin his workout.

"Patrick Seymour, right?", Christian asked.

The beautiful man turned, clearly caught off-guard, and looked at Christian. Yes?
You're a personal trainer, right? I was hoping I could set up some time with you. Christian extended a hand. You come highly recommended.

There was a gleam of recognition in his eye, and then Patrick smiled. His smile was every bit as beautiful as his body. "Oh, yes! You're Jake's friend, right? He talks about you all the time. Christian?"

"That's right. I'd really like to get more out of my workouts, thought you could help."

Patrick gave Christian a quick once-over assessment glance and remarked, "I have to admit you seem to be doing okay so far. What did you have in mind?"

"I'd like to add a bit more mass to my frame. Kind of bulk up, add some muscle."

Patrick smiled. "And considering your workout buddy, you came to me for that?" He laughed.

Christian felt suddenly defensive. Why was he laughing at him? Does he somehow know I'm just a stooge? That I deserve to be humiliated? How could he know?? As soon as the thought came to him, Christian pooh-poohed it away. It was ridiculous.

"Still," he asked, "What's so funny?"

Patrick seemed surprised. "Well, Jake, of course."

Christian frowned, not understanding. Yeah, he said he trains with you...
Patrick smiled again. "Well, sure, I help him train, but only in regard to keeping him on track with his goals and discipline, which he barely needs. He's helped me more than I help him. You must've figured that out."

Christian was feeling very much the stooge now. The straight man being set up for a fall. No, why would I?

Patrick still smiled as he answered, "Why, he's a hypnotist. And a damn good one, I might add. Board Certified and everything. He's helped me with my focus and achievement more than I ever could have anticipated. I'll be happy to put something on the books for you, but you could just get as much working with Jake. I probably shouldn't say that, given that I am an official trainer here, but you can hardly do better than Jake to get you going."

Christian was a bit stunned. "Is that right?"

"Sure, whatever you imagine yourself as, however you want to see yourself, Jake is the man who can make you believe anything about yourself and then make you do it. But hey, if you'd like, I'd be more than happy to put something in the books for us." He jerked a thumb toward the other room. "I have a client waiting by the Kaisers. Good to see you again, though."

And he trotted off at a rapid walk. "We'll talk later!"

Christian turned and wandered off himself, in something of a daze. He knew how he'd always seen himself, and lo and behold, Jake had certainly made him believe and do it. Christian stepped out into the parking lot and over to his car and off to work, feeling even more like a stooge than he had before.

That night in his basement, Christian stood before his friend (his hypnotist?) in only his jockeys and another demeaning T-shirtthis one reading: "Please Hit Me With A Pie," as Jake set up an array of pies around the room within easy reach. Christian was fidgeting a bit, unsure of how to bring up the topic of Jake being a hypnotist, of whether of not his muscular friend had put the whammy on him. It was one thing to play at being a stooge, but to actually be remade into one ... Christian cleared his throat. Jake didn't notice, kept placing pies around the room in strategic spots.

Um...Jake?

Jake didn't bother to look up. He was spacing the pies along the floor very methodically. "Yeah?"

Uh, there's something I kind of want to talk about, um, that is

Jake looked up at him. "Change of plans, Chris. We're mixing it up. Lose the jockey shorts."

Christian completely lost his train of thought. Lose his underwear? Be naked from the waist down, wearing only the stupid insulting T-shirt? Whuh? What do youI mean, why?

We're mixing it up. No jockeys. Take 'em off. Then Jake's tone changed, almost imperceptivity. You want to take them off.

Christian was already sliding the small briefs down his legs and stepping out of them before he was even fully aware of what he was doing. Yeah, yeah, I do want to take them. This is my decision. Lose the jockeys.

Jake grinned. "Good boy."

Standing there with his penis hanging out, his custom-made T-shirt declaring his fondest request, Christian tried to regain his train of thought. Yeah but, there's this thing I need to ask you

Jake turned around to face Christian, he too was only partially clothed, his shirt off, smooth, firm muscles of chest and abs exposed, gently hefting a huge pie in his hand.

"Sure, whatever, but can we do it after?"

Christian's eyes rested on the pie, then followed down Jake's large arm to his powerful body, which so easily created a feeling of dominance, and in his victim a feeling of absolute submission. Christian felt himself get hard and it was more than clear to Jake that he was rarin' to go.

"Looks like Little Chris is all set. It can wait, stooge."

Christian nodded. "Yes, sir. It can wait. But after, don't let me forget that I wanted to ..."

SPLAMMM!!

Christian stumbled backwards, cream and crust everywhere, his face a mass of gloppy humiliation. From underneath all the thick filling he let out his best muffled cry of,

"Thank-you, sir! I'm a stooge, sir!!" And indeed he was.

By the end of their session, which had lasted more than an hour and a half of pieing and humiliating role enacting and wordplay, Christian sat naked on the floor, covered thickly head to toe in pie impact and spatter. His T-shirts with all their demeaning phrases had been shucked off and set aside, each one soaked through and reeking of banana cream. Jake was still laughing.To him, this would never get old.

Coming down from the high of the experience, Christian internally scrambled to collect his wits and his concerns. He needed to ask Jake if he had hypnotized him covertly, without his knowledge.

Jake, now that the fun's over, Christian began.

Oh, I wouldn't say it's over, Jake smiled, then added, and what's my title, stooge?
Christian caught himself. Oh. Right. Sorry. He sat up a little straighter and rephrased, Now that the fun's over, Pie Master Sir

Thaaat's better, stooge, Jake said, his domineering voice returning. Jake had added their new means of proper address to the proceedings that night. He rather liked it.

Anyway, like I was trying to say, Christian interjected quickly. He did not want to lose either his request nor his resolve to ask it in the moment of Jake's power trip. As much fun as all this has been, and he noticed a stern look from Jake. As much fun as it's been, SIR, I was thinking we should really take a break for a while. You know, stop with the whole pie-stooge thing.

Jake took a step forward. And why would we want to do that?

Wellll...we don't want it to get old or anything. Even the most fun pastimes can get dull and monotonous. I just think, well, maybe it's time for a break is all.

So you find me dull and monotonous, stooge?", Jake demanded, his voice rising.
Christian shook his head rapidly, flakes of crust and globs of cream falling from his face into his lap.

No! No sir, Pie Master Sir, not at all!

His mind scrambled for a plausible excuse to get the control freak psycho he thought was his friend out of his house. It's just...I'm a bit concerned that maybe I would make it dull and monotonous. yeah, that sounded workable. I mean, I just sit here and take it. You do all the work and I'd end up leaving you with no give and take. We should quit while we're ahead.

Jake took note of the upgrade in Christian's intentions from taking a break to quitting altogether. He said nothing about that, but was quick to add, Nah. It'll never happen. I wouldn't let it. What's your name, anyway?

Christian let out a slow breath. This was going to be harder than he thought. Dully, he answered, Stooge. He was caught off guard as Jake's entire tone and demeanor changed.

No, no, buddy. I mean, what's your real name? The one on your birth certificate, your driver's license? The one your mother gave you.

Christian titled his head slightly, wondering why his tormentor would ask this. But he relaxed a bit, as it was an easy enough question to answer. Sure, Jake. My name's... and he drew a complete blank.

Jake smiled a broad smile, saying nothing yet.

Christian sat up a little straighter. Okay, this was odd. Uh, my name is... Again, nothing. He ran his hand through his hair, smearing more of the pie there, the thick goop coating his fingers, some of it falling to the floor in small blobs. He tried again.
I'm, um, I'm...my name is...my name...what the hell is my name??

Jake began to pace back and forth, grinning widely. It's like when you're trying to remember a specific word, he stated aloud to no one. A particular synonym, or a place name, the name of an old actor. It's right there on the tip of your tongue, but you just...can't...reach it. And the more you try, the greater effort you make, the more it eludes you. Your very attempts to grab that name, to hold that name, only pushes it farther and farther away. You simply cannot remember it, you can't recall it. It...is...gone...for good.

Jake spun on his heel to face Christian. What's your name?
I don't know!

So you've actually forgotten your own name? I can't remember!

Man, are you so fucking stupid you can actually forget your own damn name?", Jake taunted, reveling in Christian's confusion and anxiety.

Yes! No! Jake, this isn't funny!

Jake sauntered around, picking up stray glops of pie, flicking them at Christian. Oh I dunno, I think it's damn funny.

Tell me my name! He scrunched his shoulders and held up his arms as bits and chunks of pie were tossed at him.

Maybe I should be on my way, Jake said casually. It has been and awfully long and exhilarating night, and I'd say my work is done here. Jake leaned back in an exaggerated gesture, jerking his head toward the clock at the far end of the room, by the old writing desk. Christian glanced at the clock and could not believe so much time had already gone by. Time flies and all that. But he realized that a part of the whirl of pie-throwing, humiliating fun was a blank, a blur. Did he remember the whole thing? Which part was missing? What hypnotic trickery had Jake pulled this time?

Jake, what did you do with my name?", Christian asked forcefully, trying to sound as if he meant business.

Jake looked at him, sitting on the floor covered in pie, naked from the waist down, his shirt saturated and clinging to him. He certainly did not look as if he meant business, and he absolutely did not like a man who posed any threat.

I didn't do anything with your name, Jake said. You're the clueless asshole who lost it.

Jake!", Christian snapped. Enough's enough. Give me back my fucking name!!
Jake leaned in toward Christian, his face quite dark. Is that any way to speak to your betters, boy? IS it?!

Christian's stomach rippled with anxiety and he knew he was at his friend's mercy. He swallowed hard, a bit of cream going down with his pride, and said, very softly, I beg your pardon, Sir. Mister Pie Master, Sir, may this lowly imbecile please have his name back, please, Sir?

Jake smiled in a way that projected no humor. That's better. I like how you sniveled out 'please' a couple times, there.

I'm glad this stupid, inferior clown could please you, Pie Master, Sir. Christian's head dropped in defeat.

Jake stood tall above his pie victim and announced, Since you asked nicely, I will give you your name back.

Christian kept his head down, but said clearly, Thank-you, Sir.

Jake placed a pie tin he had picked up from the floor atop Christian's head. It landed there with a dull, wet thlunk!". Upon its impact, Jake said, There, I rechristen you with your name. Say your name.

Christian had indeed felt something shift inside his head when the pie tin landed on him. As if something he'd long lost had been returned to him. Thank God. Christian looked up and said firmly, knowing it was correct, My name is Stooge.

Jake burst into hysterical laughter. Christian's eyes widened in terror. He tried to say his name again.

My name is Stooge. My name...I'm Stooge. Jake kept laughing heartily. Christian focused, his fingers to his temples, the thick cream there gooshing under his nails. Stooge. Stooge!Christian searched his mind. He saw the name on his business card. Stooge. He remembered his college applications form of years before, the name printed there by the dot matrix. Stooge. He thought of his name written in thick sharpie marker on the front of his third-grade classroom desk. Stooge. He recalled his mother calling him in from play when he was a little boy.Stoo-ooge! Time to get cleaned up for dinner, Stooge!

Jake was laughing uproariously again. Christian was visibly shaking. He searched his mind and memory frantically and could only come to one inescapable conclusion. His name was, and always had been, Stooge. Except that he knew that it wasn't, and it hadn't.

My...my name is Stooge, Christian whispered in shock. It really IS Stooge! And yes, it really was. Well, it was now, anyway. What did you do to me, Jake??", Christian demanded, forgetting all protocol of how to address his Pie Master.Jake didn't seem to care. He snatched up his shirt from the back of the desk chair and flung it over his shoulder.

Weellll, I guess I'll be going then.

Christian started to clamber up, his bare feet slipping on the cream-smeared plastic sheet. NO, wait! You can't leave me like this! The only name I can remember is Stooge! You have to change it back! STOP!

Already at the base of the stairs, Jake spun around and fiercely snapped his fingers at Christian. Sit!!

Immediately, Christian fell back down, his feet flying out from under him as if obeying their master before the one they were attached to could even register what they were doing. Christian's pie-covered bare ass hit the plastic with a wet slap. His hands slapped the plastic sheet as he braced himself there, one arm on either side of himself. The instant his palms pressed against the wet sheeting, Christian could feel them glue themselves there, as if he'd accidentally planted his hands in quick-drying epoxy. He wasn't going anywhere.

Jake walked casually toward Christian, stopping halfway across the floor, still well away from the edge of the plastic and all the mess. This is what you wanted, pal. To be completely and utterly humiliated. And aren't you?

Christian said nothing, his eyes staring daggers at his former friend who was now in complete control of him.

Jake reiterated. Aren't you?

Yes, Christian had to admit.

Yeesss?", Jake's voice trailed off.

Yes, Sir.

Jake smirked. And you still into it? Being humiliated?

Not so much, Sir, no.

Jake shrugged. Too bad. And he walked away.

Pie Master Jake, Sir!", Christian called. Please, Sir, I am begging you, do NOT leave me like this. Come ON! Please!

Jake turned slowly back to look over his shoulder at Christian, the pathetic stooge stuck like a fly on a no-pest strip. Nah, I'm not going to leave you like this, Stooge. Not after all you've done for me. I mean, you awakened a whole new pleasure for me I never even knew was there. You gotta get something back for that. Apart from your humiliation, anyways.

Christian breathed a sigh of relief. It had all been a game, then. Mind control role-play. Hallelujah.Thank-you, sir, he exhaled.

Here's your treat, Jake said. A brand new trigger word.

Trigger word? What was that supposed to mea Cream filling.

At those words spoken by Jake, Christian's entire body tensed. His dick was suddenly, devastatingly hard. His balls were buzzing and Christian's body, stuck fast to the pie-smeared plastic sheeting, became awash with wave upon wave of sexual ecstasy.And Christian came like he had never come before. An orgasm to end all orgasms shot like lightning through his member, pouring forth his seed in thick white ropes.
Christian threw his head back, caught in uncontrollable fits of pleasure. He moaned and gasped, his dick throbbing happily, his sperm erupting out in a geyser of his own personal cream filling. He had never, in all his years, felt anything this good.

The orgasm seemed to last forever. As if he would cum for hours. He lost all trace of time and place in a fog of sexual satisfaction. At one point he groped desperately for his name, came up with only 'Stooge', and simply surrendered. His hips thrust and thrust, his load shot and shot. Eventually he lost himself, this poor little mind-controlled stooge, to the overwhelming sensations and he felt himself fall backwards into the mists of sleep.

He never even heard Jake leave, locking the door behind him.