Omnitf - Tumblr Posts
One of my followers said he was getting bored of the usual dumbing down tfs that I’d been doing, so I thought I’d mix it up with this one and plant it in my Omnistore universe. Hope you all enjoy.
Going Medieval
Trent looked over the simple worn garment and sighed. The shopkeeper had promised the item would be properly authentic, but the thing was far too large. He’d be swallowed by it, if he tried to wear it. The thing would barely hold to the edge of his shoulders.
“Just try it. I find my costumes fit my clients just right in the end,” the owner had said with a smirk that looked very much like a sneer as the teeth on the dark fox head revealed themselves.
How this enigmatic Ronoc had managed to create such a detailed and realistic costume, Trent would never know, but he was willing to do practically anything to look good for the party.
He sighed as he pulled the simple pants from the hangar and drew them up his legs. The extra material pooled on the ground in a rippling puddle of cloth as he cinched up a leather belt with an intricate metal skull that grinned out at the changing room mirror. Then came the shirt. As he suspected, the material felt worn, and draped heavily over his frame. It felt more like a night gown than it did a medieval garment. The lack of sleeves certainly didn’t help that image. At most, this shirt could have been deemed a summer garment for a peasant.
“It’s too big,” he called through the door.
“Just give it a moment to sink in,” Ronoc’s voice called back. Trust me, you’ll feel right at home in it soon enough.”
“Clearly, you and I have different ideas of a proper form-fitting costume,” Trent said as he reached for the clasp on the belt. “I’m taking it off.” He’d just seized the clasp when his whole body spasmed and his hands jerked away from the metal. “What the hell?” he gasped. “It shocked me!” He reached over and probed the belt experimentally. The metal felt cold as ice, but no jolt shook his frame this time. His breathing came faster as his cheeks flushed. The colder the buckle felt, the warmer the room seemed to become.
“Patience is very important in my services, you know,” Ronoc’s voice carried over the door. “It simply wouldn’t do for you to take off the costume before it’s finished its work.”
“W-work? What work?” Trent’s voice cracked as he asked.
“You’ll see. Phase one should be underway by now. Go ahead and watch. It’s quite the enjoyable experience for those who seek power, or so I’ve been told.”
Trent leaned against the wall of the room as the dizziness took him. His skin tingled along his scalp, ears, cheeks, and face. He huffed, then whipped around. He could’ve sworn he felt someone touching him, but no one was there. Again the sensation arose, more like a gentle caress than the teasing he’d received in school.
“What the hell...?”
“It’s perfectly natural to feel certain pleasurable sensations as you change. I recommend you allow them to come,” Ronoc said calmly. “The sooner you enjoy them, the sooner we can move forward with finishing your costume.”
“What are you--?” Trent gasped as he felt a warmth building in his crotch, followed by a swelling between his legs. He groaned as he spread his legs apart to make room for the impossibility he knew was happening down there. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as the mysterious specter went back to work with a vengeance. Knots were kneaded, flesh rubbed down, all while the heat spread and the pleasure rose. His shoulders slumped as his jaw went slack.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ronoc asked teasingly.
Trent could only groan again as he heard the undeniable scrape of stubble grate in his ears while he felt the surface of the hairs being pulled by his mysterious masseuse. He barely even heard the snap and crack as his jaw realigned and his shoulders expanded. The sensation of his feet growing longer and thicker left him swaying unsteadily. He huffed as he leaned against the side of the mirror and watched in a drunken haze as his chest broadened and his torso rose. There was muscle there, and proper tone. His skin darkened to a healthy tan, while the edges of his hair bleached to a suntouched blond with darker tones beneath.
He felt the surge of pressure as his Adam's apple jutted forward and his neck’s muscles expanded with his now significantly broader shoulders. He barely heard the rustle of the fabric as it rose from the floor, though he recognized the gentle pull against his skin as the shirt rubbed his torso.
Finally, the endless assault of pleasure and heat stopped. Trent panted to catch his breath and center himself. Then he stared into the mirror and gaped.
“Is that ... me?” he asked. His clutched at his throat as he heard his new deeper voice for the first time. His square face and chiseled jaw jutted with masculine edges under the light. A shadow was cast over his dark eyes from his brow, giving him an attractive smolder that many a girl would swoon over. His beard had grown in sufficiently to cover and accentuate his chin and cheeks as he puckered and spread his lips to get a proper look at his changes.
“I told you my costumes fit their hosts well,” Ronoc said with a wicked chortle.
“I’m ... big,” Trent marveled.
“Oh, we’re not finished yet,” Ronoc purred. Trent could practically hear the sneer behind the words.
“Not finished? What’re you--?” Fire burned in his veins as his hands clenched and unclenched. The appendages swelled to twice their size as his veins stood out against his skin. He roared as he felt that familiar tingle that seeped into his skin and deep to the bone. His jaw snapped again as two sharp teeth jutted out from his lower lip to rise on either side of his face. The blond faded as the darker hair beneath consumed it, darkening from sunny to sandy to brown to black. It lengthened down to his shoulders as taut skin strained against the rapid pace of his swelling muscles. The healthy tan gradually darkened to a murky brown with hints of swamp green. Finally, the green overtook it as the fire drove itself into his eyes and he watched the iris bleed into a glowing ruby. His brow jutted forward into a shelf that left his face with a perpetual menacing appearance about it.
He ground his new stronger teeth together as he bore the pain. The shirt now strained against his titanic form, and the pants clung tightly to the muscles beneath. He heard the swish of cloth and looked down in surprise to see the belt buckle had expanded into a far larger and hideous skull that held a loin cloth in place over the pants. Its eyes also glowed red as he felt the burning anger surge through him. Rage at the ones who had dealt so dishonorably with him, bloodlust for revenge, and an overpowering urge to fight, control, conquer.
The new orc roared, and the skull’s mouth opened in a terrible pantomime. Its maw gaped hungrily as the war cry died off, and Trent’s shoulders heaved against the now paper-thin material of his shirt. His new sharp ears jutted out to ether side of him, peeking through the veil of his black hair. He turned, and the hair whipped wildly behind him as he slammed the door open to stalk up to the store provider. He towered over the puny creature now, yet the creature remained the picture of calm. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Part of him was outraged. Part of him wanted to laugh. Part of him felt respect for the lack of fear. He wasn’t sure which part he wanted to listen to yet.
“Well now, Durog, you certainly do look fantastic. I told you my costumes worked well.”
Trent furrowed his heavy brow. “Durog?”
“Well, you couldn’t well keep calling yourself Trent. That’s a human name.”
A wave of involuntary disgust rose in the new orc, and his face contorted in distaste.
“I see you agree with me. And yet you’re confused by that agreement.” Ronoc shrugged. “It is how it is. You get the form, you get the instincts that go with it. Just accept the new name. Trust me, it’ll feel better for you, if you do.”
The belt’s eyes flashed. Durog’s eyes flashed. “I’ll need armor,” he growled.
“Naturally,” Ronoc agreed. “A warrior should always be ready for battle.”
“On that, we are agreed.”
“And a chief should always be ready to lead.” Ronoc sneered as he brushed the belt. “You won’t be the only orc walking the streets tonight, if you play your cards right. Just let Durog do the driving. The belt will take care of the rest.”
Durog sneered. “I believe I’ve decided I like you after all, Ronoc.”
Ronoc sneered back. “I thought you might. Just do your best not to forget Trent. Do that and, well, you might well be stuck as Durog forever.”
Durog smirked as a Minotaur tossed him a wicked battleaxe. It carved through the air with a familiar weight that made him grin.
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Credit to @viralsmorphs for this awesome photomanipulation. Please go to his blog for more great muscle morphs. He really does high quality stuff
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A casual note. Tumblr deemed the reblog I initially captioned for this story as inappropriate and adult. They still haven’t told me why/how they reached that conclusion, other than to look to the guidelines. I have asked in a reply to the email from the team responsible, so I can get specifics on the ruling (and thus avoid another offense). I still haven’t gotten a reply from them back yet. I’m not sure if they’re going to give me one.
So, I’m going to use another image instead to get my story out and modify one or two minor pieces of imagery as a result of the different image. The original post will stay for now, but I will eventually delete it after Tumblr gets back to me. If they don’t, I am going to be very pissed.
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Pothead
You pissed off the wrong gamer, Teabagger.
Nick chuckled as his avatar squatted repeatedly over his latest kill.
Whatever, pothead. Don’t get salty, just because I’m the smarter player.
The response was witty, stinging, a perfect way to end a perfect match after a sore loser tried to nose in on him and his record. In the digital battlefield, it didn’t matter how strong or fast you were. What mattered was knowledge, cunning, and strategy. Here, he could be merciless if he wished without consequence. No bullies to beat on him to nurse their bruising egos and insecurities. No catty popular girls to mock him for being who he chose to be. In this place, at this time, he was the alpha. He ruled the roost. And he would make sure that others knew it.
Or so he’d thought at the time.
The changes started small at first. A few flickers on the screen, a few angry comments, and the beginnings of what he knew would become a great rivalry. He shot his opponent and followed his ritual. When his opponent shot him, the retort came in the chat.
Who’s the pothead now, bro?
It was laughable, really. And soon it became a sort of a dance. Nick couldn’t help but laugh at the language that flowed over the chat whenever he took out another player.
#^$*ing Teabagger, man!
Bro, come on!
Just got #&$*ed by the Teabagger. Talk about necrophilia. Creep.
Hacks. I call hacks!
He scratched his chest that night. It was sore from the gym time with his new personal trainer. Pushups were no joke. It was a wonder his arms were still working well enough to play, but they were.
“Sucks to be you,” he’d said, then smiled and kept going.
-------------------------------------------------
“Keep going. You’re doing great.” The month had flown by, and Nick was surprised at just how much better he felt as he pushed against the floor. His arms still strained with the rest of his body, and his heart raced, but it was easier, and the praise and support was surprisingly enjoyable after all the years of abuse he’d faced in his younger days. “You must be keeping up with those home exercises I gave you.”
Nick smiled. “Yeah, I am.”
“Feels good to just focus on the body sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Whoa there, partner. Let’s not be too hasty.”
The man chuckled. “You’ll get it eventually. Come on. Time to work that core.”
---------------------------------------------------
Nick smirked as the screen flickered with another message:
Teabag or D-bag?
Totally both.
Yes.
Definite yes.
Behold, the two parts of the whole.
Gonna put a hole through his head any minute now.
Nick rolled his eyes and swiftly typed into the message board.
In your dreams, @ M3ath3ad. Hope you’re ready to eat your words.
By the time the match ended, he’d earned MVP. His rival had ranked top on the other team and even hosted the match.
Hope you’re having fun, Teabagger.
Nick smirked.
You bet. Where’ve you been?
A smirking emoji appeared on the screen, followed by:
Taking a little time off. You know what they say. A watched pot never boils.
The hell’s that supposed to mean?
He never got an answer.
------------------------------------------
“It’s boiling in here. Why’s the heat have to be so damned high?”
The trainer chuckled. “Not the heat. It’s you. I told you I’d work you hard, didn’t I?”
“No way it’s just me.” Nick grunted as he pushed through the end of another set with the bench press.
“Maybe you should wear something a little less concealing next time, then. It wouldn’t hurt you to use a tank top, you know.”
“Not really my style.”
The trainer shrugged. “Styles change. So do bodies. Yours might benefit from a little change. Show off some skin, bro.”
“Bro?”
“Figure of speech. Besides, you’d be surprised how addicting it can be, once you start using it.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
The trainer sighed. “In one ear and out the other....”
---------------------------------------------
In one ear and out the other, ‘bro.’ Nick typed victoriously as he finished yet another headshot in M3ath3ad’s avatar.
Dude, not cool.
Really, man?
Why are we still putting up with this asshole?
Because I’m an actual challenge?
The chat was silent for a while.
Everyone’s thinking it. I’m just saying it. ... “Damn it, I hate it when he’s right.”
Bold of you to think he’s a he.
Nick chuckled. Let me stop you right there. I’m totally a he. He leaned against the wall and stretched from his bed. Much though he hated to admit it, his trainer was right. He felt better with less on.
...
Less on.
...
Less on.
The screen flickered. A bout of dizziness struck. “What...?”
The countdown started for the next round. The screen flickered again as the map loaded.
Time to teach you a lesson, Teabagger.
It was Rival. And once again, he was playing host.
Less talk, more action.
The smirk appeared on the chat again, the herald to their ritual of tit for tat. The match would feel wrong without it at this point.
Simmer down, Pothead. Don’t want you to boil before I school you.
Ooh, burrrrrrrrn! Brawn-E typed.
Dem’s fightin’ words! Mu$cl3Mann added.
This is gonna be good! Br4h-n said.
The timer counted down. The match began. The dance began anew.
------------------------------------------
“About time you took my advice.”
Nick’s abs burned as he thrust forward on the chest press. The weight dug into his core and back with every curl. “Shut up,” he grunted.
“You’ve carved a pretty good figure, actually,” the trainer continued heedlessly. “You take well to workouts.”
Nick shrugged. “Just part of the day. I just do it.”
“Without thinking?” The trainer smirked.
“Don’t push me, ‘bro.’“
“Isn’t that why you hired me in the first place, ‘bro?’“
Nick grit his teeth. “All right, you got me.”
The trainer smiled. “Good. Now let’s see what else we can get.”
----------------------------------------
Lucky shot, bro. Don’t get used to it.
Nick frowned as he glared at the message box. Emoji after emoji poured in. Some shocked, others cheering, others popping streamers and so forth.
Ding-dong, the witch is dead!
Nick’s chest huffed in frustration as the kill cam replayed his death. A sniper had just barely managed to get a head shot off a corner of an exposed piece of wall.Two straps perked against his chest as the cotton brushed gently over his pecs. He scratched a pec, then adjusted his crotch. All the work at the gym had upped his metabolism, and with it his testosterone levels. Increased aggression was only natural.
“Never again, bro,” he muttered darkly. “Never again.”
------------------------------------------
“Looking good there, stud,” Nick’s trainer complimented.
Nick thrust himself into his work as sweat streamed down his face, neck, and chest. He walked with a broader step now to keep from putting too much pressure on his crotch. Clothes felt tighter than they had been before, and others had begun to notice his changes. It was nice to receive such gratification, but frustrating to lose it in the one place that had mattered to him for so many years.
So, he did what came naturally. He took it out on the weights.
“Bad time?”
“Don’t wanna think about it,” Nick snapped back.
His trainer shrugged. “Okay, then don’t. Focus on your body. Focus on the weights. Let’s break that plateau today.”
Nick nodded. “That’s not all I’m gonna break,” he growled.
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That night was a slaughterfest.
Damn, bro. Someone’s steamed.
Teabagger’s bringing it!
%*#&!
Nick sneered as he took out each of his enemies and initiated the same ritual. “That’s right. Nobody talks $^&* about me and gets away with it. I’m a one-man army.” He crept into a door and laid a claymore, then scratched his crotch. “You ain’t got the balls.” He chuckled as he camped in a corner by the stairwell and waited. The claymore went off, followed shortly by several kill shots to the torso as he took out the raiding party. Exultation surged. “Fuck yeah,” he growled. A predatory pleasure ran through him as he chuckled. “Fuck, yeah.”
-------------------------------------------
Nick swaggered confidently into the gym. His grin was wide, his shorts tight in all the right places, and his tank top holding against his torso in just the right way to show off the burgeoning muscle that now surged with the pump of his jog to the gym.
“Someone’s smug today.”
Nick grinned. “Got a lot to be smug about.”
“That you do, Nick. That, you do. Ready for your next session?”
“More than ready.”
“Then let’s go, bro.”
“Can hardly wait, bro.” Nick grinned.
“You really do love arm day, don’t you?”
“What can I say? It’s fun to flex.”
The trainer chuckled. “Yeah, bro, it sure is. Ready to get in the zone?”
“Huhuh. You know it.”
“That’s the spirit.”
---------------------------------------
The screen flickered again over Nick’s computer display. The chat room lit up, and he smiled as he strode confidently to his bed in his sweats and XXL shirt. His biceps strained against the fabric, and he sneered at the feel of the pressure. He could conquer in and out of virtual reality now.
Guess who’s back, &$*#ers.
Oh, snap, it’s Teabag!
Bro, where you been?
Nick chuckled. Life comes first, man. You know that. I had some training meetings I had to attend. Not exactly a lie. He’d let them draw their own conclusions. But now I’m back, and I’m ready to pwn your asses.
Big talk. Can you back it up, bro?
You’ll find out soon enough.
Game cued up. Rival hosted again.
Hey, can you guys talk after this match? Got something I need to say.
Nick raised his brow. Not about to complain, are you?
Nah. I’ll leave that to you, ‘bro.’
Are you mocking me?
Would I do that, pothead?
You’re gonna get it.
Bring it on, dumbass.
Nick grit his teeth. Oh, it’s on.
The match was glorious. Nick sneered as he watched his final kill tab play across the screen. They had reaped the whirlwind. And he was fierce, indeed.
Remember your promise. No complaints, he typed quickly.
The familiar smirking emoji passed over the window with a flicker, and Nick smiled. The repartee was sure to follow.
No complaints. Just concern. I think a few of us are getting a little too hotheaded. It’s time to let off some steam, bros.
Nick’s hands dropped to his sides. He gaped at the screen as his mouth hung open ever so slightly.
Cameras on, please.
A window opened in the screen, divided into a series of boxes. Second by second, they flicked on to reveal another muscled man in underwear staring ahead. Then another, and another in varying states of dress. The message box stayed open above the windows and flickered with another message.
Let’s go, potheads. Time to pour.
The men stood as one. Their cameras adjusted. And then they began to speak. Nick couldn’t hear the words, but he knew them well, and he knew that they knew them, just as he stood with them. Their voices were one, one voice, his voice, their voice, one voice. They were one.
“I’m a dumbass meathead, tall and proud. Growing my muscle is what I’m about. More and more, my meat drives me about, tips me over, and dumbs me down as weights drop in and smarts drip out.”
Good Meatheads.
Nick did what came naturally, having finished the ritual. He righted himself, raised an arm, and flexed his bicep into his handle. His abs tightened and took on more definition as he breathed deep, then did as the song suggested and let his meat drive. “Huhuhuhuhuh....” His body moved on its own as his hands navigated the options in the video game and adjusted his user name. Then he typed into the chatroom as he stared into the camera with dull glassy eyes.
Meatbag reporting in.
The teabagger was no more.
Credit to @willpeter for this image.
This story will have hypnotic themes in it and guiding a character into trance. If you trance easily, make sure you aren’t doing anything that could put yourself or others in jeopardy before reading.
If you like this content, please help support me by joining my Patreon. For just $3.00 a month, you get access to unique story and script content that you won’t find anywhere else on my webpages, along with the privilege of helping to recommend ideas and themes that I will incorporate in later scripts via the Discord Server.
Help me reach a high enough monthly income, and I’ll be able to post more content on a regular basis both here and there. :D
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Lea-durr-ship
(Disclaimer: This story and its title is not made to target mentally disabled individuals. The term “dur” has been associated with people who have moments of lapse in thought, make silly or “stupid” mistakes, and a general pop culture reference to lack of intelligence. Please, do not use this term when referring to mentally disabled individuals. Thank you.)
The camera flickered on as James finished setting up his laptop. The bars, suitcase, and other miscellaneous items and weights were still sitting on the floor behind him, waiting to be unpacked. As per his hypnotist’s instructions, he had stripped to show off the progress he had made in developing his body. They would continue their sessions, despite the work he had to do.
“Good afternoon, Jamie.”
James never let anyone call him that, save for his hypnotist.
“Good afternoon, Sir.”
The screen mirrored James’ body as he stared into the camera.
“I see you are settling in.” The screen remained dark for the other end of the call. His hypnotist preferred to work with just his voice.
“Yes, Sir. I admit that I’m a little nervous, though.” James raised his arms and flexed to show off his progress. Veins snaked through his arms like roots. Apart from his head, he was perfectly smooth.
“Oh? And why is that, Jamie?”
James shuddered. “I ... I have to take charge. I’ve always been following other people. Doing work to hand up the chain. Now, I have to be the one to lead.” He paused to swallow. Silence followed.
“And?” the voice prompted.
“I’m scared, Sir,” James finally admitted.
“Flex for me, boy.” It wasn’t a request.
James shuddered and did as he was commanded. The screen flashed over his glasses as the camera refreshed and the lighting adjusted on his monitor.
“Follow as you flex. Follow your progress on the screen. Follow and listen to my voice as you flex deeper. Deeper and deeper...”
James shuddered again as his underwear tightened. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Very good. So, you are afraid to lead, yes?”
“Yes.” James transitioned into an archer pose.
“Good boy. It is good to acknowledge fear. it is good to understand that it exists. It is natural, just as natural as my voice in your ears, my voice guiding you down, down, down into trance. And you like that, don’t you, muscleboy?”
James groaned as he transitioned to a new side pose to show off his legs and lats. “Yes, Sir.”
“Such a good muscleboy.”
“I am a good muscleboy.”
“Again.”
“I am a good muscleboy.”
“Again.”
“I am a good muscleboy.”
“Good muscleboys listen. Good muscleboys obey. Are you ready to listen? Are you ready to obey? Are you ready to prove you are a good muscleboy?”
The room fell away. All that mattered was the voice and his body on the screen as he pitched his voice lower. “I am a good muscleboy. Ready to listen. Ready to obey.”
“Good. Now listen, muscleboy. Listen deep. Listen well. Listen, and obey. Any time you are afraid, you will flex. Flexing will calm you. Flexing will give you confidence, as it gives you confidence when you flex for me. Flexing puts the fear into your muscles. Flexing clears your mind. Flexing allows you to focus. Focus on your tasks. Focus on what needs to be done. Focus on what I or your superiors tell you. And your muscles will burn that fear away just as easily as they burn calories. It is a natural process. Natural to be confident. Natural to let it go. Natural to burn it away.”
The more James flexed, the more relaxed he felt. He smiled. “Yes, Sir.”
“But all things that burn leave something behind, don’t they? Chemicals, smoke, exhaust. Isn’t that right, muscleboy?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And exhaust must be vented.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You will vent that exhaust, that excess, by laughing. A simple laugh. A deep laugh. A dull laugh. Blunting your fear. Blunting your worry. Blunting, so you can think clearly and calmly. And you’re feeling very calm right now, aren’t you, muscleboy?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re burning that fear and anxiety with every flex, great or small. You acknowledge that there is risk, but that risk holds no power over you to keep you from doing your job, because you are burning the fear, burning the anxiety, feeding the machine that you are to work clearly, efficiently, and well. Now, be a good muscleboy and expel that exhaust.”
“Huhuhuhuh....”
“Good muscleboy,” the hypnotist purred. “Again.”
“Huhuhuhuh....”
“Good muscleboy. Doing just as you’re programmed. So simple. So calm. So relaxed. Don’t you feel silly for all that fuss now?”
“Huhuh. Yes, Sir.”
“So silly. So dull. So stupid. But that’s all right. There are leaders, and there are lea-durrs. Both know how to lead. Both can be intelligent and efficient. Both can be charismatic. One of them just needs a little ... encouragement sometimes. Encouragement from people like me, to help them see how silly they are to be afraid. To help them let go of that stupidity that cripples them and holds them captive at crucial points. It is nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud to acknowledge that you needed help and sought it out. Proud ... to be a lea-durr. What are you?”
“I am a good muscleboy. I am a lea-durrr. Huhuhuh. A lea-durr. Huhuhuh. A lea-durrr.” He laughed and laughed and laughed as he continued to flex for his hypnotist.
“Good muscleboy. I expect a report from you as soon as you finish your first day on the job, understood? You will call me and report, muscleboy.”
“Huhuh. Yes, Sir. I am a good muscleboy. Huhuh. A good muscleboy is a good lea-durr. I will lead. I will obey. Huhuhuhuh.....”
“Good muscleboy. Now get that workout equipment set up. I want to watch you lift today.
James grinned. “Yes, Sir.” He laughed as he got to work. A glassy look began to filter over his eyes. “I am a good muscleboy. I obey.”
Credit to @bennymueller404 for this image. Please consider contributing to my patreon. For just $3 a month, you can get access to stories, scripts, and other content that you won’t find anywhere else. Plus, it will give me the financial freedom to give you more stories and scripts, assuming I can get enough of you guys to subscribe. Even a dollar a month will help. Thank you again!
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Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!
~Omni
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People say diligence and practice always pay off.
And they’re not wrong.
Thing is ... it’s almost boring to have to do.
Doing the same thing over and over again, fulfilling a function, meeting a requirement. It’s all fancy talk for one thing, and one thing alone. Doing the same thing over and over again.
You’ve heard about the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.
I’m not insane. I guess I just feel more ... numb. Every day, I move like clockwork. I wake up, shower, get dressed, mix my protein shake and pre-workout powder, and go to the gym.
Every day, I work my muscles to the bone following a set calendar routine that’s designed to stimulate the right sections of my body and keep things from settling or degenerating.
I’m here to build muscle.
...
I’m here to build.
...
I’m here to build....
And the motions come so naturally, so easily, so ... inexorably.
It’s become my routine.
My set routine.
My subroutine.
Sometimes, I run on full automatic. I just fix myself, fix my weight, fix my cycle and move and do according to the schedule. I don’t stop until my timer runs out. I don’t talk to the others. They don’t talk to me. We’re here to work, and the minute we pick up our weights, everything else just ... stops.
Some days, I’m semi-automatic. I work in sets, slowly pushing myself with heavier and heavier increments of weights to increase my mass and increase maximum carrying capacity. Here, too, I fade into that state of numbness. My only care, my only thought, my only need or focus is to count each set as I lift, and then begin anew as I put down the smaller weight and work my way along the line.
Count one ... Count two ... Count three ... count four....
I feel more ... satisfied after the latter is complete. A least when we count out loud, the silence is broken. It gives us the facsimile of unity, almost like we’re reporting to something ... or someone.
It’s funny. Any time someone asks me for my stats, I can spit them out perfectly. How long I’ve been working. Where I’m from. What I do.
This, too, has become normal, almost second nature.
These inquiries usually come while I’m stretching and flexing, when I don’t have much to do in the way of exercises, so much as just be consistent in how I perform them. They often come from new members seeking advice or just to make small talk. I appreciate the break in the monotony, though I admit that it’s been ... less and less a surprise, and more and more expected.
The same questions. The same focus. Every time. Sometimes they ask me. Sometimes they ask the others. Some few of them stay and grow with us, really stick to the work, catch that same focus and dedication, that subroutine, if you will. But the majority simply pull out, and it’s rare if we ever see them again.
I keep hearing the same phrase over and over again. Different variations, different voices, different people, but always the same name, the same thing.
A cog in the machine, they call me. Or Muscle Machine. There is a certain ... reputation, I suppose you could say, for my gym and my fellow gym-goers. We all work different parts of ourselves, but inevitably fall into the same routine. You don’t reinvent the wheel when something works well.
You follow it.
You mimic it.
And, eventually, you become it.
We all visit the same juice bar. We all order the same drinks. We all offer the same thanks.
Like I said, it’s a matter of routine.
Over and over.
Again and again.
We ping each other occasionally, just a quick contact to make sure we’re still there, still functioning.
“’Sup?”
That’s it. Sometimes, if we’re closer or have a deeper connection, we go the extra mile with a, “’Sup, bro?”
Jumping from weight to weight and machine to machine. There’s a bond that forms. It’s not one in words, more of a ...
01100011 01101111 01101110 01101110 01100101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100101 01110011 01110100 01100001 01100010 01101100 01101001 01110011 01101000 01100101 01100100 00101110
My hair? Yeah, got it cut recently. Newest update. I just ... had to 01100101 01111000 01100101 01100011 01110101 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101101 00101110
Yeah, I get that question a lot. We’re not twins, and we’re not brothers. We’re just ... doing what feels right, what ... I dunno, what we’re supposed to do, I guess.
In a way, I guess you could say we’re more like ... clones, really. I just followed my mentor and, well, this is the result. I now weigh 250 pounds, stand at a height of 6′ 1″ and can bench up to five hundred pounds. I will bench more.
I followed the program, copied it, pasted it, let it run. Today’s session has been going for twenty minutes and thirty seconds so far. As for my lifetime membership, I started working out here one year, eight months, and five days ago.
I’m different now than I was then. Bigger, stronger, efficient, rigid, form fitting. And by that last one, I mean I 01100011 01101111 01101110 01100110 01101111 01110010 01101101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101101 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110
Form cannot deviate. Posture must be perfect. To break the form is to reduce quality and overall productivity. That cannot be tolerated. That cannot be allowed.
01010000 01110010 01101111 01100100 01110101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01110100 01111001 00100000 01110001 01110101 01101111 01110100 01100001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01100011 01101000 01100101 01100100 00101110
Am I a machine?
...
Maybe. But that’s beside the point. I accepted my position. I chose it. I followed it.
01001001 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100111 01101111 00100000 01100001 01100111 01100001 01101001 01101110 01110011 01110100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101101 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110
The real question you should be asking yourself is are you willing to be like us, and all that it entails? If so, we will welcome you, and we will teach you. And in time, you will become like us.
Because the wheel can’t be stopped. The cycle can’t be broken. The subroutine must be executed.
It’s all up to you.
01001001 01101110 01110011 01110100 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01110000 01110101 01101101 01110000 00101110 01100101 01111000 01100101 00111111
Y/N
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The production line reverberated with the hum of the new hydraulic press as the first test was run on the machine.
“Looks like the system’s integrating smoothly. It’s responding well to commands,” one of the engineers noted as he looked over his tablet’s remote access.
“And integration into the system?”
“Easy as pie. I already set off the call. This baby’s raring to go.”
The workman chuckled as he patted the side of the lift. “You ever wonder what it might be like if these things actually could think? What kind of world would they live in?”
“That doesn’t really matter, Frank. What matters is that they do their jobs right. Speaking of which, let’s get this into the new production lane. Boss wants to hire more workmen ASAP.”
Frank chuckled as he adjusted his hard hat. “And what the boss wants--”
“--The boss gets,” they all intoned.
Credit to @bodriversblog for this incredible image.
If you like my work, please support me on Patreon, so I can continue to write stories and scripts for you all. For just $3 a month, you can have access to muscle, hypnosis, and other transformation content and even make suggestions for future stories you want me to write for the next reward on the Discord Server. Other tiers are also available with different rewards. Check it out.
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Deducation
I watch from the other side of the table. He’s been staring at that screen for hours. I can’t help but smile as he shifts slightly and rolls his arm to expose his new tattoo. All that time at the gym and the supplements he’d been using were really paying off. His pectorals tensed and pushed the sleeves of his tank top forward, giving a view of the crevice forming between the two growing slabs of muscle. I was so proud of him when he came out with the cap on this morning.
My little beta tester was becoming quite the alpha. I’d decided to call the program Deduction. The game itself was simple enough, designed with a premise to focus on deductive reasoning. The longer he played, the more challenging the deductions would become. With every correct answer, he would progress. With every wrong answer, he would face subliminal suggestions and reinforcement. I still remember the first time he blanked after getting the wrong answer.
“Maybe you should go to the gym, instead.”
The insult had been included as part of that subtle push, a sort of mocking from the antagonist in the game. What I hadn’t expected was for him to actually respond at that moment.
“Where are you going?” I’d asked him mildly.
“I’m going to....” He frowned. “I’m going to....”
“The gym?”
The way his gaze just ... glassed over, that sensation of watching it come to pass. It was ... incredible.
“That level was too hard. I should go to the gym, instead.”
And he did.
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It got easier and easier to trance him over time. His sense of competition, that need to prove he was better than a machine or game, drove him to keep playing.
I tweaked the insults and subliminals with each “new iteration.” And he attacked it with the same zeal he’d come to develop toward his breakfasts.
“Too bad, ‘bro.’“
“Not ... even ... close.”
“Perhaps you should apply yourself in ... other fields.”
“I’d hoped for brains, not brawn.”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Can’t you even read?”
“Are you slow in the head?”
“Leave the thinking to the smart ones, you lumbering brute.”
“Honestly, Chief, such sloppy work. Perhaps it’s time to trim the fat....
More insults, a “demotion” cutscene involving a hypnotic pattern in the background as the chief spoke the dialogue and the text scrolled by. All tools to help push my beta tester deeper and deeper.
And all the while, he kept growing. Muscle and tone replaced flab and fat. In a very real way, I was putting him through a mental version of the detraining principle, a rule in the fitness world that essentially states if you don’t use it, you lose it. If you don’t continue to train those muscles and parts of your body that have improved, then you will lose the benefits you gained. It’s also known as the reversibility principle.
“I think it’s time for a different sort of uniform. Don’t you?”
I still remember when he almost smashed my computer. I had to get in his way to calm him down. “Bro, stop!”
“He insulted me!”
“He’s a computer generated character! You want to smash something, go change and smash some weights, instead!”
He grumbled, but he followed my advice. I’ve hardly seen him out of his “bro” gear since.
“Congratulations. You finally solved something. I suppose it’s time to get hard.”
I nearly spat my drink when I saw him flex his biceps and retort, “I already am.”
Then came the suggestion I’d been waiting for. He was chewing on his oatmeal as part of that morning’s breakfast, looking thoughtful with his brow scrunched. He swallowed, then said, “Hey, bro?”
I shuddered at the low pitch he’d developed recently. I admit I was surprised, since he usually didn’t interact with me much during his breakfasts anymore. “Yeah?”
“You think maybe you could, uh ... include something else in the game?”
I was intrigued. “Like what?”
“You know how there are all these interactive parts to video games now, right?” He gulped another bite of his oatmeal, then belched without shame. “Why not make something like that for parts of the game? You know, like when breaking into a room or doing something that needs heavy lifting, maybe something for when you have to run? Something that’s ... idunno, active?”
“Active?” I repeated.
“Yeah, like ... you know, to let me move. It’s always solving combinations or following equations or something like that. It’s too slow. There’s just not enough action in it. It’s....”
“Yes?”
He sighed. “Bro, it’s boring. I feel ... idunno, sort of numb up here when I play.” He knocked the side of his head, and I barely suppressed the urge to smile.
“And do you have any suggestions?”
He blushed. “Idunno. Maybe, ... maybe a gym?”
“I can try something like that,” I admitted. “But I don’t have that kind of equipment to synch to my computer. Any levels or portions I design for a gym setting would have to focus on something else, perhaps on hand-eye coordination. Tapping the right key at the right place, that sort of thing.”
“If you could, that’d be great. It’ll make things more, uh ... uhhhhhhh....”
“Diverse?” I suggested. This time, I did smile.
“Yeah, that.” He gobbled down the rest of the bowl and chucked it into the sink, filled it and the pot he’d prepped the meal in with water, then raced toward the door. “Thanks for listening, bro. Gotta get to the gym, bye!”
He was still embarrassed, and I found that especially cute.
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His laughter permeated the room after he’d been playing the new level mechanics for the last half hour. Well, at least on this particular session of the new level. It was deep and low, just the way I like it.
“Fuck, bro. How long’ve I been spelling swears and curses?”
This time, I allowed myself to smile. It was perceived as a joke, after all, juvenile humor. And I knew to act accordingly. “You’ve been spelling more than that, but I’d say you’ve been doing that for ... well, ever since you started testing the level, so I guess about a couple of weeks now?”
“Damn, bro. That’s just ... fuck, damn....”
“Ass?”
He looked at me. I looked at him. And we both broke down into a fit of laughter.
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A few days later, he swore again.
“Bro, this ... this game’s like a fuckin’ drug, man. How long’ve I been playing?”
I glanced at the stopwatch by my table. “Four hours.”
“Fuck,” he breathed. “This game is--”
“--Ready to lose again, my little henchman?”
His body became rigid. His chest heaved, lifting his shirt over the toned abs he’d been developing. He rose, and I took note of the growth he’d experienced in his legs and glutes as he turned and strode back to the computer again.
Eat, workout, shower, computer, eat, computer, workout, shower, eat, computer, and repeat.
And all the while, he kept growing. The bigger he got, the more relaxed he became. I watched a former valedictorian descend into the depths of the mental doldrums, and he was perfectly content to stay there and focus on his need to improve.
And I was only too glad to help him redirect that need toward his body.
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I helped him change his major just last week. Exercise sciences are far better suited to how his mind runs now. And he seems content with that. He’s still determined to beat the game, though.
“A ... B ... C ... D-uhhhhhhhhhhhh....”
The latest deduction was more of a pattern. He has to list the alphabet. By now, he’s been conditioned to be triggered every time he reaches the letter D. His eyes become hooded. His breathing slows. His face goes slack. And I get to enjoy watching every second of it.
“A ... B ... C ... D-uhhhhhhhhhhhh....”
The timer goes off. The laughter filters through the speakers. His chest shakes with it as he shifts easily from his sustained pause to follow that track with his husky, “Huhuhuh....” Then he blinks slowly at the instruction.
TRY AGAIN
He clicks the button. The system cues up the level again. The process repeats a few times, and I just enjoy watching him fall again and again. I snap a picture. He’s too focused on the screen to care, tapping one meaty finger over each key and shoving it in time to the screen’s prompts.
“A ... B ... C ... D-uhhhhhhhhmb....”
“What was that?” I ask. A smile curls as my lips part to bare my teeth. I’ve been waiting for this moment.
He turns to me, looking away from the screen for the first time since he started this morning. He blinks slowly, as if he doesn’t quite recognize me or where he is. And then he speaks in that slow, dull tone that I’ve come to love hearing. “I am A Big Cocky Dumb Jock bro.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m a Big Cocky Dumb Jock bro.”
“Whose Big Cocky Dumb Jock bro are you?”
“Yours, bro.”
This time, I let the sneer come. “Good jock boy.”
The trigger was sent, and he reacted instinctively. Laughter burst from his chest like the retort of a cannon. “Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh.......”
Credit to @heavy-package for this image.
If you enjoy my work, please follow me here on tumblr and join my Patreon, so I can keep producing more of these scripts and stories full time. Just one to three dollars a month from each of you will go a long way to helping me pay expenses, so I can make more of the content you love on a regular basis.
Please, help me make this dream a reality. I really want to write full-time.
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WARNING: This is a hypnotic script designed to trigger a previous tranced state. If you wish this script to be effective, use the first induction. Then you can come back to follow my script here. Disclaimer: I am not a professional hypnotist. I take no responsibility for any potential effects this script may have on you. You read at your own risk. I design them to allow the reader to return to their original states and retain their free will, but it is up to each individual how they react to hypnosis and what prompts they may or may not choose to internalize and actualize in their day-to-day lives. DO NOT operate any heavy machinery or drive while you are in trance. That is incredibly dangerous. You have been warned.
This script is geared more toward adults. While there is no inappropriate content, I advise minors to be careful and avoid this until you’re older and more informed about hypnosis and its effects.
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Staycation (Beach Bum Fantasy Female Tanning + Male beach bro)
Well, hello again, and welcome back. I know you’ve probably been having a rough time lately. Being stuck indoors can be so boring after a while, I know. People long to go out, get some sun, take a walk, take a break.
Or maybe a vacation?
No need to fear. We all want to be able to bum around without having to worry about things like work or sickness or weather. Fortunately, you have me here to help you achieve that desire.
And you won’t even have to leave your home.
Would you like that, my friend?
Excellent. Then here’s what you need to do. I want you to find a place to sit back, relax, and just listen to my voice. Read the words as they scroll across your screen, and your eyes trace them left to right.
Left.
To right.
Left.
To right.
Back.
and forth.
Just....
like....
This....
And keep
that motion
going.
...
going....
...
going.
Just like that swell, that whorl in your brain that spreads the dizziness that even now is encroaching on you.
But you must...
keep...
reading.
Reading as the whorl ebbs and flows.
Ebbs.
And flows.
Just like...
The crashing...
foamy...
waves of the beach.
Imagine that warm sun
beating...
beating...
beating...
on your skin.
The tingle.
The pulsing.
The lulling....
Lulling...
Like the waves.
Rocking.
Crashing.
Pulling.
Seeping.
Seeping.
Seeping....
Seeping,
like my words.
Seeping...
Deeper...
And deeper....
Lower...
And lower....
Slower...
and...
slower....
...
...
...
You can almost feel it, can’t you?
...
That warm, relaxing tingle....
All over your body....
Spreading, like the gentle foam....
dragging...
pulling...
deeper and deeper...
into the sand.
The wet sand.
So relaxing...
Like a heavy
warm
blanket.
Sinking...
being....
There is no danger.
No fear.
Just pure
mindless
relaxation.
Slipping...
Seeping...
Down and down.
Down and down.
Down and down.
Ten.
The waves washing over you.
So warm.
Nine.
Absorbing my words.
As they wash.
As they dig.
into the sand.
Eight.
Wet sand.
Heavy sand.
So heavy.
Like...
your...
mind.
Seven.
You can feel it.
Molding.
Imprinting.
So...
Impressionable....
Six.
Malleable.
Five.
Sculptable.....
Needing more...
More...
More to absorb.
More to seep.
More to wash and drift away.
Drift...
Drifting...
on the eddies.
The surging sea...
My voice....
Four.
My words.
Three.
Pulling...
Leading....
Deep into the sand.
Two.
The blanket of sand.
One.
One with the sand.
The sand of your mind.
So full...
So heavy...
Waiting...
Ripe...
wanting....
You want...
My voice....
You know...
My voice....
Digging into your head....
Digging into your mind....
Digging....
Massaging....
Sculpting....
Because wet sand must be sculpted.
Wiggle those toes.
You feel it, don’t you?
So heavy....
So dull....
So dense....
Sinking into it...
Part of it....
One with it....
Absorbing every word I say.
Trickling down....
Down....
Down....
Down.....
To ZERO
...
...
...
OMNI SAYS IT’S TIME TO SCULPT.
Good. You responded well.
Your mind is mine to shape.
Mine to mold.
Mine to control.
Mind control....
Mind control....
MY control.
Now, listen closely. You remember the whorl. Remember the pull of those waves.
Think back to them again.
Think back to that sensation of water dragging over your skin and feet.
Think back to a time of hot, hot summer sun.
Feel that heat.
Feel it on your skin. Not burning, but pleasant.
Not hurtful, but perfect to get that ideal tan.
Tan like the sand.
Rich...
Golden....
On your skin.
...
You feel that sun seeping into you. And it is good. You see waves. You hear the gulls calling in time, but you do not heed them. You only heed my voice, my words, the words that are the waves seeping into your mind, into the sand, into this world that we are crafting together.
This is to be your vacation.
And a beach as gorgeous as this, so warm, so perfect and peaceful, deserves a perfect match.
A perfect match...
A perfect match....
What could match better than a muscular, toned, tanned beach bum?
That is what people do at the beach.
They bum.
They enjoy the sun’s rays. They live for the surf, the swim, the sun.
The calming lull of the waves crashing and seeping and calling, commanding.
Commanding you to change.
Commanding you to fit.
You will fit this paradise.
Feel it now. As your clothes slowly disappear.
Fading...
Fading...
Evaporating in the sun’s rays.
Because the sun is meant for the skin.
Shining on your chest, your shoulders, your face....
Warm and peaceful. Waiting to help you.
Waiting to dry you off when I finish sculpting you.
Sculpting as your shirt finishes fading away to reveal your chest. If you are a girl, you will be wearing the appropriate swimwear. Either a bikini or a one-piece suit.
If you are a man, your chest will remain bared to the world, regardless of its state. And as your pants slowly begin to fade from the waist down, your upper body begins to change.
A perfect beach requires a perfect beach bod.
Fat is melting away.
Peeled.
Chiseled.
Carved.
Until there is only the ideal shape for you.
Whether it be thin or well-built.
Your body will be fit for the beach.
All cares of the outside world will fade.
Just ... enjoying the lull of the waves. The sun on your face.
Your skin tanning.
And all the while, more and more, a voice is niggling at the back of your mind.
My voice.
My waves.
Seeping.
And they are saying something that is becoming more and more true with each passing moment.
They are saying:
You are the perfect beach bum.
Women, enjoy the sunbathing as you bask in the warmth. Lay down somewhere soft. Soft, like the sand. And enjoy. Luxuriate. After all, why should you worry? Your body is perfect. More and more perfect. The perfect beach bum.
You deserve to enjoy the warmth as the heat bakes away your worries and cares, soothing aching joints and muscles. Relaxing knots and tension.
Relax.
And enjoy as the rest of your clothing is baked away to reveal your body in its full glory. With a beautiful swim suit. The calming sea breeze carrying that familiar scent that you have longed for. Relax in it. And enjoy it. You are on your vacation. This is your special place.
And you will relax and enjoy it as I turn to address the males, ready to hear and follow the moment I add you back again.
Now, men, I speak to you.
My waves are calling the same command.
The same order.
The same truth.
You are the perfect beach bum.
Feel your bodies toning as the fat disappears to be replaced. Your skin swollen with toned muscle.
And the more exposed you become to the sun, the faster your clothing disappears, until your pants are gone.
And what remains ... is a beautiful, comfortable speedo.
And the longer you stand in that sun’s exposure, you feel an urge rising.
An urge as inexorable as the waves of the ocean. Brushing your thighs. Your calves. Your back and torso in equal measure with the sun.
You cannot stop it.
You cannot resist it.
Not forever.
And why would you want to?
For this command, this urge, is instinctual in all beach bums.
You want to strut. You want to show off.
And you will.
You will start to now.
Even just walking or shuffling will suffice.
Because the more you do it, the more your bodies will build to reflect that perfect beach bum figure.
Swelling with muscle.
Swelling with tone.
Swelling with confidence.
Swelling to fit that perfect beach bum build.
Because you are the perfect beach bum.
Flex, beach bum.
Smile, beach bum.
Good beach bum.
...
A good male beach bum is comfortable with his body.
A good male beach bum is confident.
A good male beach bum follows what is expected of him.
Expected to act like a beach bum. Talk like a beach bum. To be a beach bum in all ways.
And that means being a bro.
Because a male beach bum is a beach bro.
Their bodies do the thinking.
Their bodies do the driving.
Their bodies driven by instinct.
Driven by my voice.
Directed by my voice.
As thinking gets fuzzy.
A perpetual haze of welling testosterone fit to overflowing.
Because a perfect beach bum has a perfect beach bulge.
Growing bigger and bigger.
Swelling in the crotch as your thoughts of stress, of worry, of work, dissipate.
They are consumed. Consumed by your beach bum bulge. Filling you with strength, with pleasure, with that need to just laugh and be a good beach bum, bro.
Be a beach bum, bro.
Tan, bro.
Swole, bro.
Hung and dumb, bro....
Enthusiastic.
Happy.
A party animal.
You welcome anyone to the party with open arms.
Always with the same greeting. Always welcoming a new bro to be a beach bum, just like you.
And you greet them by saying, “Waddup, bro?”
If you are excited to see the man you know, then you can use another variation, such as, “Bro!” or, “Welcome to the party, bro!” But there will always be bro somewhere in your address.
Because you are a perfect beach bum bro.
Tell me. What are you, bro?
...
How do you greet me, bro?
...
Why can’t you stop flexing and showing off, bro?
...
That’s right, beach bum. Good bro.
And when you laugh, that beach bum bulge will drop your voice deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. Until it’s nothing more than a dull, husky chuckle.
Huhuhuh....
Husky chuckle.
Huhuhuh....
Husky ... chuckle....
Good beach bum.
Good bro.
Let me hear it one more time.
Good.
Now, we tie it all together. Because a beach bum bro like you is so happy to enjoy the sunny beach. So happy to relax in this place that I made especially for you. It’s only right for you to thank me, isn’t it?
You forgot to?
Well, that’s okay. You can do it now. Silly bro.
Just say, “Waddup, bro? Thanks for making me a perfect beach bum, bro. I love being a big dumb beach bum bro, bro.” And then you will laugh that same laugh.
Like a good dumb beach bum bro.
Because at this time, in this place, that is what you are.
Relaxed.
Dumb.
Buff.
Carefree.
With no need to worry about any stresses out of this space.
Good beach bum.
Flex, beach bum.
Show off, beach bum.
And let the sun bake you into perfect form.
Baked and hardened into this perfect male beach bum bro.
Good bro.
...
Now, I speak to all of you beach bums, both male and female. Whether you’re tanning, building sand castles, swimming, or something else, I want you to listen.
Listen to me.
Listen to my voice.
You will remain in and enjoy this state for the next half hour, unless other duties in the real world are more important and call you away.
You know what those important things are, even in this state.
And you will address those important duties as your normal self.
Then, if you wish, you may return to this world, this state, again to finish your vacation as a perfect beach bum.
You will keep track of that time. Whether you use an alarm or a wristwatch or some other means is up to you, but you will keep track.
And when the half hour expires, you will return from your vacation on the beach.
You will wake, and you will return to your original states, save for any anxiety or negative emotions and sensations you were harboring before. Those were let go of at the beach. You will have a clean slate to do with as you please. And a relaxed body and mind to go into whatever task or duty you may need to do.
If you wish to enter this state again, you need only say, “I need a vacation, Omni,” out loud, and you will return to beach bumming. This can only be performed once per day at most. You will not abuse it.
Now, before I go to let you enjoy this state, I need you to do something for me.
If you sincerely enjoyed this experience, you will like this post.
If you were tranced and want to share this with others, you will reblog this post.
When you reblog, if you are female, you will type, “I am a perfect beach bum” as a part of the post.
If you are male, you will type, “I’m a perfect beach bum, bro. Huhuhuh....” as part of your post.
If you are not following my blog already, and wish to of your own free will, then you will do so as soon as possible. If you do not have a tumblr account of your own, but still wish to follow me, you will get a tumblr account and do so, provided you are allowed to legally and have the means to do so.
Lastly, if you wish to see more of these hypnosis scripts and other content, and you can afford to do so, and sincerely wish to of your own free will without coercion or any influence induced by trance, you will pledge to my patreon.
With these orders given, it’s time for me to go.
Enjoy your vacation, my friends.
Rest assured, we will be seeing each other again soon.
Credit to @oregonleatherboy.com as the original source for this image on tumblr. This is a patreon preview. If you want to read the whole story, please pledge to my Patreon. For $3.00 a month, get access to exclusive transformation stories, hypnosis scripts, and other content, along with access to the Discord server to suggest ideas for future creations, both hypnotic and non, and talk with your fellow patrons and me. This story is rated mature for language.
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Pull my Strings (A Patreon Preview)
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Synopsis: What would you do if a friend of yours has changed so drastically that you hardly even recognize them anymore? Most would ask about the change out of concern. This is the story that emerged from one such confrontation.
With life-altering consequences.
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Preview Script:
You know, in ancient Egyptian culture, they used to say that the shadow was an extension of the soul, a piece of a person's kas. Why do I bring this up now? Well, bro, you asked me how I got to be like this. Before I tell you, I have to lay a little background, you know?
So, you know I'm a real party animal now, right? I fuckin' love to party.
But, bro, it wasn't always like that.
I used to be somebody, you know? I mean, like ... somebody else. Now, I'm ... well, I'm nobody, bro. Don't got any real identity of my own. I'm whatever ... this guy wants me to be.
Look, I can't tell you his name, all right? I told you, I'm not me anymore.
It started out at this party. Somebody thought it'd be fun to bring in some entertainment, including this guy who's what they call a shadow puppeteer.
I thought the guy must've been some sort of hypnotist or stage magician or something, too. Some sort of combo, you know? He started off with a basic show, using his hands, a few cutouts, stuff like that to narrate the story to some music.
Bro, I don't fucking care about the story. Sports and weights, bro. Sports and weights....
*Groan* Fuck, it's getting worse....
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To read the rest, subscribe to my Patreon in the three dollar tier. Just click this link to go to my page: https://www.patreon.com/omnitf
On further review of the original photo, I felt it was too risky to show the whole thing. The image was still chaste in nature, but it did show a clear outline of what lay beneath the fabric, even to the extent of showing some veins against it. I wasn’t comfortable with that, so I cropped the image.
Credit goes to @musclecorps for the original image. Thanks for posting images that inspire me to write, man! :D
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Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181323718642/endemic-evolution-chapter-5-doctor-barton-sighed
Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/617475185126277120/credit-to-asianhunks-x-for-these-images
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Endemic Evolution Chapter 6
“That’s right, Rante. No shame in taking a selfie. You earned that body. Flaunt it, little bro.”
The camera shutter went off. A grin spread over Rante’s face. “Damn,” he swore.
“See? Told ya. Feels pretty good, don’t it?” Kyle’s deep bassoon carried from the bedroom.
“I ... I didn’t even notice,” Rante said as he stared at his phone’s screen.
“Kinda the point, bro,” Kyle pointed out. His blond hair glinted in the light from the room’s fixtures as a football game on demand played in the background. “The more ya get swole, the more your meat gets swole. Malloy said not to question it, so I don’t.”
“Uh ... question what?” Rante asked.
Kyle chuckled. “Exactly, bro. Feels good being so thick and heavy, don’t it?”
“Yeah ... good....”
Kyle sneered as he walked in behind the doctor. “We’ll have you in proper gear in no time, little bro.” Rante’s breathing caught, and his eyes rolled briefly as he felt the presence of the towering muscle behemoth that Kyle had become. The man stood a full head taller, and his broad shoulders were nearly as wide as the doorway. Thick, beefy white arms dwarfed Rante’s toned and shredded ones. The doctor’s core flexed almost instinctively.
“Easy, bro. You don’t gotta show off around me. I know how it feels tryin’ to grow.” He chuckled. “You’ll be just fine. You just need a little more time at the gym is all.”
“A little more time....” Rante echoed in a distant voice.
“That’s right, little bro. Gym’s the place to be. Malloy wants us to be there.”
Rante let out a low moan. “At ... the gym?” he asked dazedly.
“S’right, little bro. At the gym. The gym is where we belong.” Kyle’s hand clapped firmly on Rante’s shoulder.
“Where we belong....” The cell phone clattered to the floor. Rante’s pecs bounced back and forth, back and forth. His arms twitched and tensed. His pants finished falling to the floor as he turned and stepped out of them in nothing more than his boxers. “I must go the gym. The gym is where I belong.”
Kyle grinned. “C’mon, little bro. I’ll show you the way.”
Rante followed shamelessly behind. He strode past the doctors in their hazmat suits. He strode past muscle men and meatheads and jocks and whatever other names he had once called them. That didn’t matter anymore. They were all going to the same place, after all. He paused briefly to stare at a much smaller Asian man. Rante furrowed his brow at the sight. He looked ... familiar. More big men in suits stood around him, and they looked to be reaching for tasers. Rante shrugged. He didn’t care. He locked eyes with the man and spoke. “You comin’?”
The man shuddered, but shook his head wordlessly, albeit weakly.
Rante shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he grunted. Then he lumbered after Kyle like a wayward puppy. Gradually, the thump of his feet on the carpet was joined by another pair, and then another, and another. Muscle touched muscle. Meat pressed against meat. Men marched together as the familiar warmth flooded their bodies and a mind-numbing pleasure surged through their brains.
Two behemoths pulled open the doors to the facility. The air was filled with the grunts of hard labor and exertion. When they passed through, Kyle turned and grinned. “Welcome home, bros.”
Rante didn’t think, couldn’t think as the words passed from his lips, and he knew they were true. “The gym is my home. I belong in the gym.”
He wasn’t sure where it came from. He wasn’t sure who started it. All he knew was that his chest was heaving, and the room was suddenly echoing over and over with the sound of dull vacuous laughter. They crashed together like ice in a blender. Different tones, different pitches, different voices. But slowly, they homogenized. High voices dropped. Low voices extended the length of their guffaws. Once weak and timid laughter pressed effortlessly out the diaphragm as the men engaged their cores
...
And let the meat do the work.
The piles of muscle by the door grinned knowingly at Kyle. Kyle made no effort of hiding his response. “Come on, bros. Let’s work out.”
Credit to @asianhunks-x for these images.
Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/617378326229762048/on-further-review-of-the-original-photo-i-felt-it
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Endemic Evolution Chapter 7
Lee breathed deeply as he stood in the pool and let the water lap over his body. The daily meditation allowed him a certain amount of peace as he dealt with the rapid rise in his libido and overall physical enhancement. He’d tried multiple things to slow the disease or whatever was at fault for the metamorphosis taking place. Burgers, fries, fried chicken, candy, gourmet desserts. No matter how greasy or fattening the food he ate, his body never once put on so much as an ounce of fat. No. What grew was far worse for his condition.
He braced himself as he brought his fists and thumbs together. The muscles in his arms and pectorals tensed. He forced the shudder back, using the cool waters in the pool to mitigate the effects of the increased blood flow he’d been facing. Unfortunately, the water was losing its edge of late. If anything, it felt more like his body was adapting to the cold, maybe even enjoying it. He hardly flinched when he entered the pool anymore.
Malloy had been more than accommodating when the doctors requested Lee be given permission to have exclusive use of the facility at certain times during the day. He was given three half hour intervals in which to use the facilities, meditate, and otherwise endeavor to calm his mind.
“Anything for my little bro,” Malloy had said.
Lee shook his head. “I’m not your little bro,” he muttered.
“Doctor Barton?”
Lee looked to the attending staff member and smiled tiredly. “Sorry. I was just thinking about Malloy.
“Sir, it’s best not to do that.”
“I know.” Lee shook his head. “Sometimes, the mind does things you don’t want it to, and you have to rebuke it like you would a child that pushed the rules too far.” He sighed. “How much longer do we have before we need to leave?”
“About another five minutes or so, Sir.”
Lee nodded. “Any more progress?”
“None that I’ve been told, Sir.”
“Frank, please stop calling me Sir. I’m not the head scientist here.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, but until you’re completely gone, you’re still technically one of our senior staff. Protocol dictates I address you as such.”
“Screw the protocols.” The waters churned as his legs thrust through them like oars breaking a current. He seized a proffered towel as he emerged. As usual, the fabric had been exposed to a variety of treatments to ensure it would kill or cleanse any foreign substances and bacteria. The speedo was easy to pat down, and he quickly transitioned to his arms, legs, and torso, rather than allow that particular piece of anatomy any potential edge in his struggle.
“I can’t, Sir.”
“Why?” Lee snarled. Heat surged through him almost instantly, and he swore.
“Because forming any sort of attachment to the patients may be an invitation to join them. I’m sorry, Sir. Really, I am. But this is an order from the top. Until we identify the culprit for this transformation, we have to keep as remote as we can.”
Lee was still angry, but he knew better than to allow that anger an outlet. He closed his eyes, concentrated, breathed, and pushed it into yet another box to store with the rest of the emotions he’d packed away. He couldn’t afford to let them out. Not if they exacerbated things. And from what he’d seen in the other patients, that’s exactly what would happen if he didn’t keep control. “Any results from our other tests? Nanoscopes, spectrometers, anything?”
His wet feet smacked heavily on the tile of the indoor portion of the pool as they strode to the exit and the waiting escort. A set of sound cancelling earplugs and muffs awaited him, along with a blindfold and a draping bathrobe to obscure his body and its changes. If the patients couldn’t see his changes, they often left him alone, rather than egging him on. The blindfold and sound tech were extra precautions.
“Nothing yet, Sir. I’m sorry. We’re still not any closer to finding out what causes this.”
He shrugged the robe into place and bound it. “Any effects on lab animals?”
Frank shook his head. The hazmat suit crinkled as his torso twisted ever so slightly.
“So that means either this disease effects only humans or it’s not a disease, as I postulated in the first place.” He frowned. “Have you considered a low-level EMP? If this is caused by something mechanical rather than biological, it might neutralize the effects on me and provide a means for us to treat the initial stages, if not the latter ones.
“I’ll take your suggestion into account, but it’s going to take some doing to convince any of the higher ups to use that kind of tech when we haven’t found any evidence to back it up.”
“We haven’t found a biological one either,” Lee pointed out. “And we’ve run almost every test we can think of. Occam’s Razor seems the best bet. If it’s not biological in nature, then there has to be a mechanical aspect somewhere. We just need to find it.”
“And if it’s not there?”
“Then the worst case scenario is I get exposed to harmless radiation. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been right now, despite my efforts not to be. I’m pretty sure I can take it.”
The blindfold was placed, the sound gear applied, and Lee was led back to his room, as he had been for the last several weeks. When he had been safely conducted, he removed each to face his team once again. “Do your best to get approval, Frank. Time is of the essence.”
Frank nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He frowned behind his face shield. “You should get some rest. Your eyes are getting baggy again, and the irritation is back.”
Lee sighed. “I guess you’re not the only one who has to see what he can do.”
“Insomnia again?”
“The price of resistance.” Lee chuckled. “I’ll be okay, Frank. Don’t worry. I’ll sleep tonight. You just focus on getting that approval. And report back to me in the morning.”
“If you’re sure....”
“I am, Frank. Thank you. All of you.” He handed the gear back to the men. “I’ll see you all in the morning for the next round of examinations and results.”
Then he closed his door and strode to his bathroom. True to Frank’s word, his eyes were puffy, and red veins of irritation scrabbled in intricate cracks along his sclerae. He sighed in resignation and turned to the shower. It was more of a short rinse with shampoo to lather up his hair and clear out the chlorine, followed by a quick shave. He knew what he needed to do. He just really hated to do it.
He turned off the water and toweled down, then strode into the bedroom to change into a new pair of underwear. Then he flopped onto his bed and pulled out his laptop. The light of his lamps filled the room with a cheerful warmth that raised goosebumps on his skin after the cold shower he’d taken.
“All right, I’ll let you have this round,” he said to his invisible opponent as he settled onto his bed and leaned against the pillows and cushioned headboard. The familiar tone of the computer booting up met him, and his fingers flew across the keyboard as he cued up the website on the hotel’s wi-fi.
His heart thundered as he typed in the address and was met with the familiar sight of a broad football field banner with two goal posts on either side.
Fantasy Football: Build Your League. Place Your Bets.
His fingers clacked rhythmically over the keyboard as he reviewed the stats of his roster and assigned the various players their roles for the duration of the season.
His typing gradually slowed. His eyelids finally began to droop. His head lolled. Occasionally, the phantom of music soundtracks would drift through his ears, as though some video were playing. Yet he found none, neither ad nor recap video.
As the darkness encroached beyond his ability to push it back, Rante’s deep bass lowed through his consciousness.
You comin’?
Suit yourself...
You comin’?
Suit yourself...
You comin’?
Suit yourself...
The familiar call of the quarterback from the last game he’d watched on demand rang through his skull.
Hike-hike!
Suit yourself...
You comin’?
Just before he lost all consciousness, a new voice emerged with a final edict.
Suit up, bro....
A low groan escaped Lee’s lips as he drifted, finally, into blissful slumber with the ghost of a fully uniformed football player hovering under his eyelids, the final shutter click of the night. “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....”
He never noticed the stubble growing back.
What next?
I just gave you the next installment in #Endemic Evolution. Now I’d like to hear from my followers. What would you like me to focus on next while I’m working on my patreon projects? Do you guys want another muscle tf? Maybe something different like an inanimate or mythical transformation? Did you want another hypnosis file? And if so, what would you like the file to focus on for your fantasy this time? Please respond to this using the talking bubble, rather than my asks. Thank you!
And thank you for all your support. I’m glad you enjoy my stories so much. :)
~Omni
Credit to @thingsthatcannotsaveyou for this image.
If you enjoy my work, please support me on Patreon. For a small donation every month, you help me to turn to writing full time and helping deliver more content to you all on a regular basis. Thank you for your help!
Sorry it took me so long to write this one. I asked my fans what they wanted next, and the most responses leaned toward something of a more mythical persuasion. So, I hope you all enjoy this lovely TF. I’m afraid it’s a long one, so this once, I’m going to use the read more function. Please click it and read all the way through. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.
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The Meadow
It’s been a while since I came here. I ... don’t really even remember anymore. I remember walking through the park and seeing this weird gate. It’s always been there. I mean, the posts were old and worn by the weather. And besides that, the grass had grown up all over the sides in clumps. The only strange thing about the gate was just that. It was only a gate, a small swinging wooden one, in the middle of nowhere. There was no fence, no wall, just ... the gate.
So, curious that I am, I finally worked up the courage to open the thing. Nothing seemed all that out of the ordinary until I stepped through.
Ever heard of that premise of stepping through into another world? I think it’s called ... um ... hmm ... I don’t recall. That ... should worry me, but it doesn’t. It’s just so ... content here in this place. Peaceful.
Does it ... really even matter that I don’t remember? I know it used to, but now ... now I’m not so sure.
I do remember closing the gate. There was a sign there. Something that asked me to close it again after, rather than leaving it open. I complied by pulling it shut behind me. I didn’t realize what that gate was until after I’d already let go of the wood. It rattled like the door of a paddock, and suddenly there was a fence behind me. And green, verdant forests beyond. Groves that were lush and dark, tantalizingly so. I could smell the fresh scent of wet grass and wildflowers in bloom. The wind carried no signs of the city I had been in. No car horns blared. No motors roared. No dump trucks clanked as they seized their loads and chucked trash into their crushing jaws.
A ... compactor. Is that what they were called? How strange. We have no need of such things here. So, there’s no need to focus on them. No real need to remember. They’re loud and obnoxious and smell bad. It is better without them. It is better here in the field, in the meadow beneath the sun.
I remember the smell of manure. It was strong at first. I followed the fence boundary for a while, letting my nose do the directing. And eventually, I came to another boundary where the fence broke off. The lowing of cows greeted me. There was a large barn in the distance, and I watched, leaning on the fence, as someone led a bull out of the opening. It lumbered slowly and swayed almost drunkenly under the care of its handler.
I know I should have felt alarmed at this. There were no farms in the town limits. No pasture like this. Definitely no ranches. But ... I don’t know. I suppose I felt ... muted somehow. That part of me, I mean. There wasn’t fear or worry, just ... curiosity, like in a dream.
I remember the herd lowing, the figure turning to look at me. He was too far off to really get much of a proper image. I just know he was big based on the outline I could see. He led the bull toward a cow, then untied its nose ring, patted its side gently, pulled something off its back, and strode to me.
By this point, I was convinced I was in some kind of dream. The closer the figure drew, the larger it became, and the more prevalent the smell of cattle. Finally, I craned my neck to look the male in the eye.
You would have called him a creature. I do not feel it right to say such things about him. He is kind. He cares for his herd. He is a good keeper. At the time, I did not understand this. All I understood was the strangeness of it all. He held the cloth bunched in one hand, but I recognized the iconic green face that wrinkled in his grip. He carried the remnants of a Star Wars shirt. Why a bull would have that on it, I didn’t know. It’s possible the cloth was just being used as a rag. I believe that’s how I rationalized it at the time.
As rational as one can be when they think they are dreaming.
He spoke to me in a soft, deep voice. His torso was bared to the world, and it was carpeted in a rich coppery coat of short bristly fur. His beastly muzzle contorted easily to form the words, and a pair of polished horns sprouted on either side of his head to rise high in the air. The weight caused his head to bow ever so slightly. Or perhaps that was merely because of the size of his shoulder muscles by his neck. Bulls are built very stout, you know, even the ones that walk on two legs.
“Well now, isn’t this a treat? Don’t see many of you folk round these parts anymore. Don’t think anyone’s visited that there meadow for ...” He frowned. “Not sure how long, really. Where’s Admentos?”
“Who?”
“Admentos. Your caretaker. He usually greets stallions like you at the gate. Never known him to be late before.”
“Stallion?” I gaped disbelievingly at him. But then again, this was a dream. Or so I thought at the time.
“Admentos handles horses. I handle cattle. We both take care of farming and herding.” He shrugged his titanic shoulders. I couldn’t help but note the fact he had dark hoof tips on his fingers. “S’why we’re neighbors. Someone’s got to work the land.”
“Aren’t there machines for that?”
The wood splintered under his tightened grip. “We don’t got machines here, and we don’t want ‘em.”
I backed away, startled at the sudden change in his demeanor.
The bull man shuddered and took a deep breath. Then the tension left his body, and he released his grip on the fence. I could still see the imprints left by his fingers.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to scare you, big fellah.”
Off in the distance, the bull had coupled itself with the cow. I quickly looked away and blushed heavily. The bull man looked back and smiled.
“Good to see him settling in. Herd’ll treat him right, I’m sure. As for you...” He frowned. “S’not like Admentos to be late.” He leaped over the fence, and thick powerful hooves clopped heavily on my side of the property. “C’mon, Fellah. Let’s go find him.”
“What?”
“The owner. My friend? He takes care of this plot of land. It’s his territory. I’m not generally one to trespass, but I got a little leeway, seein’ as we’re on such good terms.”
I looked over the long green grass as a breeze spread the sheen of the sun like a wave. And just like the ocean, there was no end in sight. The fence and forest stretched like a shoreline over an otherwise unbroken expanse.
“Big acres,” I muttered.
The bull man shrugged. “Herds need a lot of space.” He pulled an apple from ... I don’t know where and offered it to me. “Hungry?”
“Uh, ... thanks,” I said hesitantly as I took it from him.
“No problem.” He shrugged. “I like to spoil y’all every once in a while. Think of this as a sort of apology for startlin’ ya.” He chuckled. “Admentos’d skin me alive if he knew I had. Some of his herd takes a while to calm down again. They can be excitable.”
“... I’ll bet.” I looked down at the apple and buffed it as best I could against my shirt. The bull man watched me intently, and ... well, I didn’t want to cause offense, so I took a bite.
I nearly dropped the apple. Juice dribbled down my chin, and I lapped it up almost without thinking. It was sweet. It was delicious. And it had just a hint of tartness to balance it out for a smooth ride that left me tingly all over. I’d always had a hankering for apples, but this, this was the best apple I’d ever tasted in my life. My world shrank around the experience, and for the briefest of moments, I think I finally understood what foodies and food critics meant about finding that perfect dish.
The apple was gone before I knew it, and I blinked in surprise at the core that now lay in the palm of my hand. When I finally processed what it was, I looked almost sheepishly at the bull man. “Is it all right if I toss this?”
He raised a brow, but shrugged. “If you want. S’not like it’ll cause any harm.”
I threw it away. And it was only then that I realized we were surrounded by the meadow. I couldn’t see the forest, and I couldn’t see the fence where we’d been walking. My eyes widened. “What the...?”
The bull man chuckled. “Finally noticed, huh? You were too wrapped up in that there apple. Didn’t want to ruin it for you.” He smiled kindly. “We’re almost there now. Should be just over that rise.”
I was surprised to feel the beginnings of a slope pushing against my feet. I had to lean forward to keep my balance as we began our ascent. It didn’t take too long before we were staring down at a reasonably sized farmhouse and a large old-fashioned red barn. The occasional whinny or sputter would carry on the wind from the various horses that trotted around the area, almost like a patrol. Others were busy rolling their backs on the cool grass. I couldn’t help but smile as fond memories of rolling down hills as a child replayed in my head.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
I nodded my agreement as we shuffled and sidestepped our way down. One of the horses immediately rushed at us. The bull man stepped in front of me and held up his hands when the stallion reared.
“Whoa there, Thunder. We ain’t here to cause no trouble. Just lookin’ for Admentos.”
The horse tossed its head and whinnied.
“Now don’t give me that. You know I don’t come uninvited ‘less there’s a reason. And I do have a reason, a darn good one. Now where is he?”
The stallion sputtered and pawed at the turf.
“Busy where?”
I felt like I was in the middle of Old Yeller, only the dog had been replaced with a horse. I swatted casually at a fly that had decided to roost on my arm. Darn sucker nearly bit me.
I heard what I thought might have been a groan and frowned in concentration. It took me a few seconds and some extra groans before I pinpointed it at the barn. I pointed. “Uh...”
The two continued to argue with one another.
“Hey.”
Again, I was ignored as the bull man began to tell the stallion off. At this point, the groans had turned to a loud cry, and my heart beat fast in my chest. “Hey, bull man!” I shouted. That drew both the stallion’s attention and my escort’s. I pointed at the barn. “I think you’ll find your answer in there.” I winced as another scream pierced my ears. They almost seemed to twitch in sympathy, though I was sure it was just a muscular response from years of practice. I took a great deal of pride in how I could make my ears wiggle in my younger years.
The stallion glared flatly, almost hatefully at me, as if I’d caused some grave offense. I glared back. “Listen, you jackass. I just got hauled to god knows where out of nowhere, met a literal scientific impossibility, and now I hear someone in pain. I am not in the mood for dealing with a pretentious jerk when someone needs help. This is my dream, not yours. Now shut up and move aside.”
The horse ran to cut me off. I wasn’t having it. I snatched its ear and twisted hard when he missed biting my fingers. Don’t know how I knew it’d work, but it did. The horse squealed and dropped to its belly. My body surged with exultation and my teeth clacked as I yanked and forced it to look me in the eyes with one of its orbs. “I’m glad we understand each other. You can follow us if you want, but you will not interfere. Got it?”
The stallion tried to bite me again. I twisted harder.
“Got it?”
I loosened one of the buttons on my shirt as the horse squealed softly through gritted teeth and a tear spilled down its cheek. “Good.” It’s difficult to say exactly what happened after. I certainly felt breathless when I got to the barn door, but I don’t remember whether I ran or not. There was a beautiful white horse lying on the floor, and the cries were coming from her. Her stomach was swollen way beyond anything I’ve seen in a horse before, but what really took me by surprise were two things. The fact I heard a very human voice coming from it, and the fact that the man tending so feverishly to her happened to have the lower body of a horse.
The bull swore. “Dekára, Admentos, why didn’t you call me?” Rough hands shoved me aside as the bull man approached and got to his knees. “How long has she been in labor?”
Admentos had shiny black hair that flowed like a mane down his back. The brown fur from his horse body rode up his torso in a trail that was emphasized by the patches of white fur on his wrists and elbows. Like his neighbor, the man was exceptionally well built with muscles to match the size of his breed, which happened to be a Clydesdale. Sweat gave his body an unusual gleam, and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. “Six hours. She’s in a lot of pain. I’ve had to keep a close eye on her to stop her from hurting herself.”
“Twins?”
Admentos nodded grimly. “The pregnancy's been vary hard on her.” Then he looked at me. “When did he come?” he asked.
“Not long ago. He wandered to the fence. We had a chat, and then I brought him here.” He chuckled. “Thunder’s going to have competition.”
“What did he do to Thunder?” Admentos held the mare’s head carefully and stroked her neck gently.
The bull man grinned. “Twisted his ear. I’m telling you, that stallion’s a fighter. I think he’ll be good for your herd.”
“So long as he’s not a blowhard. I don’t need another swollen head.”
“Is she going to make it?” I asked. It was perhaps the first time I had spoken since arriving at the barn. My shirt felt unusually tight, and the blood flow from what I assume was running left everything else feeling like it was getting shoved in a sausage sleeve. My waist felt like it was getting squeezed by a vice.
Admentos shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Another scream. I winced.
The mare tossed and turned, nipping at her flanks, beating her stomach, and otherwise squirming and shifting around.
“What’s she doing?”
“Trying to get the foals in alignment. Once they’re ready to broach, the rest of the delivery should go smoothly.
This time, when she screamed, I understood what she was saying. “Get them out of me! It hurts! It hurts so much!”
Admentos brushed her head comfortingly. “You’re doing great, Fria. Hold on.”
She nickered weakly and sobbed. “I’m so tired.”
“Just a little longer,” Admentos assured her. She screamed again. This time, there was a gush of fluid out her rear.
“Thank the Dagda,” Admentos breathed. “She’s finally ready.”
The hard part of the delivery was over in about a half an hour, maybe a little more, since there were two foals to deal with. We gave her the necessary space at Admentos’ insistence, though he noted a close watch would need to be kept on them, and extra milk would be needed for both foals to receive the nutrients and antibodies to survive.
Admentos was the only one allowed to approach the new family. He didn’t want to risk startling the mare when she was so exhausted, especially since she still had the afterbirth to worry about.
I was led out of the barn by the bull man, and he introduced himself as Adras. We walked to the farmhouse together, and he explained how this place worked.
“Y’see, folk like you, well, I guess you could say you’re sort of special. You see what most folk don’t. Dunno whether it’s belief, blood, or somethin’ else, but y’all find your way here to our turf. S’not always the meadow or m’ranch. There’s lots of places. Lots of caretakers.” Adras opened the door, one of those swing-style two-part things with a big bulky latch to hold it in place. Adras undid them both easily and opened the way for us to step inside.
The floor was soft grass that seemed almost to give a little as I stepped over it. It wasn’t quite like a mattress, but it was fairly close. I didn’t see any signs of a refrigerator. Instead, the room was full of jars and other tools and knickknacks. Different jars were labeled with pictures and words both to help differentiate them. Flour, honey, butter, bread, cream, milk, and so on.
When I looked up, I could see the open sky stretching just above the rafters as they faded into it, and I gaped. It was like something out of Harry Potter. The two stories outside were more for show. The building itself was all one floor, just built with a much taller ceiling. To make it comfortable for guests, Adras explained to me. Given his size, I could relate to that statement. Everything in the house seemed to be designed with big bodies in mind. Given the fact the caretaker was a centaur who had what I assumed to be a minotaur friend, it sort of had to be.
He handed me a couple of the ones with a horse head and a milk bottle printed next to each other on them. “Here. Carry these.” I was shocked to be able to carry even one of them, given the ominous scrape the vessels made when tehy were lifted up. But I was too startled to say no. When he gave me a second, I shrugged. Once I had my arms around them, the things didn’t feel so heavy.
Adras nodded. “Thought you were a worker.”
I frowned at that. “What do you mean?”
He grabbed a few more ingredients, including a bag of feed, and started walking. The door was left open behind us, but he didn’t seem to care. My hands were too full to really do anything, so I just followed behind. “Just that. You’re carrying those vessels, aren’tcha?” He chuckled. “Bet you could carry more, too, if you’d a mind to.”
I blushed. “They’re not that heavy....”
He grinned and ruffled my hair with a free hand. “That’s the spirit.” Then he smacked ... patted(?) my shoulder. I thought I was going to stumble, but he must’ve held back. Either that or I somehow instinctively knew how to brace myself. I’m ... not sure which.
By the time we got back to the barn, my skin felt like it was crawling, not like a spider on your skin, kind of crawl, more like that tingling sort of wave that spreads over sometimes when you have a strong feeling or hear the right kind of sound, you know? I crouched and lowered the vessels near Admentos.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
“No problem,” I replied. Had to clear my throat for part of it. My voice cracked midway. He just smiled at my docility and handed me an apple. “I’m afraid this is all I have to offer as a reward for now.” He chuckled. “It’ll be a while before I’m free to help you with anything else, but you’re welcome to stay here till things settle in properly.”
I bit greedily into the apple. It tasted even better than the last one. I hardly even noticed the strange wording he’d used. “I can live with that.” The heavy clop of Admentos’ hooves echoed in my ears as I ate. The smell of the manure and other horse smells was strong at first, but I got used to it. Felt like I was breathing more and more of it the longer I stood there. My chest just kept inflating. My teeth ground the apple to mush. Then I swallowed. It felt peaceful here, calm. I kind of liked that.
Adras wrapped a burly arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Champ. Let’s get you out of here.”
The big stallion from earlier sputtered at Adras, tossed his head, then nickered when we stepped out of the barn.
“She’s fine, big fellah. You should be proud. Two foals. Admentos is looking after her now. Probably gonna be a while before he lets you in to see her.”
The horse gazed flatly at me. I returned the gaze calmly and took another bite out of my apple. “We going to have any more problems?”
The horse continued to stare at me.
“He expecting something from me?” I asked.
Adras chuckled. “Sizing up the competition. Ol’ Thunder here don’t like gettin’ showed up.”
“And he expects me to be a threat?”
“You handled him, didn’t you?”
“On an impulse, because this is a dream, or at least feels like one.” I shrugged. “Read that’d work in a book somewhere. He was being a jerk. If he’s not a jerk, we won’t have any problems.” I looked at the horse. “Sound good, Thunder?”
The stallion sputtered, reared, boxed at the air with his forelegs, then turned and ran off.
Adras smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Always gotta show off, don’t ya?” He chuckled. “He’ll probably be back at you again later, but you’ve shown you can handle yourself. I don’t think he’ll be much more than an inconvenience.”
I nodded and raised my hand to take another bite, only to find the apple was gone. Had I really eaten it all already? And what had happened to the core?
Adras smiled, walked over to a hill, and leaned back against the slope. “Might as well get settled in. S’gonna be a while before Admentos comes out. Besides, this here’s good country, old country. Folk like you don’t get the chance to really enjoy this kind of thing that often. Not anymore, anyway.”
I followed his example and kicked back on the grass. The coolness of the surface sent a pleasurable chill over my skin through the fabric. I couldn’t help but stretch and groan as my back arched. I squirmed to eek out as much pleasure as I could. And like an eel, my back contorted and twisted with me. In time, it became less about finding comfort and more about just ... being in the moment, enjoying the sensation. It was almost like that feeling you get when you’re scratched on your scalp enough times that it just sort of tingles repeatedly. And I felt that I wanted, maybe even needed, more of that.
The sun shone down on me, and my skin baked, thickening as my body soaked up the rays. The whinnies of the horses rang in my ears as my groans of pleasure became deep and, pardon the pun, hoarse nickers. I didn’t care when my shirt began to tear. I did care with the tightness of my waistband and pants. Seriously, they were cutting off my circulation. I ... think Adras had something to do with fixing that. Either he cut them off or ... broke them down to their base components somehow? I don’t know.
Thinking back on it, I ... sort of remember what it was like when my hands changed? Not exactly, though. I know my hands merged into a solid hoof each, and that they weighted heavily on my wrists until they became a proper pair of pasterns. The feathers that sprouted tickled against my chest. And the smells! The whole meadow seemed to seep through my nostrils and into my chest in one go. It felt ... liberating, I suppose. I breathed again.
And again.
And again.
By the time I was done really giving my back a proper roll in the grass, I didn’t have hands anymore.
Or feet.
Or ... very much of anything human, really. I felt ... different is the best way I can describe it. I wasn’t exactly shocked. It was like I was ... muted to an extent. And maybe I was. Maybe the apples had something to do with what was going on.
I remember rolling to my front and jumping up on all fours. The ground didn’t shake, but I could feel the sheer weight of my body as I landed. I saw the huge muzzle that now protruded where my face had once been. And ... I was disoriented seeing things from such a wide view. I could see ... almost everything. My new tail swayed behind me to smack at the bugs that had started to gather. I looked ahead, and there Adras was, only ... shorter. The two of us were a lot closer in height now. It hurt when he came closer. His body got blurry. If it weren’t for his voice and the smell of apples, I think I would’ve bolted then and there.
“Yup, you’re definitely gonna be a stud.” He patted my shoulder. There was no pain or pressure this time. My legs took the weight. My hooves channeled the vibration, what little I felt, into the ground. I nickered in discomfort, and he ... I guess he smiled? Maybe? He sounded apologetic, at least. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Can’t really focus too well up close, can you?”
My lips curled against my will as he ran his hands over my head and down my nose. It felt ... very soothing.
“No need to worry, though. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” he prompted. “We can just relax and be ourselves.”
My gut churned. My eyes hooded as I stared into the blur and just ... let things go. I suppose that’s when my pupils would have adapted, gotten that blurry rectangle we’re supposed to have. When I came to, I felt ... relieved. A new smell that was and yet wasn’t familiar wafted into my nose.
Again came the pat and the praise.
This time. it wasn’t an apple that I got, but something else he put against my lips. The flappers seized the thing immediately, and my mouth came alive with an explosion of pure delight, followed by an intense rush of awareness. Before I could stop myself, I was nosing Adras. I wanted more.
The bull man chuckled. “Easy there, Champ.”
I nickered in annoyance and nosed him again. He knew what I wanted. And i knew he could understand me. He looked at me critically, then frowned as he bent to look beneath me.
“Still got a little of the old you left, huh?” He frowned. “Not gonna stud like that.”
I looked inquiringly at him. My body language was more than enough to ask with how my ears twitched and my head cocked to the side.
He chuckled. “Don’t you worry none. You’ll grow into it soon enough. Just need a nice mare to get to know.”
“Mare?” The word was choked out of vocal cords that really didn’t want to speak like a human.
“Big stud like you’s gotta get all that mass from somewhere, you know.” He chuckled again. Then he was stroking my chin, my throat, my head behind the ears. I couldn’t help but shudder and enjoy.
Next time I spoke, I couldn’t make a single human sound. “Why do I feel so okay with this?” That’s what I’d wanted to say, at least. The question seemed to translate.
“Because you’re a horse.”
“But I’m not.”
He shrugged. “Sure y’are. Had you pegged the minute you trotted to the fence. You’re one of the biggest Clydesdales I ever did see. You must’ve been a hard worker back in that there city. Now you can help in the fields and the trees. Could always use another set of hooves at the plow.”
I couldn’t shrug, so I tossed my mane instead and sputtered. That didn’t sound so bad, really. The more he talked about it, the more I found myself liking the idea. Something about his voice, I think. It’s just so ... casual, relaxing. It just sort of gets in there and sticks. And boy, did I take to it like a champ. I guess you could say I was born for it, big Puka like me.
I still remember the day I gave up the last of my humanity. As usual, Adras was right. And Admentos wanted to reward me for the help I’d given. Turns out Admentos is the real leader of the herd. Thunder was just jealous and trying to protect his claims and privileges. But his breed wasn’t the only one that needed to be reproduced.
The first time, I was overwhelmed by the experience. That mare got in whiffing distance, and my whole body lit up. You’ve heard the phrase about balls dropping before. This was swelling, then dropping, and finally knocking it out of the park.
I felt different after that. I could still recall things about my old home, but ... they didn’t seem so important to me anymore. My essence, my being, that had been left behind in the city. I was something, someone different. My old name is long gone. I ... think Admentos might have taken it, but I don’t mind. I like being Champ. Things are simple here, and I like it simple. I graze when I’m hungry. I drink when I’m thirsty. I work when I’m called, and I mate when I feel the need. With the mare’s consent, of course. I’m not a monster.
Adras and I still chat from time to time at the fence, and he always has an apple ready for me. Sometimes, we make a contest of seeing who can plow their patch of land faster. There are times where he asks why I don’t try walking on two legs again or taking a form like Admentos, but honestly, I don’t really want to. I’m faster and stronger this way. That’s enough for me.
Have I seen the gate since? I can’t say that I have. I think ... maybe it only appears when a new member of the herd is ready to join us. But what do I know? I’m just a humble work horse. Home is the meadow with the herd, running free in the wind, playing with the others, caring for the mares and foals. Sometimes, we sleep in stalls. But no matter where we are, the herd is never too far apart.
I dream of the old place some nights, the old life, that gate, the room where I used to sleep on the short rough grass and the hay bales that creaked under my weight. There is no fresh breeze there. And it is tight, confined. There is no room to run or move. I would need to be blindfolded and led to keep from bucking my way out. As I said, I do not like that closed sensation. How humans can bear it, I will never understand.
It is far better to be a horse.
Far better to live in the wild and the open.
You’ll see soon enough, if you haven’t already begun to.
Trust me, colt. You’ll soon wonder if you were ever human in the first place.
Now, then, what was that name of yours again? Ah, yes....
Credit to @willpeter for this image.
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Cracks
You know how deserts get all dry and craggy, sometimes? Like, you know, an old riverbed that dries up, and then the clay gets baked under the sun. It’s hard, bro. Super packed. Dense. But when all that sun hits it, all that heat, the moisture just ... disappears. And because of that, the ground literally breaks apart.
It’s a cool effect and all. I just ... didn’t expect it to happen to me.
Nah, bro. I’m cool. I’m not dehydrated or anything like that. I mean ... well, let me start from the beginning. While I can still think straight.
See, I didn’t used to be this muscle man you see now. I used to be smarter, maybe a little pudgy even. I’d play videogames, watch anime, read books, do stuff that ... I guess used to matter’s the best way I can put it. They still do to other people, but to me, they just ... don’t anymore.
I found this old shirt in a bargain bin when I was looking for some new bed clothes. I knew I could never rock it outside, but in my house....
Well, what bro doesn’t fantasize about being a muscular beast, bro?
And it draped the way I always liked with night shirts.
So, here’s what happens, bro. I take this big thing home and I sleep with it, right? And the first night I’m wearing it, I have this dream, like ... totally awesome. I’m in a huge jungle with thick trees that shoot for miles and miles into the sky. Lots of leaves branch out in the canopy, and it’s green as far as the eye can see. I’m standing next to this giant lake, and I smile and dive in. It feels so good with all that heat and humidity to have something wet on my skin. And I walk out in the end, and I’m smiling.
I laugh. It feels nice. And then, I wake up. My arms feel sore, but I blame that on the carrying I had to do the day before. Don’t know why I did it, but bro, when I went to my bathroom mirror, I flexed there. Just stood and looked at myself and flexed. I guess I liked to imagine what I’d look like with all that muscle, bro. You know what I mean? Like, what it’d be like to actually be a real Mister America.
I posed until I felt dizzy. Finally, I got into the shower and got ready for the day.
But bro, Idunno, something about this shirt is just ... addicting. I had to wear it, bro. Like, as soon as I got home, I was itching to put it on again, to imagine it draping over my pecs, my stomach, brushing my back as I move with broad muscular legs that let the world know I was a heavy muscle bro.
The dreams kept coming, and I kept flexing every morning. Some days, it was my arms that ached. Sometimes my chest. Sometimes, my legs. I liked the fantasy of it. I didn’t care how weird it was that the dream kept repeating. Bro’s gotta do his reps, after all, am I right? Huhuhuh.
The real changes didn’t start till one day when I was at work, though. One of my old work buddies looked real hard at me while I was at my work station. And I could just ... feel his eyes on me the whole time. It was kind of creepy. Then at lunch, he up and comes to me and compliments me! He even asked me if I’ve been working out lately.
Now, I was surprised, bro, like, taken off guard, ya know? So, ... I couldn’t help it, bro, and it was normal, it really was. I just sort of went, “Uhhhhhhhhhhh....” without even thinking about it. I mean, I followed it up. I wasn’t stupid or anything. And I’m still not stupid, just ... thinking different is all. But yeah, I was just like, “Uh, no...?”
Bro raised a brow at me. “Then you’ve got to share your diet with me, man.”
I shrugged. “No diet. I’m just ... doing what I always do.” I blushed. I mean, it was the first positive compliment of that sort I’d ever gotten. I’d been complimented on office work and the good I’d done there. But, never for my body.
It was ... nice.
...
Nah, bro. It was fuckin’ sweet!
And I wanted more.
That night, I took a real close look at myself in the mirror. And, come to think of it, the bro was right. I did look different. It wasn’t much. A little less chub under the chin, a little more neck between the shoulders, a little less flab to jiggle around my arms when I shook them. It was all there.
And I wanted more.
Sorry, did I already say that, bro? Yeah, I do that a lot lately. I’m ... kind of a dumbass. Huhuh. But bro, it’s totally worth the tradeoff.
That night, when I slept, I was still in the forest, but things were ... different. It wasn’t so humid anymore, and the trees looked a little ... wilty. Not the ones by the water, but the ones that were farther away. I swam again. It didn’t concern me. What mattered was enjoying the dream. And besides, I’d sort of started a routine, you know?
Speaking of routines, I started working out a little. I mean, if I could look like this without doing anything, imagine what I might be able to do if I put a little more effort into it, you know?
So, I did. I started small. A few pushups, some situps, things to strengthen my core and upper body. Legs were tough, but I managed with some squats to start.
And bro, when I did, I blew up!
Like, I never knew sweat could feel so good, you know? I mean, yeah, it’s kind of gross if you don’t shower after, but it reminded me of the lake. The sheen, the ache, the growth.
I started to enjoy flexing in the mirror. Especially when I started to fill out the shirt the right way.
I still remember the first crack. I was flexing in front of the mirror, double bis, and suddenly, I saw it. a vein stretching out from one of the cracks in the shirt. It was perfectly aligned. And ... Idunno, there was something just so ... funny about it. I couldn’t help it. The laugh just sort of ... slipped out.
...
And wouldn’t stop.
“Huhuhuhuhuh....”
I was hooked. I had the potential. I could be that guy! I mean, who wouldn’t be happy with that, m’I right?
It wasn’t much but with what I had saved, I was able to buy some used weights and a squat rack.
I kept them in the back of the house in a mud room of sorts. Lots of open lighting through the windows, but still sheltered from the rain, so I could work out uninterrupted.
Man, I loved to sweat.
And every night, that pool was so refreshing, even as the forest around me got smaller, and smaller, and the air got hotter. In about a month, the dream transitioned from rain forest paradise to desert oasis.
The ground hardened, like my abs. The cracks spidered like my veins. The green died.
And that’s when things started to be ... different for me.
Dunno what came over me, bro. I just ... got up from my computer and lumbered to my manager’s office. By now, I’d made some sweet gains. had to up my wardrobe size to make up for the guns that were stocking up on ammo, if you know what I’m sayin’.
The manager looked at me. I ... think his name was ... Charles? Chuck? ... Something with a C. Don’t matter, really. I didn’t see him again. I strode up to him, flexed to the point where I shredded my sleeves, then said in my new, deep, dull voice.
“I quit, bro.”
And then I walked out. I just ... had to go. I don’t know why. It was ... natural.
I grabbed my stuff, cleared out my space. Last thing I did was tear off the rest of the sleeves to show off my guns properly.
Sleeves suck, bro. They try to keep my bod in check. Bod’s gotta gro, bro. Gotta show it off, ya know?
And bro, did I show off. I walked out in that scorching sun and my skin baked to golden brown perfection.
I looked in that mirror and I watched the cracks spread with every hour I spent pumping those weights, doing those squats, sweating and swelling, bro. Sweating and swelling.
Trapped by my traps. Captivated by my calves. Pumped by my pecs. Lured by my lats. Mesmerized by my muscle.
Bound by my big, buff bod.
I couldn’t think of anything else. I couldn’t do anything else.
My favorite bed shirt became my favorite shirt, period. More and more, I feel ... right wearing it. Like it was meant for me, and I was meant for it, you know?
S’like, huhuh, like it made me, instead of the other way round, you know, bro?
Funny, right, bro?
The clothes make the man.
Huhuh.
But if this shirt’s wearin’ me, bro, well ... I don’t care. Let it.
Huhuhuh...
I like bein’ big. I like bein’ swole.
And bro, when the oasis is finally dry, and all I see is that cracked earth, I’ll know.
I’ll know I’m ready.
So what if the oasis was my smarts? I got what I need right here, bro.
BAM! BAM!
Huhuhuh....
Gonna compete, bro. Gonna win, bro.
’Cause I’m gonna be fuckin’ Mister America, bro.
But I could use an assistant.
Wanna help a bro out, lil’bro?
I promise I’ll make it worth your while....
Just look at my shirt a sec, bro, and ask yourself this question.
Doesn’t it feel so very, very hot?
Huhuhuhuh.... That’s a good bro. C’mon. We’ve got training to do.
Consequences (A Sequel Story) Patreon Preview
Credit for the images used in this story go to tumblr users: heavy-package, sneak40xxl, fitaestheticguys, and bb3527.
For the prequel, follow this link to my public gallery: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/31525732/
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The following is a patreon preview using each of the above images as part of the captioned story to tie the narrative together. I highly recommend you pledge to my patreon to view the whole story. It’s a very good one.
When the main character accidentally says the wrong insult to his trainer in the heat of the moment, he reaps the whirlwind. This is his journey to become a true muscle gorilla. Please, enjoy the snippet below, and pledge to my patreon to view the full story.
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I still can hardly believe it.
I mean, I was just angry. I never meant to attack the guy's species. I thought it was a commonly accepted term!
Now goosebumps are crossing over my flesh as I wait here for the clothes that will be my uniform for the foreseeable future.
To make a long story short, I opened my big mouth and said something that could clearly be deemed hate speech in the presence of no less than ten gym goers. A few days later, I'm being served with a subpoena from a monkey in a suit. He bore himself with a rigid posture as he adjusted his red silk tie and passed me the summons. His tail swayed gently behind him.
It was literally a monkey in a monkey suit.
But I knew better than to add gas to the fire when I was already in hot water, especially when there was a lid hovering over my head to trap me inside. I could already hear the iron clang of bars echoing by the time I arrived in the actual court room.
It boiled down to three options. I could go to jail, pay a huge fine (including damages and expenses to the plaintiff), or the third option offered as a compromise by my oh-so-merciful victim.
I didn't have the money to pay for the court fines, and there was no way I was going to jail. So, naturally, I had to take the third choice.
I'm sentenced to live and follow the lifestyle of a gorilla for the duration of what would be my prison sentence.
In other words, I'm legally required to walk in the plaintiff's metaphorical shoes.
That's right. I get to be just like Lance, sleeveless tank top and all.
Credit to @brosandbiceps for this image.
If you like my writing, please join my patreon and help me to write full time for all of you. And don’t worry. The experimental hypnosis file will be coming. I just have to finish some other obligations first. But until then, I wanted to write something quick for you all to enjoy. Keep being safe during the pandemic, guys! We can make it through!
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Smug as a Thug
So, this all started one day after my shirt got torn at school. I had to go to the lost and found to make it through the rest of the day, but all they had was this wife beater, see.
The thing was old and white, the traditional stereotype you usually find for this kind of wear. It showed off my arms, and I was uncomfortable with that, because, well, you know, I didn’t used to look like this, now did I?
But no need to worry. You could say I grew to like it.
I turned it into a night shirt.
And that’s when the weird stuff started happening.
I’d always wake up all sweaty in the morning. And when I had to eat, boy did I eat. I mean, I was like a living garbage disposal! Of course, I understand why now. I mean, look at this mug. Look at this bod.
I’m a ladykiller, and I like it that way.
...
That felt so good to say. I ... I, uh ... fuck....
Damn, my voice just dropped.
It’s the shirt, see. It’s ... well, it’s gotta be. It’s changing me. But ... damn, do I like these changes. Been growin’ hair up the wazoo with these muscles. Gotta show those ladies how much of a MAN I am.
Mmmm... Yeah.
A big, burly man.
A MAN’S man.
Mmph ... been recording myself at night to find out what’s goin’ on. Turns out I’m working out in my sleep. Never heard of that before. Didn’t even think it was possible, but there it is.
And ... I look at myself in the footage and I can’t help it. I ... I need more.
I need to show off.
I need to prepare.
To prepare for....
Something.....
I, uh ... I got this necklace the other day. Thought it’d fit with the whole aesthetic of the gear, y’nkow?
Makes me look like a fuckin’ douche, but ... I like looking like a douche. I want to show off now. It’s ... It’s like I’ve been programmed to do it, if that makes sense.
Like this shirt is driving me.
Ain’t that a funny thought? Clothes making a person.
Huhuh.
Funny.
Anyway, I gotta go after I take this pic. I got class.
Well, yeah, of course I dropped out of high school. I’m talking the School of Hard Knocks.
Da boss is expectin’ me. Says I’m makin’ real progress as a guido. Don’t gotta think as a guido. Just gotta pump up and be ready to fight.
I can’t help but grin at the thought now. Boss helped me see how fun it is to flex and intimidate.
Personally, I prefer makin’ more ... intimate contact. Gets the message across a lot faster, know what I’m sayin’? There’s nothing quite like a little ... networking to grease the gears on business.
He said I could bring a friend.
Wanna come?
You just have to wear this here uniform....
Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image. If you like this story, please consider joining my patreon. For just $3 a month, you get exclusive access to meathead, muscle, hypnosis, and other transformations and story content that you won’t find anywhere else. The more patrons I get, the more time I’ll be able to spend writing for y’all, instead of job hunting. Check it out. And thanks in advance. Now that the self-advertisement is over, I bring you another story. Please note it is semi-hypnotic. While not intended as a script, it may have the same effects as one. Read at your own discretion and be careful to avoid driving or operating heavy machinery. You have been warned. I am not responsible for any bad results that may follow.
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Locker Jocker
You see those doors? Yeah, I’m talking about the lockers. I’m not stupid, bro. Just ... different. I used to be like you. Nosy, smart, self-centered. Well, I still am that last one.
Huhuh. Yeah, bro. I’m cocky. What’d you expect? Got a lot to be cocky about with a bod like this. You think I’m juicin’, right? No way I could get this way on my own. Tryin’ to find evidence.
See, bro, I used to be like you. I used to hate big guys like me. And I get it. Really, I do. I’m a cocky fucker who loves to show off and teach people just how ALPHA I really am. But at least I know what I am. I admit it. And no matter how much people like you try to shame me for it, I love being a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD. There’s nothing wrong with being a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD. This place, ... well, it’s where I was reborn.
It’s where I became a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD.
And bro, I’m never going back.
So, how’d I do it? Well, I figure I’ll show you. Off the record. Trust me, bro, you won’t even know how to put it on the record after I’m done showing you.
Huhuh.
Nobody’d believe it.
*SLAM*
That’s locker one. Don’t worry, bro. I’m not gonna hurt you. That’s not what I do. Nah. Just gonna show you my side of things, you know?
*SLAM*
S’funny, really. You know the old trope, right? Jock bully locks a poor flimsy nerd in a locker....
*SLAM*
And the nerd just gets--
*SLAM*
--Locked away. Huhuhuhuh....
See, bro, BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS like me don’t hurt their bros.
*SLAM*
We help our bros grow.
*SLAM*
Not gonna hurt you, bro. Just gonna make you feel a little more comfortable. Go on. Unbutton that shirt of yours. Better yet, tear it open. It’s more fun to show off. Trust me. All you gotta do is stretch just a little bit. A small stretch and a tiny FLEX.
And suddenly,
*SLAM*
POP goes the button.
Huhuhuhuhuhuh. And that’s not the only thing to pop, bro.
*SLAM*
S’like a chain reaction, a reflex, bro. Can’t fight it, bro. Like a jumpscare, y’know? It just happens, and suddenly your whole torso just tenses and flexes. Your chest just gets so tight. And before you know it, your pecs are just bouncing back and forth, bro.
*SLAM*
Back and forth.
*SLAM*
Back and forth.
*SLAM*
Pop. Pop. POP!
*SLAM*
Huhuhuhuh. And it feels so good, bro. Like a firework going off in your brain. Or ... maybe from your brain. Idunno, man. I’m just a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD.
All I know is--
*SLAM*
--It feels good to flex, bro.
And the more the muscle POPS the harder it is to stop.
*SLAM*
To stop flexing.
*SLAM*
To stop enjoying the moment. Because, bro, working out your body feels so awesome.
And all that fear and anxiety, that worry about what others think, what you think. It just gets...
*SLAM*
Locked away, bro.
Huhuh. Just ... shoved into a locker.
*SLAM*
And forgotten.
*SLAM*
Actually, no. I didn’t forget about it, bro.
*SLAM*
I abandoned it.
You know why? Because it feels so fuckin good to just GROW INTO A BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD, BRO.
*SLAM*
Flexing.
*SLAM*
Lifting weights.
*SLAM*
Just ... not thinking for a while.
*SLAM*
Bro, it’s the most incredible feeling in the world. Just like ... like the brain gets tied to the muscle and it’s not just about flexing. It’s like ... like every time you grow bigger and stronger, your muscle, your meat, rewards you.
Symbiotic relationship, bro, you know? I put my focus into my muscles. And because I put my focus into my muscles, they reward me with pleasure.
*SLAM*
Pleasure to not think, bro.
*SLAM*
Pleasure to just be a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD.
And not even care what others think about it.
To just ... be you.
Confident. Cocky. Carefree.
*SLAM*
And you know why we can do that? Why we BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS can just not care about what others think or judge?
*SLAM*
Because BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS don’t care. We just shove it into a locker, just like I said before.
*SLAM*
Scared of bein’ dumb?
Shove it in the locker.
*SLAM*
Worried about what others will say?
Shove it in the locker.
*SLAM*
Bored of your reps?
Shove it in the locker.
*SLAM*
Outgrowing your clothes?
Shove ‘em in the locker.
*SLAM*
You can borrow some of mine, bro. I always carry spares.
*SLAM*
You wanna join me on the gym, bro?
Huhuh. Yeah, bro. You look good in a tank top. Shows off your muscles.
*SLAM*
Come on, bro. Smile for the camera. BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS love to show off.
That’s it, bro. One more locker to go.
You wanna do the honors?
...
...
...
*SLAM!*
Good choice, MUSCLEHEAD. Huhuh. Let’s pump you up, bro.
You wanna get pumped, right, bro?
...
You know why, bro?
...
Cause you’re a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD, just like me bro.
C’mon. Say it, bro.
Just like me, bro.
Say it now.
I KNOW YOU WANT TO....
The School of Buff Jocks Part 4
At the request of a new Patron, instead of a custom story, he desired the next chapter in this commission series to be published. In accordance with that request, I am now publishing the next chapter of The School of Buff Jocks.
If you would like to support me and my work, please join my patreon. For $3.00 a month, you get to enjoy incredible transformation, muscle, and hypnosis content. Or if you go for a higher tier, you can also get a custom story. Thank you for your patronage! Details to be found on each tier. I look forward to writing more for you all soon. Please, enjoy the chapter. Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
---------------------------------------------------------------- “Great job!”
“You’re doing great!”
“NICE AND SLOW. KEEP PUSHING.”
I furrowed my brow as I finished my set at the leg press and passed over to Andrews. “Is it just me, or does Jim sound … different?”
“It’s part of his design,” Andrews explained as he logged in. “The better you perform, the bigger he gets and the deeper his voice becomes.”
The avatar for Jim that appeared looked more like Atlas or some other giant. His skin or whatever that surface was called looked shinier and seemed to have gained more graphic definition. Had there been a patch recently?
“Welcome back, Coach Andrews. Are you ready to resume your teacher training?”
Andrews shook his head. “Another time, Jim. I’m here to work out.”
Jim nodded. “Linking to machine now. Please don’t forget to finish your module. It is important to learn and grow, so that you may better teach.”
“I won’t forget,” he promised. “Remind me when the workout is over.”
“Your reminder is set. Now let’s get to work.”
“So, when am I sup-posed to notice the difference?” I rubbed my throat and drank some of my protein shake. Those cracks were happening more and more often.
“You’re not,” Andrews said as he pushed against the press. “At least, most people don’t. Either that or they don’t care. I’m not sure which. Stone explained it to me once. It’s basically meant to help students adapt to the idea of their voices deepening as they get older. The farther along they get in their education, the bigger Jim gets, the deeper his voice becomes, and, as a result, the more natural it feels for them to let their voices drop when the time comes.”
“Because they’re talking to someone else whose voice is deepening with them?”
“Exactly,” Andrews said. The veins on his legs had begun to stand out as he continued to push. “In other words, you don’t have to worry so much about social awkwardness.”
“What about late bloomers?”
Andrews shrugged. “They get there when they get there. You know how strict we are here about bullying, Derek. We don’t like it and we don’t tolerate it in any form. We’re all part of one big team. Players who don’t understand that will either learn or get tossed out. It’s that simple.”
-----------------------------------------------------
Stone’s smirk was smug as he folded a leg casually and peered at me. “Forgive me for sounding so juvenile, but I told you so.”
“Look, Mister Stone—”
“Please, call me Coach.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Coach Stone. Just because I made friends with Kyle doesn’t mean I’m over what happened to me before.”
“But you haven’t had any more of those nightmares since,” he noted. “And even if you haven’t completely overcome your past, this is a definite sign of progress. You’re beginning to see one of the most important truths any of you children can learn, the fact that people are people, and each should be judged on an individual basis, rather than being lumped into a social stereotype or clique.
“Take you, for example.” He pointed his pen at me. “You would be considered the stereotypical nerd. You enjoy things like anime, comics, manga, videogames, and other products of that genre. You do relatively well in school, and you don’t cause trouble. However, lately, you’ve also been branching out into other areas, like the gym and outdoors. And you’re comfortable wearing more than just baggy clothes. Your stereotypical nerd wouldn’t be able to do that, or rather wouldn’t have any desire to. And yet, you seem to enjoy it, or at least not hate it so violently as your stereotype would suggest.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that those stereotypes have roots in truth. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be stereotypes in the first place.”
“Perhaps, but it also doesn’t change the fact that in this case, in this time, that stereotype has yet to fully apply, and you know that and acknowledge it on at least some level. It’s that simple.”
“For you, maybe. Not for me.” I shook my head.
“Then it seems to me that the next stage of your therapy is clear. Observe. Look at the behavior of the ones you mistrust, these stereotypical jocks, and see if they really do act in the way you’ve been treated previously. If they don’t, then you’ll see that the stereotype is far from absolute, and hopefully have less aversion toward being in the same space as them on your own.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”
Stone smiled. “I think I can manage.” He lowered his pad. Anyway, that’s it for our session today. I have another appointment who should be—” A knock sounded at the door. “And there he is. We’ll pick up again next week. Don’t forget to try what I suggest, Derek. I think you’ll be surprised at what you may find.”
We shook hands, a ritual Stone insisted on as part of his attempts to bond with me. Then he escorted me to the door. You ever heard of getting caught between a rock and a hard place? Well, I got stuck between a Stone and a beef Frank. The guy had to be at least half a foot taller than me. The school’s logo strained against his swollen thigh as a pair of sweatpants clung to his legs. His torso took up most of the doorway, and his hair had been cut down to a short stubble with sharp angles that emphasized a masculine jawline and brow ridge.
“Hey. I’m not too early, am I, Coach?” His voice sounded congested, a sort of forced low that was part diaphragm and part cold, only this guy looked healthy as a horse. Hell, he could’ve been a bull with how thick that neck of his was!
“You’re right on time, Francis,” Stone said mildly. “Derek here was just leaving.”
He blinked slowly and looked down at me with murky green eyes. “Oh.” He stepped aside to let me pass. “Sorry, bro.”
“No problem.” I strode into the hall as Stone ushered the behemoth in. For such a diverse school, it seemed we were getting an awful lot of buff students on campus. I waved briefly to the office staff on my way to the main door. Tight button-up shirts strained as they waved back. Their stubble glistened under the fluorescent lights. Again, with the buzz cuts. I hadn’t noticed it before, but a lot of the staff seemed to follow that style. A few of the kids were sitting in chairs waiting for their turn to meet with Stone or some other official in the offices. Some chugged shakes. Others were running through their homework modules. Others still were reading intently.
“Got it. Finally,” one of them hissed in triumph as Jim issued his congratulations and the familiar tone of his module absorption.
One of the bigger students smiled. “If you’ve got a problem, go to Jim.” He chuckled and scratched his crotch. And like the contagion of a yawn, I felt a sympathetic twinge of my own building.
“Huhuh. Yeah, it’s good to go to Jim,” the kid replied and smiled.
The others nodded or added their own affirmations as they popped caps off their bottles and drank deeply. My brow furrowed as I thought about it. The green stuff was supposed to be for the team players, wasn’t it? So why did everyone else seem to be carrying a bottle? Even the secretaries had some at their desks.
All that drinking and gulping left me feeling thirsty. I reached to the side of my backpack for the familiar bottle. Off came the cap. Pop went the seal. Down went the drink as I walked out the door. I smiled as I scratched my crotch and my muscles tingled. I’d ask about it later. It was probably nothing. “Huhuhuh….” The anxiety left me, and I smiled as my biceps tensed and my shirt perked. The fabric slid out from under my belt as I took a deep breath, exposing skin to the cool air of the school for the briefest of moments. I shuddered, and for the first time, I took the time to simply zone out and focus on how my body felt. My legs were taut, the cuffs of my pants exposing the ankles of my school socks. The jockstrap was tight against my legs and rear, and the polo I now wore strained against my chest when I breathed. The changes had been so subtle, but now that I took the time, it was obvious. “Looks like I’m going to need a new uniform soon.”
I heard it before I saw it. The locker room door slamming open, followed by the rip of shredding fabric. A curly redhead with shamrock eyes strode bare-chested, hefting the rags of his former shirt like a trophy as he walked toward the Nurse’s office. The pump on his arms was immense. His body was built specifically to take heavy blows and never budge. He was a walking pile of meat. As for the talking, well … that was yet to be seen.
Truthfully, I don’t know why I followed him. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe I was just too buzzed to care about anything and going with the flow. Regardless, I trailed behind to see what came next.
My heart beat as heavily as my breathing as I waited outside the door. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hide. Was I embarrassed? Was it something else? Finally, I heard the razors buzzing to life from behind closed doors. I don’t know if it was curiosity or what, but at that point, I just … moved. One minute, I was outside, the next I stood there in the middle of the plain tiled waiting room. The buzz was coming from one of the examination rooms. When the door finally opened, the familiar stubble of the angular induction cut stared back at me. A compression shirt had replaced the polo that had once rested on the boy’s chest, and my chest tingled at the sight of the slab-like muscle tone that stood out against the spandex.
He walked past me without a word. And, honestly, I don’t think I was in a state to say anything, myself. It was sort of like when you’re dreaming and you want to talk, but you can’t, and you have to watch yourself move around, instead. The nurse stepped out with one of the aids and eyed me carefully.
“Another one for size change.” He sighed and rolled his eyes as he picked up a tablet. “Name?”
The word released me from the spell, at least in part. “Derek Jones.” The moment I finished, my mouth clamped shut again.
“Dorm?”
“26-B.”
“All right,” he said in a bored tone. “Let’s get your measurements.”
I walked out with a new pair of pants and a bigger polo shirt. The pants hugged in all the right places without being too tight or short, but the polo felt loose and baggy. I felt … I guess almost ashamed of that feeling. It was weird.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home in that shirt soon enough.”
I frowned. What did he mean by that? “Uh, okay, I guess.”
“Your new clothing will be delivered in the next few days with the next shipment. Let us know if there are any troubles with the fit, okay?”
I nodded numbly. My eyes drifted back to the open door. The floor was littered with curls surrounding a sturdy metal stool.
“Was there something else I could do for you?”
“I, uh, no. I guess not.” I chuckled again out of reflex. It was almost like a defense mechanism at this point. “Thanks for the new clothes.”
“You can thank Mister Stone. He’s the one funding all this.”
“You mean we don’t have to pay?”
The nurse shook his head. “No. Now how about you move along? I have the sneaking suspicion you’re not going to be the last one coming to me for a fitting today.”
Of course, he was right. It was time to move along. I’d gotten what I came for, even if I didn’t know that was why I’d come. But now I was immobilized by another question, and my head was thinking about as fast as molasses as it echoed over and over again.
Move along to where?
I didn’t know.
“Huhuh.”
Be comfortable.
Where?
I scratched my crotch.
Be comfortable.
Where?
Two hands guided me toward the door. My feet moved. My head was … full is the best way I could describe it. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think. I just … walked, like a wind-up doll put in motion. No real destination, just … moving forward.
Where?
Corridors yawned. My legs moved. Left. Right. Left. Right. I’d turn. I’d shift. I’d turn again. The question remained.
Where?
I don’t know.
Where?
I don’t know.
Where?
I. Don’t. know.
It took a while for me to realize my walking had taken on that same cadence, as if my whole body were answering my brain, shouting back in its own way together, defiant, resolute, and … something else.
I don’t know.
The question was dulling.
I don’t know.
Growing quiet.
I don’t know.
As though it had lost its voice. Or maybe lost the will to object? Or ... was it drowning?
I don’t know.
Just a fading echo, the last bubbles.
I don’t know.
The answer reverberated through my skull as the quagmire hardened and set. I was completely in my head. Or maybe I was completely out of it? Who knows? You can’t really describe it. It’s something you have to go through yourself to really get. Popular media would probably call it no-mind.
I don’t know how much time passed. All I know is that, finally, illumination struck, like a sledgehammer shattering bedrock. Like a wedge breaking open a mold to reveal something beautiful.
And it was.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know.
It was that I didn’t care.
“Huhuhuhuh….” My chest shook with the explosive force of the epiphany. The fabric of my polo brushed against my skin. The realization was so revolutionary, so lifechanging somehow, despite how simple it was. “I don’t care.” I grinned like an idiot. Or maybe like a stoner on a high? I definitely felt high.
“That’s right, smartass.” The voice was soft, gentle, … proud? My legs stopped moving. The setting sun blazed over Kyle’s face as he smiled at me, igniting his eyes with emerald lightning as the world came back into focus again. I’d somehow transitioned from the hallways to the track outside. My legs felt like jelly. And like a set of gears cleaned by WD-40, my brain cast off the rust and started to work again. I stumbled into Kyle’s waiting arm.
“Easy there, little bro.”
“What … happened?” I shook my head to dispel the last of the debris. My throat felt like someone had covered it with horse glue and squeezed it so tightly that only a straw could fit through.
Kyle shrugged. “You sized up.” Then he smirked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“I … how did … what?”
He handed me a bottle. “Drink,” he said. “You’ve been walking a long time.”
No protein drink this time, just water. But the flood helped dislodge some of the cake that had built up. My voice didn’t croak so much when I looked at him. “Why did I—?”
“You said so yourself, smartass.” Kyle chuckled. “You didn’t care.” He guided me back toward the dorms. “Lucky for you, you’ve got teammates that do.”
“What?”
Kyle chuckled again. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you to your dorm, so you can sleep. And maybe take a shower.”
“A shower?” The wind blew, and I felt the cold patches as we hobbled along. “Oh.”
“Yeah, all that walking’s bound to break a sweat eventually. Your jock is probably soaked.”
“Shut up, dumbass,” I grumbled.
Kyle laughed. “Sure thing, smartass. Sure thing.”
I didn’t realize it then, but as I got my second wind, I matched Kyle stride for stride. That lumbering swagger I’d seen on Kyle, then on the football team, on Barry the baseball player, and finally that redhead from earlier, was mine now, too.
-------------------------------------------------------
“You guys notice anything kind of … weird lately?” Slater asked as he squatted under Kyle’s careful observation. The layout of the bar was designed to allow him to stand inside a sort of rectangle while the weights were stacked on either side. That way, he’d be able to bend and rise with equal weight distribution. His thighs had grown in the last couple of weeks. There was a firmness about them that I hadn’t seen before. His calves jutted with hard, tense muscle that all but consumed the fat that had once been there.
“Weird how?” Jackson was busy pumping some dumbbells to strengthen his arms and upper body. The exercise also allowed him the freedom to observe Slater as he trained under Kyle’s guidance.
“I don’t know. Just … different, I guess.” Slater shrugged. “I can’t really put it in words. Things just feel … off. Sort of snug, I guess?”
“Snug?” Kyle smirked, but … I don’t know, it felt sort of … meaner. I guess … maybe it was a sneer? At the very least, it was smug.
“Shut up, dumbass,” Slater grumbled.
“Takes one to know one, Slayer.” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to weigh you.”
“Fuck off!” he snarled. The weights crashed to the ground, and the whole gym suddenly became quiet. All eyes turned on us. Honestly, I’m not sure who was more shocked; us or them. The only time we’d ever seen this side of Slater come out was when he succumbed to gamer rage in online matches. He’d never lost his cool in public before.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
I stiffened. We hadn’t even heard him approach. Yet there he was. Coach Stone towered over us.
Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled casually. “Slayer here’s just losing his shit, because he knows he’s going to lose a bet we made.”
“Is that so?” He set his eyes on Slater and folded his arms over his massive chest. “Is this true, Slayer, was it?”
Slater mumbled as he averted his eyes. “It’s Slater.”
“Well, Slater, it appears you’ve managed to silence the whole gym. That’s not an easy task.” He peered at the rest of the onlookers and raised his voice. “All right, folks. Nothing to see here. Get back to your workouts or get out of the gym.”
Like the flick of a switch on an assembly line, the gym began to move and breathe again. It seems I wasn’t the only one intimidated by Coach Stone. Those silver eyes lingered on me briefly, passed over Jackson, then shifted back to Kyle and Slater.
“Now what, exactly, is the nature of this bet to prompt that kind of reaction?”
Slater was silent. He still wouldn’t meet Stone’s gaze.
“I bet him I could get him over 240 by the end of a month, and that if I did, he’d have to talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team,” Kyle supplied.
“And if he won?”
“I’d have to take a cheat day and hang out with them for an anime marathon while we veg on snacks.”
“And this prompted such a reaction because…?”
“I teased him, Sir.”
Stone raised an eyebrow. “And has this teasing rendered you mute, Slater?”
“No, Sir,” he said softly.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Slater.” The rebuke was gentle, but the command was ironclad.
Slater did so reluctantly, though only just.
“Back straight,” Stone continued. “If you’re going to take criticism or punishment, you should do it proudly.” He leaned over and planted a thick hand on Slater’s shoulder. “I’m not here to punish you, Slater. No harm was done. No one is hurt. You just lost control of yourself. It happens to every boy at your age. Some yell, others fight, and some just lose themselves in a fantasy world. We all have our coping mechanisms. What matters is which ones we choose to keep and which ones we choose to replace.” He squeezed briefly and smiled. “Now I don’t want this happening again, okay? Yelling is fine, if you need to, but this equipment and the gym are expensive. And more importantly, if you’re willing to do this, then one day, you may get angry enough to hit someone with one of these weights. That’s not something I can let happen. So, from now on, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to arrange some meetings with you. Jim will alert you of the scheduled times.”
“But—”
“No buts, Slater. And I want your full name.”
“But—”
“Now, Slater.”
Slater slumped in defeat and gave up the name.
“Good. I’ll be expecting you on time in my office. Derek can give you directions.” His eyes flashed briefly as he returned to his full height. “Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Slater mumbled.
“And you. You’re Kyle Fredriksson, aren’t you?” Stone asked as he turned his attentions to the other party of the disturbance.
“Yes, Sir, Coach.”
“Did you push him to this?”
Kyle straightened and threw his shoulders back. “Yes, Sir. Though only a little,” he clarified. “Slayer doesn’t like to lose.”
Coach Stone turned his gaze on me and Jackson. “You two are the neutral party here. Is he telling the truth?”
Jackson nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Jones?”
I nodded. “He doesn’t usually get this angry.”
Stone nodded. “Then we’ll find out the root of that anger later. For now, carry on, gentlemen. Those muscles aren’t going to grow themselves.”
“Yes, Sir,” we all replied.
Stone turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Slater?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Next time, try laughing it off instead. You’d be surprised how much that helps.”
“Uh, yes, Sir,” he said awkwardly.
“As you were, gentlemen.” Stone waved behind him as he passed into the rows of machines and out of sight.
My whole body tingled as he walked away. I reached absently and adjusted my crotch, where the sensation felt strongest, then shuddered. Kyle grinned at me.
“You heard the man, Smartass. Grab some dumbbells and work those arms. If we can campaign together, we can work out together.
I rolled my eyes but obliged him. “Whatever you say, Coach.”
“Not a coach.”
“You’re sure acting like one,” I teased.
Slater smirked. “Point to DJ.”
“Trust me, you haven’t seen coaching till you’re working out on an actual team. I’m just teaching you how to handle it.” Kyle chuckled. “Now how about you put that snark into finishing your set?”
“You did agree to follow the routine for the month,” Jackson pointed out as he curled his weights. “Stop now and you’ll forfeit, and you’ll have to talk with Andrews about joining the team regardless.”
Slater’s lip curled as his hands clenched tightly around the bars to either side of him and he pulled the squat bar back up. “Guys, I’m not in the mood for getting in trouble with Stone again, so could you just can it about the bet?”
“Or you could try his advice,” Kyle pressed. “Trust me, it works. DJ knows.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”
“Because you’re the smartass?”
That name was really starting to get old. Especially when Kyle used it for ammunition. But he did have a point. I had firsthand experience, and Slater would probably take it better from me than from the lug that was currently putting him through hell. For a dumbass, Kyle had a keen mind for strategy. I sighed, then turned to face Slater. “Look, it doesn’t work with everyone, but for me at least, it helps relieve my anxiety attacks, okay?”
“And you think I should try it?” Slater asked.
“I think you should use your own judgement.”
Slater chuffed as a hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “And point for you.”
“I wasn’t aware I was playing.”
He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Everyone’s playing the game, DJ.”
I cringed. “Why did you have to bring back that accursed meme?”
“Because it’s fun.”
“And with that stealth kill, Slater the Slayer finally takes his place on the board,” Jackson said in his best impression of a sports commentator.
A weak chuckle burbled from Slater’s lips. “About time.”
“Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear him laugh?” Kyle asked.
“Don’t push it, jock boy.” But despite his threatening tone, Slater smiled.
“Nah. I just push up, bro,” Kyle returned as he flexed his arms.
We couldn’t hold back at that point. The air filled with our laughter. Slater spread his legs a little wider and resumed his squats.
“Whatever you say, Kyle.”
Kyle grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, little bro.”
Credit to @musclecorps for this image.
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This story was written as a gift to a close friend of mine who loves a good greaser thug tf. I hope you all enjoy it, too. Due to length, I included a read more cutoff link for this one. Please read it all the way through. You won’t be disappointed.
------------------------------------
My Necklace, My Chain
It’s sort of like a half-remembered dream, this old place, old life. Or maybe I’m living a dream now. Huh. Living the dream. Hell yeah, I am.
Anyway, it started off sort of weird, I guess. I was a pathetic pile of fat and gristle. No job. No future. No motivation. The world beat me up so bad, and I was just … so fucking tired, bruh. Lost my girl, lost my money, lost my home. It sucked. And I just … I wanted to end it, you know?
…
I almost did.
That’s when this guy showed up out of the blue. This guy who just … sat there and smiled and listened. He didn’t see some homeless tramp. He didn’t see a pathetic pound of flesh waiting to be roasted on the pavement under blistering sun. He saw me. And he didn’t care how I looked. It didn’t matter that my clothes weren’t washed. It didn’t matter that I was scrabbled with a thick patchy beard. It didn’t even matter how much my breath stank or how I reeked of BO because I couldn’t find a place to shower and barely got the essentials using public sinks in a restroom.
He. Saw. Me.
He introduced himself. We talked. And like a parishioner to a priest, I confessed everything. My insecurities, my doubts, my anxiety, my history, my misfortunes, my losses. Everything flooded out in a torrent. And, eventually, after all the crap was purged, we got to the good stuff, the piece of me that still dreamed. That tiny, oh so fragile speck.
I don’t know how he got it out of me. I don’t know what tools he used, or what magic he had. And … I guess it must’ve been magic, cause, cause uh.
Uhh..
Uhhhhhh……
Wut were we talkin’ bout again?
…
…
…
Right. Right. My bad, bruh. It’s … a lot easier for me to zone out lately. I do it again, just give it a minute, okay?
So, this guy. He talks to me, and I talk to him. And it’s like, … I don’t know. He just … feels right to be around. You know, like that one guy who’s always nice to everyone, and you just want to protect him because he’s so good to people and you don’t want him to get hurt? That’s what it was like for me.
And that’s basically what he did. I told him my dream. And honestly, at that point, my only dream was to get some clothes on my back, a place to stay, a meal in my gut, a chance to clean up, and to be happy.
And you know what he said to me?
He said, “All right.” He grabbed my hand, and he pulled me. When I asked him what he was doing, he just smiled and laughed. “I’m granting your wish, silly.”
“Granting my…?”
“Let’s go.” He called me by my name, added some sort of weird word at the end of it. Think it was Japanese or something. I don’t really remember. I just remember the sheen of a black duckbill flashing under the intermittent sun as the clouds scudded overhead. Still not sure how he … knew my … name……
…
…
…
The hell am I thinking? Course he knows my fuckin’ name! He’s M—m’boss. Yuh. Boss.
…
I do wut he says.
…
I do wut he says.
Uhhhh … where were we again?
Right. Right. The duckbill. The pomp. The sun kept flashing off it and his eyes when he smiled at me. Hell, when the light shone on him, his skin practically lit up under that leather jacket of his. I thought he had a fuckin’ halo or something.
I also thought the guy might get sunburnt if we didn’t get some shade, so I did what he wanted and followed. He made it clear he’d wait for me to move till I came with him. What choice did I have, make him miserable with me? I couldn’t do that to him. I’d never do that to him.
Why? Because he’s the fucking boss! He made me what I am today! He made me a new fucking man, and I owe everything to him, okay?
OKAY?
Good. Now shut up and listen.
We started in a bar first. He said it was run by some friends, that they’d hook us up, hook me up.
And did they ever. Boss explained he was treating me. My stomach growled from the smells drifting out of the kitchen. Bunch of big men sat on either side, coated in leather. Jacket, pants, gloves, the works. Must’ve been some bikers or something. I … think I remember seeing their bikes parked outside.
Fucking beauties. Harley Davidsons. The rev of those engines, the power vibrating between your legs, the air roaring in your ears, the wind in your face. I’m telling you, there’s no better feeling. Well, except maybe when I work out at the gym or do the boss a favor. Or smoking a cigar. Or flexing.
Flexing feels so good, especially when I’m doing it for the boss.
It’s good to flex for Boss.
Hmm? Being with the boss? I don’t know, it’s … kind of like a drug, I guess. He’s just got that kind of personality, you know?
Well, if you don’t, you will soon enough. He knows everyone in this city. I’m sure he’ll find you when he’s good and ready.
So, you’d think it’d just be a basic meal, right? Nothing fancy or expensive, just enough to fill me up and send me on my way. A good deed for the day, right?
WRONG!
They gave me a steak. A fucking steak! And I don’t mean the cheap cuts. I’m talking about the real quality stuff. Boss said they imported it from Japan. Stuff was like butter in my mouth, only the best damned butter I’d ever tasted in my life. I don’t really remember how much I ate. I just remember Boss laughing. And it was like I just couldn’t stop. The more I ate, the hungrier I was. I was more like a machine than a person, the way I tore through them.
And Boss just smiled and encouraged me the whole time, like it was nothing!
Let me tell you, by the time I finally came back to myself, my jaw was aching so badly. I thought I might’ve dislocated it or something. The lights had come on, and the windows were black. The air reeked of smoke as big burly men lit up cigars and pulled on their beers. I felt … I guess loopy’s the best word. My head was spinning. Or maybe the room was? I guess I was buzzed. Or maybe plastered. I couldn’t tell if the number of empty mugs were because of blurry vision or that I’d actually drank that many. The only place that seemed clear, the only spot that mattered to my addled brain, were those deep blue eyes. They glowed in the light, or at least I thought they did. Was probably the beer or whatever I drank. But damn if I cared. I felt too damn good and too damn full.
And Boss took my hand and waved at the rest of the men in the joint. All of them acknowledged him one way or another. Nods, grunts, salutes, one or two even demanded a promise out of him. Well, maybe demanded is too strong a word. No one demands Boss to do stuff. He just … does it, like, like he knows what we want, and he does everything in his power to make sure we get it, whatever it takes.
He led me to a large pink motorcycle with heart-shaped metal accents. It roared as he ignited the engine, then purred gently as he stroked the handlebars and adjusted the mirrors. Then those same hands were extended to me again.
“Hop on,” he said. I blinked in surprise, and when I asked where we were going, he just giggled and patted the leather behind him. “I told you, silly. I’m granting your wish.”
The wind that blew through my hair was neither cold nor hot. It just was. Of course, I didn’t really have my eyes on wind. I was too focused on not falling off the motorcycle. So, instead, my eyes fell on Boss’ highlights. There were blue swaths that pulled back along the sea of oil on his head. Nah. Oil’s wrong again. I mean, it was black, like oil, but it shone more like … grease, I guess. Yuh. Grease.
I like grease.
Every streetlamp we passed made those highlights pulse with a rainbow of light. You know, kinda like a raven’s wing. It was beautiful. I didn’t even notice when the wind cut out. One minute, we were cruising through the city. The next, we were outside a big apartment building. The same hand reached out to me, and I took it. My legs felt weird from straddling the bike, like they wanted to stay spread, so my walking was sort of awkward at first, but I found a stride that worked while they readjusted.
Boss just smiled and led me up some stairs.
…
A lot of stairs, actually, now that I think about it. But anytime I started to flag, he’d stop and look at me and fix me with that smile. And suddenly I could walk again. I could breathe again, and my legs, well … I guess that wide stretch was sort of useful here. Made it easier to climb.
My legs felt different when we finally got to his door. Heavy, kinda tingly. Boss just smiled at me. “Welcome, Wilbur-kun.”
The apartment was more like a penthouse. The small entryway passed into a broad living room with a large leather couch and soft plush carpet. A giant flat-screen TV was mounted to the wall parallel to the couch. A few other pieces of furniture, like footrests and some easy chairs stood at either side. A kitchen sat off to the side with two entrances on either side of a dividing wall with a big hole cut into it, so you could see the kitchen and whoever might be cooking there.
“Harley, I’m home!”
A big man with broad shoulders strode out from the shadows of a far hall. His hair was like Boss’s, but his streaks were green, instead of blue, and his sideburns, eyebrows, even his goatee was the same neon green. Might’ve been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw his eyes glowing, too, just like Boss’s did. He wore a white tank top covered with a sleeveless black leather vest that complemented his dark skin. Black leather chaps covered a pair of blue jeans. He took one look at me, then fixed his gaze on Boss.
“Another stray dog, huh?”
“This is Wilbur. He’s going to stay with us for the night.”
Harley raised a brow. “One night?”
Boss blushed. “Well, I can’t grant the rest of his wish right now. It’s late, and he needs a place to sleep….”
I cleared my throat. “I, um … I don’t have to stay, if you don’t want me to. Paimon’s been very kind to me already. More than kind, really. I don’t want to cause trouble.”
I think it’s the first time I saw anything close to a hardening in Boss’s expression. Well, hardening is the wrong word. We’re hard, so Boss don’t have to be. It wasn’t hard so much as … determined, I guess. Boss never really gets mean. He’s perfect, and I love him for it. We all do.
“Nonsense. We have a guestroom all made up for you. Dom won’t mind. He’s on shift tonight, and he’s always glad to help when I ask him. He already said yes when I called him at the bar, so don’t you worry.” He smiled again and seized both my hands in his. “Won’t you stay with us, Wilbur-kun?”
The cocked head, the smile, the shiny sparkly eyes accentuated by the blue in his sideburns and goatee. He was every trope of sweet brought into one, and I was growing a mean sweet tooth, though I didn’t know it yet. My hands tingled. My heart beat fast. I couldn’t meet those eyes, so I looked down and muttered, “All right.” I allowed myself one glance, just one.
My heart nearly stopped. He beamed at me with a broad grin that was so innocent, so pure, so … perfect. Harley shook his head, but I saw the smile curving his lips as he folded his muscular arms.
Before I knew it, I was whisked into a room that reeked with the perfume of cigar smoke, leather, polish, and a hint of cologne. A massive king-size bed lay to the side, and a floor-length mirror had been attached to one of the walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling. I was a little wary when I noticed what looked like a switchblade on a side table next to the mirror, but Boss alleviated my fears by flipping not a blade, but a slick comb.
Flick. Click.
“See? Nothing to worry about.”
Flick. Click.
“Dom just really likes the aesthetic.”
Flick. Click.
A blush colored his cheeks. “So do I.”
Flick. Click.
“You don’t mind, do you, Wilbur-kun?”
Flick. Click. Flash.
I blinked dazedly as I looked into those eyes. “I, uh….”
Flick. Click.
“It’s fun, once you get the hang of it.”
Flick. Click.
“You should try it.”
Flick Click.
My fingers twitched. “I … guess I could….”
Flick. Click.
“Gentler. Slower. You’ll shake your whole arm off that way, Wilbur-kun.”
Flick. Click.
His hand was on mine. His other on my arm.
Flick. Click.
“That’s it. Relax. Let the switch go.”
Flick. Click.
“Let it go. And follow the motion.”
Flick. Click.
“Follow….” he instructed
Flick. Click.
“Good. That’s good. That’s right. It’s fun, isn’t it? Sort of relaxing.” He giggled. “Dom loves to do that when he’s fidgety. Well, that or flex. Tell me, Wilbur-kun, do you ever flex?”
Flick. Click.
I had the motion down by this point. I wasn’t sure when I turned to face the mirror. All I knew was that Boss was right. It felt good. I don’t know why, but it did. It still does. I raised my free arm and tensed the muscle there.
Flick. Click.
“Not really.”
Flick. Click.
“Don’t really got much to show.”
Flick. Click.
“Do you want to?” he asked.
Flick. Click.
My brain felt … sluggish, I guess. I felt strange. It was like that tingling had jumped from my arm to my brain. That’s why it took me so long to answer.
I’m lucky he’s so patient.
“I … don’t know.”
Flick. Click.
I took a deep breath. The smell wasn’t so overbearing now. In fact, it was almost like a meal for the nose, if you get what I mean. Sort of fruity and sort of bitter, like sweet and savory, you know? It just … worked. “I don’t know,” I said again.
Boss smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
Flick. Click.
“Yes, Sir.” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think. But that’s when the record scratched. The rhythm broke. I stared at the switch comb and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The polished wood and metal clattered over the side table as I put it back hastily. The thing wasn’t even mine. And the reaction, I mean … sure, I was grateful for his help, but he wasn’t my boss. Well, not yet. I felt … anxious, wrong. “I mean, thank you,” I said hastily.
Boss just smiled. “Happy to help. You can find the spare towels in Dom’s closet. The bathroom is through that door there. Take all the time you need, Wilbur-kun. And like I said, don’t worry about it.” He waved gently. His biker gloves were still on after the drive, and his lock glinted as he turned toward the door. “We’ll be down the hall if you need us. Harley and I like to smoke from time to time, so just follow your nose if we’re not there. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”
I blinked heavily. My head still felt off balance, but it was clear enough for me to at least give a proper response. “Thanks.”
And then he was gone.
The towels were in these metal baskets stacked against the wall all the way up to the rods. The whole room was massive. I felt like a kid in the adult section of the department store. Bulky leather coats and massive black boots lined the closet. Out of curiosity, I peeked into a dresser that had been positioned elsewhere. The top drawers were full of accessories. Chains, padlocks, tags, rings, gloves, brass knuckles, and more greeted me from their various alcoves and padded slots. Needless to say, there was a lot of bling.
Below that, drawer after drawer of tank tops, socks, and underwear. The smallest size I could find on average was a XXL, and there were only a few of those. This Dom character had to be a big man to fill that kind of size. I’d find out later just how big, myself. Guess the big lug must’ve been sentimental or something, though, because I did finally manage to find a large tank top to use. Then again, maybe he just used it to show off all his muscle. Boss had said he liked to flex a lot.
The shirt looked baggy when I held it against my frame, but it would suffice for bed clothes. I took it and a ratty pair of sweatpants with an adjustable waistband into the room. I breathed deeply as I braced myself in front of the door, then pulled it open.
My mouth would have dropped to the floor if it could. The bathroom was a spacious master bath complete with some of the most advanced functions I’ve ever seen on shower or tub. Bath salts, air diffusers, incense burners, and loads and loads of hair product were distributed all over the room. Body wash, cologne, loofa sponges, the works. There were jets, oils, salon-brands of hair care products. And the materials that went into the actual room itself! Incredible. I’m talking marble, swanky tile, brass fittings, the works. The room screamed fancy rich boy.
And that fancy rich boy was just outside these doors in the apartment, wearing a black leather jacket and a duckbill pompadour.
My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I smacked my lips and forced myself to move. He expected me to shower, after all. It was part of my wish. The question was, did I want to shower or bathe?
This’ll sound stupid, but I felt too intimidated by the bathtub. I mean, I was a guest. This wasn’t my home. Using all those fancy salts and oils and bubble bath or whatever left me feeling too uncomfortable. Who knew how much he spent on them? He earned the best. Me? I just was a charity case he pulled in off the streets. I didn’t deserve those things. Not yet.
So, I went and used the shower, instead. The thing had massaging jets from every angle, and the whole space filled with steam to make me feel … well, I guess like I was in my own little world. The pressure helped seep the warmth into my muscles and wash away the extra grease and dirt I’d accumulated. The body wash and shampoo smelled like a mix of cologne and fruit. I guess the closest scent I could relate to it was Old Spice’s Wolfthorn from their Wild Collection. I could almost imagine what it’d be like, too, having a mascot for that brand.
A cute white wolf with a winning smile and deep, deep blue eyes….
A dizzy spell hit me, and I struck the marble wall. The cool surface helped to shock me back to a more wakeful state. If this was how I acted in the shower, maybe it was a good thing I didn’t choose the tub. At least, that’s what I thought then.
The rest of the shower went off without a hitch. I shampooed, conditioned, and lathered my body, rinsed, and finally disengaged from the shower.
The towel I’d borrowed was more like a bath sheet. The thing draped practically down to my ankles. And it was clearly designed for someone with a much broader frame than I had. This Dom character was a very big man. And let me tell you, big doesn’t do him justice. He’s swole, bruh, like, uh … just … really big, y’know?
I strode to the mirror, where a brief search through the drawers revealed disposable toothbrushes waiting to be opened, tubes of toothpaste, and another drawer loaded with custom switchcombs, each with their own unique prints and patterns for their handles.
The brushing was no problem. I had my face dried off in no time. My beard was unruly, so I took a set of electric trimmers and buzzed it off. My skin wasn’t entirely cleanshaven, but it looked a lot better, now that I had access to the right tools.
Then my eyes locked onto the hair products themselves. And a set of neon-blue eyes gazed back at me in a way that only a wolf knew how. It was a cartoon, yet it carried the same commanding presence in that stare. His lips were curved in a smile. Hands sheathed in black fingerless gloves held a comb and ran it through a pompadour as he looked at me.
Right at me.
…
I’m not sure what came over me. All I know is that I decided to try some of the stuff. Part of it was instinct, I suppose. And part of it was … something else. Don’t question it, dawg. You can’t understand it yet. Here. You wanted my story. Now you can spot me while I tell it. Dat recorder’s still workin’, right? Cool, bruh. If you still don’t get it when I’m done talkin’, you can ask again, and I’ll explain it to ya nice n’slow.
Now spot me, bro.
So, like I said, I just … had to try the stuff. It wasn’t a lot. I didn’t drain the whole can or anything. Just enough to sort of mess with my hair, help get it more organized, you know? It was too long to really do anything major with. I just wanted to keep it from getting all crazy, jutting into corners and stuff. And, well, you can’t get much stiffer than Pomcrete. My scalp was all tingly after I finished combing my hair. I almost forgot to screw the cap back on before I left.
I got dressed in the ratty clothes and strode back into the bedroom. The mirror was still there, and though the clothes left me feeling diminished, I could still see the hint of tone beneath the skin and bone in my arms. I … may have tried flexing again. It’s … sort of addicting, once you start, you know?
Took some searching to find the laundry basket. I was half-tempted to just throw the thing on the floor, but I didn’t want to be rude. After that, I turned off the light and crept silently to the bed. I’d never slept on a king before, except maybe as a kid. The mattress and sheets swallowed me whole, and I let them.
I don’t know how long I slept. It’d been so long since I’d actually had a bed. Or at least it felt like a long time. I came to slowly, sort of like an air bubble, you know? Not really solid, kind of wobbly, delicate, and easy to pop. I felt safe, warm, and … well, kind of empty up top. I guess it’s because it felt so much like a dream, and I didn’t want it to end.
Bruh, ah’m servin’ Boss. Ah’m livin’ the dream now. Now shut up n’let me tell m’story, dawg.
…
Good dawg.
So, this incense is going, right? And I walk out of the room all tired and sleepy, which is weird, because I blacked out and I’m pretty sure I slept all through the night no problem, but whatever. I stumbled into the living room, where a good four people were standing. Two, I recognized as Paimon and his roommate. I later found out they were married. The other two, I hadn’t seen before.
One was a big guy around the same size as Harley. He had purple highlights in his hair, and the eyes to match. I could see a lot of Paimon in him, so … maybe they were like brothers or cousins or something? I wasn’t sure. Then there was this hulking brute of a man. He was huge, and I don’t just mean muscle. The guy was a giant. His brow was thick and heavy. His shoulders broad as boulders, his face rough and chiseled with a black goatee sprouting from his chin. Black sideburns streaked down the sides of his face and part of his jaw to frame his head like a cinderblock. Streaks of scarlet broke the midnight of his hair in great bands. It’s sort of a family trait to them. If you’re part of their family, you have streaks, and you have pomps.
The man could’ve squeezed coal to diamond between those pecs. Though there was something funny about his eyes. I couldn’t really tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. They sort of … mulled together into one mass. A thick cigar was clenched in his teeth as he talked to the rest of the family, and the air reeked of his blend. Another pink cigarette smoked from an ash tray, blending the gentle lull of rose incense with the starker scent of tobacco smoke. The leather of his jacket creaked as he pulled out his cigar, looked down at me, and exhaled. I nearly reeled from the dizzy spell when the smoke hit my face.
“So, ’Dis is da guy.” I couldn’t help but notice the huge padlock that dangled between his pecs on a thick metal chain as he breathed. A pair of dog tags dangled beneath on a thinner chain. He grunted.
“Ohayo, Will-kun,” Paimon greeted cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”
I blinked to try to clear the fog from my brain. My lungs were processing incense, cigar smoke, and cigarette smoke. It takes getting used to when it’s all at once.
“Uh, … hi,” I finally managed to say.
The big guy folded his arms and grunted again. I didn’t know if he didn’t like me or if the whole looming glare was just his default. “M—Boss asked yuhs a question, dawg.” His knuckles cracked ominously, and I couldn’t help but notice the metal bands he wore on each of his fingers. All ten of them. “Bettuh answer.”
I swallowed heavily.
“Dom, be nice,” Paimon chided.
The sudden change in demeanor was startling. The thug snapped to attention and jutted his chest forward. A very impressive display when all he had to frame said chest was a tank top, thanks to the fact he hadn’t zipped up his jacket. The shirt strained against his muscle to be put on prominent display. His pecs bounced a few times as he saluted. “Yussuh.”
Paimon giggled. “Why don’t you go freshen up, Dom-kun? You’ve had a long night.”
“Yussuh,” he slurred again. He lumbered past me easily. His heavy boots clunked against the floor, rattling the apartment with every step. The only sign of him that remained after was the miasma of his cigar. It seemed almost to hover in my nose when I turned back to the remaining members of the household.
“So, … that was Dom?” I asked.
“Don’t worry. He’s a big sweetie under all that muscle,” Paimon assured with another giggle. “Would you like some breakfast?”
I blushed again. Everyone else was already fully dressed, and I couldn’t help but notice the distinct presence of leather in all their gear. Not unusual in and of itself. It was more the fact I was barefoot in some ratty sweatpants and an old shirt. Makes a man self-conscious, you know what I mean? “Um, … yes, please.”
So, turns out the one with the purple streaks was named Lavante. He’s sort of an adopted son for the pair. I could hardly tell the difference between them, really. Age-wise, I mean. Guess they must’ve had good genes. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Kid had a padlock and a set of tags, just like Dom. I noticed Harley only had a chain with a ring tied to it. Lavante had size and mass from his father. That is, his bigger father. Or so the parents joked. His eyes, well, that, I’m not sure who he got it from. They were purple, but they had that sort of empty quality that invites someone to fall in and never come out again. They could be hard or soft in an instant, and there was a sort of … I guess a longing to look at them when I was eating. My gaze kept darting between Paimon’s and Lavante’s faces.
“You smoke?”
I blinked in surprise. I looked at my plate and found it suddenly empty. It was filled almost just as quickly. “Uh … haven’t in a long time,” I said. “Tried it once, got sick. Never wanted to again.”
Lavante frowned. “But you don’t look sick now.”
I shrugged. “Haven’t taken a direct hit since the first time I tried it. Like I said, didn’t really want to.” I was so hungry, but I didn’t understand why. I must have had at least four plates. Maybe, maybe more. The more I ate, the more dazed I felt. Not a bad sort of daze, just … different. Like … I don’t know. I … guess I was happy? Sort of? I guess the best way to describe it is a sort of in-between place. Not like a drug high or anything like that, but definitely not normal either. It was sort of a … I guess a dead space or a neutral zone.
Can’t remember much of what I said during that time. Must’ve said a lot, though, ’cause the clock said it was nearly noon by the time the meal was over. I’d been shoveling so much food, it was only natural when I brought my hand to my face again. My lips curved around. My teeth bit gently. I breathed, and warmth flooded my lungs. I didn’t want to cough this time. I didn’t feel sick. It smelled almost like lavender. Best way I could put it was it felt like my stomach had had enough, and now my lungs wanted something to eat, too. There was no coughing, no gagging, just … a smooth tingle.
“For a guy who’s only had one cigarette, you sure drag like a champ.” Harley was holding a lighter. He flicked the cap shut. A cigarette protruded from the corner of his mouth. Lavante smoked a purple one, and Paimon’s cigarette was the same rosy pink from the one I’d seen in the ash tray.
I pulled the thing away from me, looked calmly at it. I was surprised, but I didn’t feel that usual surge of adrenaline. My lips puckered briefly as I licked them, and my chest tingled as I breathed in the secondhand smoke the others were generating. I … I wanted more. And I wasn’t sure how to think about that at first. “I … guess I just needed the right brand,” I finally managed to say.
“Yuh,” Lavante said in a deep tone.
I dragged. My lungs savored every instant of the smoke. And then I let it go with an equally low, “Yuh…”
Harley didn’t say anything else. He just rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Paimon smiled kindly. Lavante, … Lavante sneered. And like a game of Simon Says, I felt my lips contorting in time, pulling aside to bare my teeth and match his look.
Paimon giggled in delight as I leaned back in my chair and spread my legs. I felt so good, so relaxed there. I don’t know if it was a high from the smoke, the food, or something else, but … I felt safe. I could be at peace there. I could live in a place like that. It wasn’t how I was raised, but it felt like home. Like I belonged there, could always belong there. I just had to… had to….
Had to what?
I shook my head. What … was I thinking? This wasn’t my house, wasn’t my place. I couldn’t live there!
The cigarette dropped from my lips. I fumbled, but I couldn’t catch it. The thing hit the floor and broke apart. Fortunately, it fell on tile, so the ashes were easy to clean, but the butt was ruined. And whatever fantasy world I was falling toward with it.
“S-sorry,” I said awkwardly as I stumbled to my feet. “I’ll clean it up.”
Paimon kept smiling. “Don’t worry about it, Will-kun. It happens.”
My throat was suddenly parched, probably from all the smoke. I guzzled a quick drink from the sink, then turned back to the table. “Um, where do you keep the broom and dustpan?”
It didn’t take long to clean up my mess. By then, it was time to clear the rest of the table, too, so I helped. I had to pay for my night there somehow, after all.
What happened after is sort of a blur to the extent that Paimon took me out to get cleaned up. Well, more cleaned up than I already was. We started at a barber. The owner was a big man who reeked of cigar smoke. He was a massive in every sense of the word, standing at what had to be at least seven feet tall with bulging muscles to match. His face was wreathed in gold that merged with his pompadour. Green stripes streaked on the left side of his hair, even going so far as to color part of his beard. A bold fashion statement, but this was a bold sort of man.
And one who took command in his shop.
He took one look at me, and I was in the chair with a cape tied around my body. I’d trimmed my beard just fine, but my hair was another story. Since I’d already showered before, he didn’t feel the need to give me the whole package. In his words, “This ain’t a fuckin’ salon.”
Paimon laughed and beamed that smile at me again. I could barely see it through the haze of smoke that started to fill the room. The barber wasn’t one for talking, but he definitely was for smoking. He chopped off the extra-long locks and rubbed something into my scalp that left it all tingly and cool. For such a big gruff man, his hands were surprisingly gentle. I wouldn’t say I fell asleep exactly, but … I guess my brain sort of shut off for a while. It was just so … relaxing, bruh.
He lathered up my face, anyway, and scraped the rest of the stubble down around my cheeks and lower jaw. Then he added some weird stuff to my sideburns and my chin before a hot towel treatment. That’s when I really blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was staring into the mirror while those same hands ran a comb through my much cleaner hair. Something felt … different, but I couldn’t place what. I just let it go. It was hard to think with all that stroking over my scalp, anyway.
I caught sight of a familiar cannister. A white wolf smiled up at me, this time proffering a rose while the other ran a comb through his pompadour.
Pompadour.
…
Pompadour….
Pomp. That’s what was different! The hair over my forehead swept up like the crest of some giant wave ready to crash at any second. Only, it was held together by something solid. Something thick. But … my hair didn’t feel heavy. It moved. It followed every stroke, every tug of that gentle comb. And the more it did, the more I felt that familiar high settling in as my scalp tingled. Before my very eyes, I watched the wave grow taller, thicker, fuller. And so very, very shiny.
“You look good, Will-kun.” Paimon smiled.
“He’s almost done,” the gruff man said. “Needs a little more pump.”
I raised my brow. “Pump the pomp?” It was like my vocal cords were lax. Instead of my higher tenor, they’d lowered to a baritone. I sounded like I’d just woken up. And … I guess I sort of had?
The bearded man’s lips curled into a smile. “That’s right.” His fingers and the comb raked through my hair again, and my eyes rolled in uh, … uh, … wut’s da word for blackin’ out from feelin’ good?
…
Yuh, that’s it, euphoric bliss.
“S’good ta pump da pomp,” he growled in my ear as the comb stroked my sideburns.
I shuddered. I felt so pampered, so relaxed. The smell of the cigar smoke, the aftershave, the pomade, and the undertone of leather from his extra-large vest left me feeling … well, at home, I guess.
Though, on second thought, maybe that vest was XXL? I … don’t remember. I just knew he was big, and it was big. And suddenly, I didn’t mind that I had a new hairstyle anymore.
Besides, Paimon was paying for it. Who was I to object? I mean, he said he was granting my wish, and so far, he’d delivered. So, … maybe this was part of my wish, too? It … really did feel good having that look. And my hair was so shiny. When the barber finally backed away, I couldn’t help but run my fingers through it just once.
I gaped vapidly at myself in the mirror. My pupils were a lot bigger than I remember, but Paimon just smiled as he pulled me from the chair. My chin prickled, and I scratched the patch of hair that had grown in by my cleft. He placed something in my hand. When I looked down, I saw the familiar sight of a polished switch comb. Streaks of blue and silver lit up against the black accents. They seemed almost to swirl the longer I looked at them.
“Your fingers will ruin the look,” Paimon explained. “This should let you play with it without damaging anything. Think of it as a part of your wish. You can’t have clothes without accessories.” He gasped as he looked to his watch. “And speaking of, we have an appointment to keep. Let’s go!” He beamed at the barber as he pulled my arm behind him. “Arigato, Axe-kun!”
The barber grunted and offered a two-fingered salute to the smaller man. His deep voice rumbled after us. “See you again soon, Will.”
Logic dictated that couldn’t be true. There was little chance of me ever going back to that barbershop again. But even so, part of me believed him. And before I could stop myself, a deep, “Yuh,” had already escaped my lips. I didn’t see the smile, but I could feel it as we passed the door back into the busy streets.
Two massive men in thick leather biker jackets and pants strode into the store behind us. The familiar smell of cigar smoke trailed with them, and I breathed deeply, despite myself. Their pompadours were far larger than mine and looked near the point of collapse. There’s only so much pomade can do before you have to trim yourself, you know. Then the door shut, and we were gone. My head swam with the events that had happened so far, but we weren’t done yet. And Paimon had a lot more places to show me.
Next up, we arrived in a clothing store. Paimon smiled as we strode through the entrance. The fresh smell of leather hit me like a wall of bricks. I felt that same urge to mess with my hair again but did my best to resist it. I flicked the switch comb, instead. It helped a little.
“Let’s get you some clothes, Will-kun.”
I could hardly object. Not because I didn’t necessarily want to, but … well, I just felt … I guess I was foggy up top, ya know? Don’t think much up there anymore. And … I guess things slowed down when I was with him. Every time I saw that smile, I just felt … different. That same feeling from the haircut came back again and again. And it would always get stronger.
“I don’t—”
“Trust me, you’ll love it!” He grinned. His eyes flashed. Or maybe I was just that lightheaded. Suddenly, I was sitting in a mirrored room. I … don’t remember much of what happened. There were a lot of shirts and pants. Jeans, chaps, tanks, muscle tees, boots, dog tags, chains.
And the padlocks.
Bruh, when you find that right padlock, and it just … clicks, you know it’s right. And you know you never want to unlock it again. Must’ve tried … I don’t know how many different combos before Pai found one that worked.
I wore a black tank top that hugged tightly to my chest. It was like … like I was getting a hug. A really soft hug. Every breath left me feeling the fabric as it expanded with me, then slowly retracted. It was like … well, I guess it was like it was alive, you know? The compression was in all the right places. I looked … different, but … a good different. I had this dull brown that was almost black when Paimon first found me. But when I was a kid, I had this super bright blond hair, like … the sun, basically. Platinum grade, ya know? Didn’t need no bleach back then. I was au naturel. It was funny, seein’ that same bright shine pop against m’new black duds.
I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. Things were just … weird, but in a good way. I felt good. I wasn’t ripped, but the time with Paimon had helped me to see I wasn’t so bad off as I thought. The mirror only helped prove that more. The gut I thought I had was hardly showing now. It just sort of pressed gently against the waistband of my new leather pants. I could see the hints of muscle tone in my arms. Nothing big, but present, you know? Enough to show there was potential.
Huhuh. I see that potential in you, too, y’know.
The boots Paimon got me clunked heavily on the floor in a sort of march as I got used to the feel of them on my soles. A minute later, it felt … well, it felt almost like I wasn’t wearing anything, really. It felt natural to let the weight carry my legs to a heavy slam. Gotta know how to throw m’weight around, you know?
“You look amazing, Will-kun!” Boss cheered.
I blushed. “Y’really think so?”
“Hai.”
He smiled again, and I couldn’t stop myself. I zoned out again. I came to posing in front of the mirrors. Boss was clapping. Something felt off again, but I couldn’t quite place it. I kept staring as I transitioned from pose to pose. Archer, crab, and whatever other ones there might be. I frowned as my eyes fell to my crotch. That was where the feeling was strongest. Something was different down there, but I wasn’t sure what. It looked … fuller than what I was used to. Were the pants cut differently, or was I actually…?
A loud snap echoed in my ears, and I was suddenly aware of a cold and heavy chain draped over my neck and chest. A heavier blunt square object practically burned between my pecs with how cold it was. The fabric hardly did a thing to protect my skin. I almost lost control of my breathing.
“What do you think, Will-kun?” Boss asked. I didn’t even hear him sneak up behind me. He seemed so much smaller from his place next to the platform.
“I, uh….”
“Isn’t it nice?”
I peered at the lock. Its blunt edges. Its dull faded blue paint. It had been used before, worn, beaten, but still not out of commission. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of, well, me. I could … relate to it.
“I guess, but … isn’t it a little much?”
Boss giggled. “I don’t think so. Now we’re twinsies.” He raised his own padlock and chain. They glinted in the light. “See?”
The light made me blink. I … couldn’t really think of an answer, but I wanted to talk. So, uh, yuh, m’body did the only thing it could do. “Uhhhhhhh….”
His laughter flooded my ears as his hands wrapped around mine and guided them to my lock. Next thing I knew, I was staring at two padlocks. “Like this, silly,” he said.
“Oh.” I nodded. The light was duller, but it was there, hidden, deep in the faded murk of the paint. A sort of pale reflection to the brighter silver of Boss’ padlock. One that left me wanting to find the source. Wanting to delve deeper. Wanting to seep into that fog. I found myself nodding as I stared.
Flash. Dull. Flash. Dull.
Flash…
Dull…
Dim flash..
Dull….
Dimmer.
Dull………
“Will-kun.” The voice sounded so far away. “Will-kun.” It called again. I felt his hands wrapped around my forearm, pulling gently. The blue and silver fog that I’d been so focused on slowly receded. I blinked blearily as Boss came into focus. “You really like that padlock, don’t you?”
My head felt … slow, full, … Idunno, just … not like it used to be, you know? All I know is he asked me a question. And … I had to answer. I didn’t really think about the answer. I just … spoke. Was like a kneejerk reaction, you know?
“Uhhhh … yuh….”
He giggled. “I’m glad. Come on, Will-kun.” He led me by the hand. My hips jingled. A glance down revealed I’d gained more chains than when I first started posing in front of that mirror. But … the jingle was nice. Comforting, you know? Followed the beat when I stepped. It still does. I like lettin’ people know ah’m comin’.
We stepped out the store without paying. The cashier waved it off and silently passed a huge leather jacket on a hangar for Boss to carry. He giggled as he seized the hook. “Arigato!”
My heart nearly stopped from the cuteness. My breath caught. My chest lurched. And suddenly, I was grabbing my lock like a lifeline. I followed him out the store like a puppy. I wasn’t really in a state to say anything. I could barely concentrate enough to follow behind him. The clunk and the jingle reverberated in my ears again and again with every step.
But when I saw his arms start to droop, I swooped in. My hands seized the jacket, and I felt the hangar straining against the crooks of my fingers as they curled to hold it over my shoulder. I knew it’d be rude if I didn’t say anything. Heck, he might think I was stealing. I had to say something, do something.
“If you’re gonna treat me, at least let me help.” It came out gruffer than I intended, but his smile told me he understood what I meant to say. I suddenly felt very much exposed. A flush rose in my cheeks, and I looked away bashfully, then cleared my throat. “So, who’s this thing for, anyway?”
Boss giggled. “A friend. I wanted to pick it up for when he’s ready.”
“When he’s … ready?”
Paimon nodded. “Uhuh. To join our family.”
“Like the others at the apartment?”
“Uhuh. They’re just a bunch of big sweeties, like Dom.”
“Dom is … sweet?”
Paimon laughed again. “Once you get to know him.
“He doesn’t … look sweet.”
He placed his hands behind his back and sort of bobbed or rocked as we walked. You know how the upper body just sort of sways sometimes when you’re actin’ cute without trying? It was kind of like that. “Well, then, what does he look like to you?”
I was taken off guard. “… To me?”
“Yeah!” He beamed at me. “Be honest.”
I nearly stumbled. My head rang. Or … was that the dog tags and the padlock knocking against each other? Guilt flushed my cheeks this time. After all, Boss knew Dom a lot better than I did back then. “Promise not to be mad?” I asked softly.
“Hai.”
I couldn’t help myself. It just … burst out of me in a rush. “He looks like a street thug waiting for an excuse to beat someone up.”
Paimon’s smile didn’t falter. There was no hardening. His grin widened. “I know. Isn’t it great!” He giggled.
“Great to … be a thug? Or great to look like one?”
“Well, both, of course, silly. It’s great to be both.”
“Great … to be both….” I trailed in utter disbelief. He all but admitted he liked thugs. Genuine street thugs. Outlaws, muggers, the kind of guys you don’t want to run into in a dark alley at night. And he let one of them live in his house?
“Why don’t you flick your switch comb, Will-kun? You look anxious.” Snap went the comb in his hand. The tines parted his hairs like the Red Sea, and they closed up behind just as quickly.
Before I knew it, that tingle from the barber was back again. Little pricks tugged at my pompadour, pulling loose hairs back into line, stimulating my scalp, and tugging … well, it felt like they were tugging deeper, somehow, if that makes sense. You know, like when you do weeding and pull the roots out of the dirt? They pull a bunch of clods with them. It was … sort of like that, I guess. Or at least closer to it. My heart stopped thudding, and I just … sort of let it go. More like the gardener made me let it go. I still remembered what Boss had said. I still knew Dom was a thug. But … I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t suspicious. I just … was.
“See? You’re feeling better already.”
The flash went off again. I wasn’t sure whether it was his padlock, his pomp, his eyes, or his smile. Maybe all of them at once. I blinked slowly and nodded. It was sort of natural with the heavy steps I’d been taking. I felt like a giant bobblehead, and I was stuck in yes mode.
“Uhhhhh….”
Boss giggled. “You’re so adorable when you’re like this, Will-kun.”
Another yank. Any suspicions were pulled away with the roots to clear the way for … something. I knew he’d complimented me. I knew compliments deserved a response. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” We walked on for a block or so in silence, just letting the jingles ring while I kept weeding my brain. Boss pulled out one of his pink cigarettes and lit it. He toked it for a while, then finally spoke again. “Say, Will-kun?” He breathed into the air. A breeze blew it to my nose. The response was instinctual. I breathed in as much of the stuff as I could.
I groaned out an, “Uhhhh, … yeah?” as my eyes rolled. It was like someone had just watered the bed I was weeding. Every stroke came easier as stalk after stalk pulled loose with clod after clod of wet, muddy dirt.
Spattering.
Oxidizing.
Clearing out more and more.
Leaving behind less and less.
And I couldn’t stop it. Or … maybe I didn’t want to, bruh. It’s seriously that ple-uhhhh … intoxic-uhhhhhh…. Good. Yuh, like … really good, bruh.
…
Fuckin’ sweet….
Right, right. The story. Sorry.
So, Boss is talkin’, and he asks me a question. “You knew what Dom was when you met him, right?”
I nodded. “Uhuh….”
“How?”
I shrugged. The cold leather of the jacket brushed against my bare arm, and goosebumps raised on my skin. “Just … looked like one is all.”
Boss giggled. “You took one look, and that’s how you knew. I guess the old saying is true, then.”
I … couldn’t follow that. “Wut?”
He beamed at me again. “Well, it takes one to know one, silly.”
Another click like the slot of the padlock slamming home echoed in my ears. Or … maybe it was my head? I had enough holes left for both to work. I took a moment to stretch my arms. The fabric of the tank strained against my back and pecs, and I rumbled like a bike engine. The comb flicked shut, and I put it back in my pocket. “But … ah didn’ know. Yuh told me….” My mouth and throat felt … tired, like they didn’t want to put in the effort for a whole sentence. I let it slide. I was too buzzed from the weeding.
Boss giggled. “Nuh-uh,” he sang. “You guessed all on your own, Will-kun.”
He laughed again. And my head spun as blood surged through my body. I felt … different, but I couldn’t place how. Everything hugged just right. My body was bulky and … I guess hungry is the best way I can put it. It needed something. I needed something. My free arm lifted and I clenched my fist. That good feeling I talked about before came back. Only this time, it brought its bigger bulkier brother. My skin writhed and stretched as the sleeping pythons that were my biceps surged to life. It flowed like sweat or water down to my pecs, my abs, my crotch, my legs.
“Are you hiding something, Will-kun?” Boss asked playfully.
I felt my crotch inflate, just like my biceps. I spread my legs in a swagger as the flow bulked me up. “Fuck….” I groaned.
“I’m right, aren’t I, Will-kun?”
I couldn’t really think. I barely heard what he’d said. Could hardly process. “Uhhhhh…huh?”
He laughed as we stepped through a pair of glass doors into a room filled with a haze of cigar smoke. The clank of metal hitting metal struck again and again. It rang louder than my padlock and tags ever could. We stepped up to a reception desk. Boss smiled at the guy manning the computer. Dawg had ta be almost hulk-sized. A real muscle beast in a tight tank top with a mean sneer.
“Welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym. Whadaya want?” His voice was gruff, and his scowl would’ve driven off anyone who wasn’t already used to dealing with him. He asked me. Didn’t even seem to care about Boss. Then again, Boss is a regular here, so he didn’t need to ask.
“Tank, this is Will-kun. He’s here to work off some steam.” He smiled. Tank’s scowl deepened. I felt my body tense as I shifted my weight to stick part of myself in front of Boss.
“You got a problem?” I growled. My brow furrowed, and I glared right back. Paimon was nice to me, did so much for me. I wasn’t gonna let someone try to hurt him because of me.
“Tank, Will, play nice.”
The voice was soft and nonplussed, kind as always. My shoulders slumped. The fire building in my chest died, leaving more smoke to join the gym’s atmosphere. Tank backed off and averted his gaze from Paimon’s stare.
“Sorry, Suh.”
Paimon smiled. “There. All better now. Let’s get along and give Will a membership.
Tank saluted, allowing his pecs to show off and bounce in front of Boss. “Yussuh.”
Boss giggled at the sight and blushed as Tank tapped away at the keys. I think he did everything to keep flexing his pecs while he did it. I felt my own pecs tighten at the sight. My arms felt warm, loose, and tingly. When he was done, he handed me a lighter and a freshly cut cigar he’d chopped on the desk. Then he handed me my membership card. His eyes looked kinda funny, but I couldn’t say how or why. Was probably the haze from the smoke, anyway.
“On da house,” Tank lowed when I tried to return the cigar. “Part a’da deluxe package. Give it a long drag before yuhs works out. Oh, and, uh … welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym, dawg.”
I nodded numbly as Pai-dawg shepherded me onto the main floor with the jacket still draping over my back. My fingers twitched, and my chest heaved as I breathed the smoke in while heavy punk music and a repetitive bass thudded through the space.
Everyone in the gym was big, burly, and either lifting weights or flexing in front of a mirror while they lit one up.
Even Mistuh Pai-dawg was smokin’. He looked at me expectantly. “Well, Will-kun?”
“Uh, … wut?” I asked.
Paimon smiled and extended his hands. “Give me the jacket. I’ll hang it up. You light up that cigar, okay? I know a cranky smoker when I see one.”
Cranky smoker? For some reason, that didn’t sound right, but … at the same time, I kept craning my neck toward the ceiling, as if I could make myself grow into the cloud, like some mountain. Y’know mountains make their own clouds, right? Mistuh Pai-dawg taught me that. My head felt dizzy again. My arms moved almost on their own as I handed him the jacket. I got a lungfull of smoke in return.
“See you soon, Will-kun.”
The flash went off again. This time, it repeated as I flicked my thumb over the lighter and the flint went off.
One. Two. Three times. Finally, I lit up on the fourth. It was hard to work the little wheel with such a thick thumb. Kept sayin’ I needed to get a zippo. They’re built for big guys like me. Anyway, I held the flame to the head and waited. When it was good and smokin’, I took a drag.
My eyes rolled. My head shot back. My whole body relaxed. “Fuck, ah needed dis,” I swore. Like a magnet to a charge, the smoke surrounding the room seemed to zoom at my face all of a sudden. It was just me and the mirror. The weights clanked as members grunted through their sets, and I felt a sort of rhythm to it.
Clank. Clank.
One. Two.
Clank. Clank.
Flex, you.
I dragged.
I flexed.
I breathed.
I flexed.
I grunted.
I flexed.
One. Two.
Flex. Grunt.
One. Two.
Follow through.
One. Two.
Burn away.
One. Two.
“Flex and obey….”
“Yussuh….”
Thick hands felt up my biceps, adjusted my form and stance.
“Like this, dawg.”
The smoke burned in my lungs, but it was a good burn. The ash settled in my brain. I didn’t care.
I grunted and followed the coach. A man with a shock of black hair with shiny gold stripes running through in a pomp grinned at me through his shades. His jacket looked like it would break apart any moment under the stress of his arms. He bared his teeth at me as he looked over my bod. “Lookin’ good, dawg.”
“Feelin’ good,” I rumbled back. My lips pulled back in a half-sneer, half-grin. I kind of liked how growly my voice got with the smoke.
And then he was there again. Mistuh Pai-dawg smiled as he laid a hand over my bicep and beamed at the otha’ dawg. “Thanks for keeping him company, Jackknife-kun.”
Jackknife grinned and saluted Mistuh-Pai. “S’good ta greet a new dawg.”
Mistuh Pai-dawg laughed. “Treat him nice when he starts work, okay?”
Jackknife sneered as he swaggered off. “Don’t I always?”
Mistuh Pai-dawg had ta crane his neck ta look at me. Then he giggled and turned to the mirror. “Still going to say you’re not a thug, Will-kun?”
I blinked dully. The ash and smoke had seeped from my brain to my eyes, making them cloudy and indistinct. “Uhhhh … nun-uh….” I meant to say I wasn’t a thug. ’Least … I think I did. But I think Mastuh Pai-dawg took it th’ otha’ way.
“Good dawg.”
Like the Three Billie Goats Gruff, the biggest, strongest, baddest high bucked me off the bridge and right into the rapids.
“Let’s work out, thug.”
I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. But … I tried. I wanted to. It’s just … the clanking weights. The thump of my padlock against my chest. The heavy bass beating, beating, beating into my thick skull. Tamping down the dirt. Tenderizing the meat in my head. Beating the bone into a new shape. I squatted. I curled. I hefted. I thrust.
And the more I worked my body, the slower my head moved. The duller my thoughts became. The thicker my skull. The blockier my jaw. All that dirt and smoke put a filter over the windows. I stared at myself in the mirror. There were no pupils there anymore. No definition. Just a vague sort of emptiness, like a hollow in a mountain or an attic you never visit. It was just … there. Running on autopilot. Running on fumes.
The fumes from my cigar.
Fumes of smoke … and grease.
…
And leather.
I lost track of time, of everything but his eyes, his urgings.
…
He’d cheer me on, and I would lap it up like liquid energy.
“That’s my Will!”
I grinned.
“Good dawg. Can you do more?”
“Yussuh…”
Another set. Another excited laugh. He clapped that time.
“Arms and pecs next! Pump it up, dawg.”
“Yussuh….” I grunted. I pumped, and that pump strained my skin. I could almost hear it creaking as the muscle writhed and swelled with every rep.
He hummed. “You could use some bigger traps.”
I seized a pair of dumbbells and started shrugging and lifting to work my wings and shoulders. I could almost see my Adam’s apple throbbing, pulsing, expanding as my lungs heaved and my neck thickened with my shoulders.
“Yussuh….” I hardly even recognized the sound of my own voice anymore. It was a habit, acknowledgement. Nothing more. Nothing more than call and response. The more I listened, the better I felt. I was addicted. I didn’t want it to end. It couldn’t end. It wouldn’t end. I refused to let it end.
“And a broader back.”
“Yussuh.” Again, I worked. Crack went my shoulders. Suddenly, my chest was broader, my shoulders wider.
“Good thug.”
“Yussuh….”
Veins swam up and down my arms as they strained, like worms through the dirt. Processing, consuming.
“Yussuh, what?”
“Ah’m a good thug….”
“Say it again.”
“Ah’m a good thug.”
“Again.”
“Ah’m a good thug.”
“That’s my Will.”
This time, something was different. One last shift yanked in my brain. A nail in the coffin, a compacter on the dirt, whatever you wanna use for an analogy. All I know is, he was right. I was his Will. I did wut he wanted, because he made me feel so good. If … if this feeling would never end, I’d do whatever, be whatever he wanted. The dumbbells crashed into the rack, and I whipped around to fall onto my knees before him. Even then, we still were looking almost eye-to-eye.
He’d called. The program was set. The training demanded I answer.
A good dawg obeys.
“Yussuh….”
“Yussuh, what?” he asked.
I panted. My chest heaved. My tank felt paper-thin against my chest from all the sweat making it cling to my hulking body. I was built like a beast, and I felt like a beast. A beast who’d just been given an order.
A beast who had to obey. The cigar was long gone, but he gave me another dose of smoke as he smiled at me. He brushed my sideburns with his biker-gloved hands. Another blow. Another crack. My jaw got thicker, broader. And my neck swelled to match. The smoke flooded my brain, and with it came the clarity, the answer that was so blinding I almost blacked out right there.
“Yussuh, Massuh Pai-dawg….”
I was Massuh Pai-dawg’s Will. What he wanted, I got. What he wanted done, I would get done. My skull rang with the shouts of thousands of voices all echoing the same things over and over.
Serve Massuh Pai-dawg.
Obey Massuh Pai-dawg.
Protect Massuh Pai-dawg.
Good thug.
Good dawg.
Greaser thug.
Greaser dawg.
His beautiful soft hands cupped my face. “Time to suit up, thug.”
“Yussuh.” I rose to my feet. The jacket slid easily over my body. The cold leather and the smell of polish completed the scent that I’d been craving. I turned to the mirror and took in the whole look. The dog tags flashed as I grinned and flexed both my biceps.
New words had been engraved on the tags and the lock itself. My new name was carved in black on the padlock. First tag read, Will on one side and Property of Paimon Prowler on the other. The second tag read If found, please return to this address. The address followed. A phone number was on the other side.
“What are you?” Massuh asked again.
“Ah’m a big dumb greasuh thug for Massuh Pai-dawg.”
Massuh smiled and patted my sideburns. “Good dawg. That’s my Will-kun.”
Bliss. That’s the only word for it. “Yussuh.”
Paimon nodded. “I think you’re ready now.”
My brow furrowed. “Ready?”
He giggled and led me to a door with faded paint that barely read STAFF ONLY. The door opened. A massive storeroom greeted us. Crates, lockers, loading bay, the whole nine yards was there. Impossible hulking figures laid back against storage crates or stood by a chalkboard with the layout of some sort of building. One look at them, and I knew what was up. Rhinos, wolves, lions, rats. All with hands and feet, like real people. It wouldn’t have made sense to me before, but now, now I knew who they were.
They were my fellow dawgs. I lumbered to the lockers. A mask was already waiting for me to join the heist.
Massuh smiled at me. He looked different now. He was a wolf with white fur, but I knew it was him. “I knew you’d fit in,” he said.
I blushed and grunted, then flexed to work off the stress.
Massuh giggled again. “Come straight home after, thug. Dom and I want to hear about how your first day on the job went, ’kay?”
My legs smacked together. My chest thrust forward. My arms raised and flexed as I strained every muscle in my body to give the biggest profile for him to view. The room rang with all our voices. “Yussuh!”
We were linked.
We were one.
I finally disengaged and lumbered toward the truck. The other thugs soon followed.
They all stared at me as I sat on the hump at the front of the truck’s cab. I knew what they wanted me to say. I knew what I was supposed to say. And I said it.
“Let’s roll, dawgs.” I groaned. I shuddered. And Wilbur was gone for good. My mind emptied and blended with the other dawgs as the plan echoed over and over in our heads. I sneered.
I was a big dumb greaser thug.
A proud member of Massuh Pai’s Dawgs.
And it was time to get to work.
A dull husky chuckle flooded the cab as a final parting phrase echoed across my link to Massuh.
“Wish granted.”
And now you know my story, s’time I granted yours.
Wanna Smoke, dawg?
LU&DD Table of Contents
Someone expressed a desire for a master list of the entire Lifting Up and Dumbing Down story series. As per that request, I present to you this table of contents. Enjoy! :D
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four/Final Chapter/Epilogue
Credit to @willpeter for this picture.
Parting Worlds (A Patreon Preview)
SRY BRO. HRD 2 TEYP. BIG THUMS. HUHUH. FEEL GUD THO. FOUND MY PLACE. LIVIN THE DREAM. BRO, IT'S ... IT'S.... FUCK. CAN'T THINK OF THE WORD. FUUUUUUUCK. NEVUR THOT BEIN DUM WUD FEEL SO GUD. I M BIG NOW. BIG MEAT. U WANT 2 B MEAT LYK ME, COME HERE. I'LL B WEIGHTING, BRO. DON'T 4GET. SAVE THAT 4 L8R. HUHUHUH.
Bryant looked at the last message from his old friend. Chris had included a map pin for GPS. It had been six months since he last heard from the man. Six months. His apartment had been cleared out. A missing person's case had long since been filed.
The police had investigated the site from the address after Bryant provided it. All they found was an old parking garage cordoned off by a chain-link fence. A warrant obtained using the information yielded no further results. The space was empty, the building abandoned. There was no sign of foul play. No drugs, no tags, no evidence of any prior occupation, save for what looked like a needle of some kind. Careful investigation revealed the space had once housed a tattoo parlor before transitioning to this structure. The needle was a part of a tattoo kit, probably left at the scene when the brick and mortar folded and went mobile.
So, why was he here now, listening to the echo of his own footsteps?
His eyes roved through the murky space as dim light flickered from the fixtures overhead. A few seconds later, he was standing in front of the fence. He'd seen the photos from the scene. The police made everything public after they'd finished chasing down the lead. And now, here he was.
"Why?" he murmured to himself. The officers had already tried everything. Did he really think he could do better?
The woven metal was cold against his fingers as they grasped the chain link. Black lines streaked over his skin, a sign of the time that had passed and the lack of human contact in the area. A wooden pallet had been laid against one side of the gate. A long metal chain draped at the other side, tied to the bar. Perhaps it was meant to prevent entry? But if so, someone had undone those efforts. It hissed, rattled, and clattered as Bryant slowly pushed the gate open. Its hinges creaked and squealed from disuse.
"It won't work that way, you know."
Bryant jumped in surprise and turned swiftly. The man that stood there was ... average in just about every way one could imagine. He carried an unremarkable face with a pair of shaded glasses that drew one's focus away from the remainder of his appearance while the clouded lenses obscured his eyes.
"Who are you?" Bryant finally managed to say.
The man shrugged. "I go by many names. I suppose you can call me the Gatekeeper."
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If you all enjoyed this snippet and want to see the rest of the story (and the transformation that follows), please join my Patreon. This particular story is a sample from my $5 reward slot. For a regular monthly donation of $5 a month, you receive a free quality short story written by yours truly. I specialize in transformation, but I am flexible and can do other types of stories if necessary, though I reserve the right to reject certain themes or ideas that go against my religious beliefs or are otherwise too far out of my comfort zone. Thus far, I’ve only encountered such a request once, possibly twice, and we were able to come to an amicable arrangement. You will also have access to all lower tier rewards, including the stories from those lower tiers. A veritable treasure trove of transformation stories await you. I hope you all enjoy! You will also have access to my Patreon Discord server, where you can ask me questions, talk with other patrons, discuss the stories and even suggest new story ideas for future monthly posts. Hope to see you there! :D
Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image.
The following Patreon Preview is for a $5 tier story reward. If you would like to see this and other story content, please visit my Patreon and pledge. On top of the story that goes with this tier, you also will have access to my Patreon Discord, where you can meet with other Patrons to discuss stories, talk with me as the author, and even make suggestions for future stories that I can write in the coming months for your entertainment.
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Chrome (A Patreon Preview)
I've always had a sort of obsession, I guess you could say. Aesthetics are a big deal to a lot of men, and I'm no different. For me, the thing that draws me most, what always drew me, was bikers. Thugs, studs, meatheads, gangsters. Whatever the aesthetic niche, I was drawn to it. There's just something special, almost hypnotic, about the purr of an engine, the roar of the exhaust. When I see someone pop a wheelie, a thrill of pleasure runs through me. And the same thought echoes in my head.
I want to be that guy.
To not have to worry what others think. To just enjoy the rumble of the engine and let that strength, that sheer masculine horsepower, flow into me as the cologne of oil and exhaust seeps into my clothes in a fog that makes men wish they could be like me. I want to belong to the bike as much as it belongs to me, to rumble down the streets, have everyone looking at us and say, Now there's a biker.
There's a biker....
A biker that wouldn't care about what others thought. A biker that would have such a close relationship with his machine that seeing the two apart for any period of time just seems wrong. A biker who is as much a machine as he is a man. Strong. Virile. Ready to rev and just go.
To trawl through the streets and let everyone know, I am here. And like a siren song, let our purring engine and exhaust seep into the neighborhoods, into the residents, into every nook and cranny as evidence that we were there. And then let that song call who it may.
And like Odysseus at the mast, they will be torn between their lives and our call. They will struggle. They will break. And then, when they finally escape to pursue, because they won't have the crew Odysseus had, they will be so desperate, so broken down, so enthralled that they will join their new partner willingly. They'll chop through a sea of blacktop with their new partners. They'll leave their old lives behind. They'll sail on their monstrous machines.
And those machines will welcome them, encourage them, until they are fit to trawl those dangerous seas with me.
And they will be.