Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 13

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 13

“Look, Kid, they want progress pics, okay? It’s part of the contract, so just hold still and relax a little. It’ll be over, before you even know it,” Harry promised. You continue to look around nervously at the plethora of booths, where model after model are busy posing and flexing for the cameras. Reflectors glare as they spread illumination over each curve and bend of the various models. You can’t help but sigh as you see how free the photographers are with touching, adjusting the height of an arm for symmetry, pulling out a leg to broaden a stance. You’ve been through the song and dance before, but for some reason it just feels ... different this time. It seems almost like they’re just a bunch of puppets for the photographers to dress and pose as they choose. Then again, isn’t that basically what you’ve been doing even more than them? After all, you’re letting your contract decide your schedule, your habits. What else might it require of you? What other strings could there be attached? A sharp elbow to the ribs soon breaks you from that disturbing train of thought as Harry glares at you. “Eyes forward, kid.” A towering figure looms ahead of you. His black sleeveless zipper hoodie is parted to reveal rippling abdominals and thick, slab-like pectorals. The hood is drawn up over his face to obscure most of his features, but the way in which he carries himself more than makes up for the apparent shyness. A large hand covered in a rough fingerless glove reaches out to seize your own. “Greetings. I am Fängsla,” he announces in a thick, rolling Swedish accent. “And you must be the new model. It is a pleasure.” You feel a slight sense of vertigo as he squeezes your hand, so you shake your head to rid yourself of the feeling. “Nice to meet you, too,” you manage. Fängsla smiles wider, and you finally see past the shadows to a chiseled white face with a short cropped blond buzz cut that shines like platinum as it catches the light. “We are going to be doing great things together, yes? I can already tell.” He smiled and turned back towards an unoccupied photo booth in the corner. “Come,” he said. “We have much work to do.” Your eyes nearly bug out of your head as Fängsla hands you a a shiny dark purple posing strap. “You want me to wear this?” Fängsla shrugged. I am here to take pictures of your body, yes? How am I to do that, if we cover it up?” “Isn’t there something a little ... less revealing?” You feel the blush rising in your cheeks. “I’ve worn briefs that show less.” “If you like.” Fängsla shrugged again. “Bosses have other options.” he motioned over to a table, where a jock strap and a pair of briefs also sat. “Take your pick.” Naturally, you dove for the briefs. Your cheeks were on fire as you raced off to the changing room to get ready. Fängsla shook his head. “Americans,” he sighed. “The body is nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” Then he turned to adjust his cameras and prime for your return. The constant flash of the camera was a little difficult to adjust to, at first. The slow motion capture frame set off a strobe of flashes every time you changed position, wreaking havoc on your eyes. It was fairly simple, really. You felt more like a little toy soldier than anything else as the camera man instructed, “Turn. Good. Good. Again. Other way now. Turn. Yes, yes. Very good. Now stand straight. Erect. Yes, yes, that will work nicely.” And so it continued. He would order, you would turn, he would snap, he would praise you. It actually felt kind of nice, not having someone so touchy feely working over you this time. He turned your head a few times, of course, raised your chin, that sort of thing, but he was very gentle with it. “Good, good. Remember, you are proud of muscles, yes? Show me you are proud. Proud men are not shy.” Flash “Proud men are not afraid.” Flash “Proud men are strong men.” Flash “And strong men show off.” Flash “They love to show off, yes? Of course they do.” Flash Things began to come easier. The blush faded from your cheeks. Fängsla’s words danced in your head, and a smile slowly pulled at your lips. “There he is. Show me, strong man. Show me your muscles. Show Fängsla your pride.” You were only too happy to oblige.

You walk out of the warehouse with a long stride and a grin on your face as you clutch the bag holding the posing strap, jock strap, and briefs from the shoot. “You keep,” Fängsla had insisted. “Use them to experiment later.” He’d shrugged, then. “You may come to like them, strong man.” You give your bicep a passive flex. Strong Man. You liked the sound of that. You smile and wave back at Harry, then strut confidently down the sidewalk, despite the slush and the chill in the air. Who cared, when it was so sunny and you’d been having such an amazing day? In fact.... You start to lift your legs up, puffing slightly. Today was a perfect day for a jog, and maybe a little home workout. Yeah.... You’re already lost in the rhythm of your own feet smacking on the sidewalk, by the time Harry stops waving. Unbeknownst to you, he raises his cell phone and activates his speed dial. “Hello? Yeah, this is Harry. We just finished the photo shoot. Kid’s a little shy about the straps, but a few more sessions should take care of that. Your man should be sending the photos soon. Kid’ll be blowing up like a balloon in no time. Now, about that pay check....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 20

Harry whistled as he looked over your expanded frame. “Looking good, kid.” The sensation of the tape running over you again leaves you distracted. It always seemed to get so difficult to concentrate, when you were showing off your body, even for a routine checkup. “What was that, Harry?” you ask. “I said you’re looking good,” the man noted. “I like the new look. Fitness wear suits you.” Then you’re taking off your shirt for a proper measurement around your torso. You shrug your shoulders. “Nothing special,” you note. “Just gotta have the right gear for the job.” “And you definitely do,” Harry agreed as he eyed you up and down. You grunt and shrug. “It’s progress. Still got a ways to go.” You move to stand on a scale, as directed. According to the machine, you’ve gained five pounds. “Bodybuilders have more mass.” “How’re things with Hank?” “They’re good. He’s a great coach. I think I’ll keep working with him, after this gig is over.” “Do you mind?” the doctor asked exasperatedly as he looked up at you. “Hmm?”  “You’re bouncing your pecs again,” Harry noted. You look down at your bare chest to see the heavy muscle popping up, then relaxing again. You chuckle. “Sorry. It’s sort of a habit. I do it to pass the time, when I’m bored. If I didn’t flex something, I don’t think I’d be able to sit still.” The doctor sighed longsufferingly. “Would you at least try?” “What do you think this is?” you counter. You barely suppress the urge to laugh. Duff was right. This is fun. And judging by that smirk on Harry’s face, he’s enjoying it, too. And well, since you have such a captive audience, maybe you should put on a bit more of a show.

“Dude! You did that to a doctor?” Duff laughed as the two of you sat over your bowls of chicken and rice. “What? You do it for other stuff.” “That’s just priceless!” He thumped his hand on the table. You grin viciously. “I know, right?” “We should totally team up sometime.” “Oh, you know I’m up for that.” The both of you laugh again, and your voices echo in stereo. The constant exercise has not only helped to strengthen your body, but has altered your voice to pull it into the deeper registers. “Though speaking of team-ups, that reminds me....” Duff reached down into is gym bag and slammed a massive bullet cup on the table. “Time to up your dose.” Your mouth waters as you take the 32 ounce cup and lay it in your bag. “Finally.” “What, no grimace, no sound effects? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually like that drink now.” You shrug, and the tightness of the Underarmor as it clings to your shoulders sends a thrill of pleasure down your spine. “And what if I do?” Duff smiled knowingly. “Nothing, bro. Nothing. Let’s eat.”

You’re standing in front of the floor length mirror in your mini-gym again. You’re not quite sure why. Something just ... isn’t quite right. You narrow your eyes suspiciously as you scrutinize your body. Taut muscle twitches from the rapid pump of your heartbeat, after a good lifting session. Your eyes linger over the text that pops against your pectorals. EAT BIG LIFT BIG GET BIG The last of the three is divided by a heavily weighted barbell. You pop a flex, because you can, and you smile. You pat the bulge in your crotch gently, proud at the growth you’ve been able to experience there. But that’s not it either. Gotta stay focused. Even though it’s so tempting to just stand there and stare at your reflection. Stare. And flex. And stretch.... You run a hand through your sweaty hair to pull it away from your eyes, and it clicks. “You need a haircut,” you tell your reflection, and he tells you in turn. You smile again, proud that you were able to reach the conclusion and find what didn’t belong. In fact, you’re feeling so proud that you think you deserve a reward. You peel off the tank top and smirk as your pecs begin to bounce. First one, then the other. Up and down. Up and down. And as you watch them bounce, you feel that familiar emptiness returning, and you grin at your sudden realization. “Who needs a dumb recording?” You huff out another chuckle. “I’ve got muscle.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 24

You grunt as you press through your tenth rep and look up at Hank. “Think you can add another ten on the rack? This is getting too easy again.” Hank smirked. “Look at you, getting all cocky.” “Not cocky, confident,” you correct as he grabs two five pound weights and places them on either side of the barbell. “I want to keep progressing, so if this is getting too easy, then I know to up the ante. You taught me that.” “And you’re learning it well.” “Was that an actual compliment?” “Would I do that?” “I think you would.” Hank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, smartass. Now get back to work. Those weights aren’t going to lift themselves.”

You smile to yourself as you continue to pump with one arm, while you run your vacuum cleaner with the other. The surge of blood through your limbs has become almost addicting to you now, and you keep wanting to feel that pressure as your muscles press against your sides. Each strain is another surge of pleasure as the muscles on your side strain and flare in time. Occasionally, you bounce a pec, just for the sake of variety. You pause a moment, shutting down the vacuum to pose in front of the mirror. Your emerald singlet clings tightly to every piece of your body, defining the muscle as you let out that same deep-throated chuckle. “Who’s a muscle man?” You ask yourself. After a few seconds to change poses, you let out another groan of pleasure and relief as you stretch, shifting your hold on the weight to your other side. Then you reply, “You’re a muscle man, and damn proud of it.” You look down at the bulge pressing against the crotch of your singlet. The outline of the jock strap you’re wearing is prominent, and you smirk as you tromp over to your weight rack and put down the dumbbell, before picking up your cell phone. You turn it towards the mirror, and Flash. You look down at your phone screen. A familiar smirk stares back up at you. “Looking good,” you compliment yourself. You’re about to turn back to your vacuum cleaner to finish the living room, when a sudden lurching in your stomach yanks you back towards the mirror. “Maybe just ... one more,” you allow yourself. Flash. Show off that muscle. Flash. So good. Flash. To pose. Flash. Like the camera. Flash. Fängsla’s camera. Click. “Show me muscle man. Show me the djur,” his voice echoes in your head. Flash. “Let the djur out. Let the djur stay.” Flash A pleasurable rumbling grates its way up your throat and out your mouth as thoughts of cleaning fade into the background. “Stay,” you low, and are rewarded by greater pleasure. You look down at a dimwitted grin, then look at the mirror to see the same features reflected on your face. “Huhuhuh,” you chuckle as you reach up and rub your bicep. Flash. A shudder runs through your body as you pose again. The taste of vanilla is strong in your mouth, and you look down to see the image of your flushed face guzzling a huge bullet cup of protein shake. You belch, not even trying to contain it. “Nice one,” you mutter almost drunkenly as you kick the bullet cup out of the way and walk back towards your makeshift home gym. You lower your phone to the stand and grasp both weights. It’s time to work out.

... Like a beast. ... Like a djur. ... .. .

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 17

Here’s part 17. Credit goes to Jocknotized for part of this. I drew inspiration from one of his captions, and lifted that portion of text to apply here, since it fit the stereotype the character is becoming and hypnosis is all about repetition, until it sinks into the brain.

Bright flashes are strobing in your face as you stare helplessly, silently into the spiral. You want to say something, want to move, but you can’t. And it just keeps spinning, bending, and twisting over and over. The lines rush out over you like so many waves as you descend into it. And suddenly, you feel like you’re drifting again. Drifting, like that one time with the one lady whose name you ...  can’t ... quite recall. There’s a voice there, whispering in the background, murmuring with the trickling as you slide ever so slowly down along the spiral. It’s almost like an amusement park ride, only warm and relaxing, instead of fast and thrilling. You’re ... not sure which you like more.  You like this better. Down and down. Deeper and deeper. Slower and slower. Feeling those warm, gentle waves lapping as the spiral design flashes, lapping away at your thoughts. It’s funny, how easy it is to just let it happen, bro. You feel a tingling in your crotch. It’s so good, like the tingle spreading through your body as you listen, listen to the murmuring water, listen to the whisper. Feels so good tight, bro. Tight is good, bro. A smile pulls gently at your lips. Bro. That funny little joke between you and Buff Duff. It’s turned into a game. Every time you see him, you have to win call him bro, and he calls back. It’s sort of funny cool, really.  Cool, like this ride. So cool. So steady. Steady as the voice that trickles just on the edge of your hearing. Hearing is good. You want to hear it. You want to listen up, bro. Listen good. Listen tight. So tight, you can’t break free. But ... why would you want to, when it feels so good? And good is tight. And listening is good. Tighter and tighter. Deeper and deeper. Listening, like a good bro should. Cause bros are tight. And you’re tight. So tight. Tight, bro. Good, bro. Good bro.... Bro.... You’re a ... bro? Just a..... What is it saying? ‘Cause that is.... So deep. The voice. Deeper and deeper. Like the spiral. Descending. So ... prett--NO! Have to ... have to stay focused. Have to listen. Cause listening’s good. Good is tight. Hold tight to the voice. Listen to it. What’s it saying? Just a big..... You shudder. You feel your muscles twitch as your voice catches. Your chest is expanding before your eyes as you stare at the spiral. You can’t help yourself. “Big....” you mutter in some surprise. The tingling erupts full force, and you’re lost in ecstasy as your muscles begin to inflate. ‘Cause that is what.... What? “You say somethin’, bro?” Your voice sounds deeper. Your eyes are feeling somewhat heavy. Just a big dumb.... Bro! Your eyes roll in the back of your head as the pleasure redoubles. A low chuckle escapes your lips as it huffs out of your hulking chest so easily. “Dumb....” It takes a few minutes, before you can gather your sluggish thoughts enough to realize how funny that is. Big and dumb. What must that be like? Don’t think you’ll ever know. You chuckle again. “Huhuhuhuh....” ‘Cause that is what you are. What you are. You look down at yourself. Your muscles have practically exploded. You feel the heft of your manhood weighing inside your ... trunks? No, it’s a speedo, bro. Bros show off. Big bros show off. And you’re definitely big. So, since you’re so big, you should, uh ... uh ..... You’re just a big dumb jock bro, ‘cause that is what you are. You hear it this time, and it clicks. “Bro,” you gasp. Then you chuckle. It feels so good! ‘Cause that is what you are. That is ... what you are. Just a big dumb jock bro.... Just a big dumb jock bro. That is what you are. That is what you are. “I’m a big, dumb jock bro. ... Yeah.....”

You blink blearily as you slowly come awake to the blaring of your alarm clock. You hear the dull murmur of static next to your ears and find, much to your surprise, that your earbuds have fallen out during your sleep. The monitors and their hanging attachments that were bolted to your bed the previous afternoon are displaying a constantly moving spiral. You sigh and reach back to flick the switch that will turn them off. Then you follow the earbuds back to the player and look over the file nae on the display. You furrow your brow in confusion. “What’s an RP file doing playing in my sleep? Did I push the randomizer or something?” You stretch, yawn, then scratch your crotch, before turning to get up. You push the arm of the screen at your bedside back against the wall, then stride over to the rack, where your dumbbells are waiting for you. You pull off your night shirt and toss it casually on the floor, leaving you bare-chested as you reach forward and grasp the handles. It’s gotten much easier being shirtless in the apartment. Maybe you’ll be willing to try it in the gym sometime later, if the situation calls for it. But for now, .... “Time to get to work.”

I totally agree one hundred percent. I may not like language much, but this artist has a point. One that, unfortunately, hits all too close to home for me. ^^;

It’s Not Fair

As someone pointed out to me tonight, and as something I have known for a long time and I know others know too, I’m just going to say it, even though it sounds childish:

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that the creators of our favorite shows are allowed to hang and display fan art of their shows on the walls, but they can’t even touch fanfiction.

It’s not fair that fan artists can be hired by authors and content creators to design content for them, but writers can’t.

It’s not fair that fan art gets thousands of notes, but fanfiction rarely hits more than double digits (all likes, no reblogs).

It’s not fair that we have to beg for responses to our work.

It’s not fair that people demand us for new updates moments after we put out a new one.

It’s not fair that if we charge “too much” for a commission, we don’t eat dinner that night, but I’ve seen fan art sketches get sold for over sixty dollars.

It’s not fair that every time a writer makes a post about how much it SUCKS to be a fanfiction writer, we get people in the comments saying “artists work hard too!”

We know they do.

It’s not fair that I have to put a disclaimer in to every post like this saying that I recognize how hard artists work, that I appreciate and adore them.

But fandom, every single fandom, creators included, is not fair to its writers.

And it fucking sucks.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 23

Fängsla’s face was plastered with a massive grin as he watched you approach. “Look at you!” he crowed. “You have grown so much. Come. Come. Let me see.” He practically dragged you behind him to that same corner. Harry followed behind, barely stifling a yawn as the early morning sun peeked through the warehouse windows. The building was practically bereft, this time around. You blush as you follow behind. You can feel the way your bicep brushes against the broader “wings” on your torso, and a shudder of pleasure rushes over you again. Your muscles are still taut from your morning workout, so you can’t help but thrust your chest forward somewhat. It wasn’t a matter of confidence or dominance. You were simply ... letting your body drive. Fängsla pulled out a measuring tape and turned back to face you again. “Please, remove your clothing.” “What’s the company got for me to pose with today?” you ask as you strip off your shirt to reveal your swollen pectorals and pumped abdominals. You barely manage to suppress a shudder of pleasure as you feel the elastic-like material peel off the mounds your biceps have developed into. “And your voice has changed, too! Oh, this is wonderful! Yes, bosses will be very impressed,” he said in his thick accent. Soon he was wrapping the tape around your arms and torso, first to test when you were relaxed, then again, when you tensed them. “Fängsla,” you chide, “you didn’t answer my question.” “Will see in due time, yes? First, we must complete measurements.” He dutifully jotted every piece of information on a clipboard. Then, once that portion was out of the way, he smiled and turned to face you. “Truly, you are proud muscle man now.” He grinned. “I hope you will enjoy the selection.” Once again, you found the three types of underwear waiting for you. You didn’t even stop to think as you strode past, picking up the jock strap. A familiar tingling filled your crotch, and a smile touched your lips. It was time to show off. And much though you hated to admit it, you liked showing off now. You strode out with that confident swagger you’d developed as your legs thickened from all that time pressing and squatting. A smirk pulled at your lips almost involuntarily as you approached the waiting pair. “So,” you ask, “what do you think?” Fängsla muttered a few words in Swedish, as his eyes widened, and then he grinned. “No briefs?” You shrug and grunt. “The jock grew on me.” “Now you are becoming proud muscle man. You are a djur, uh, how you say, a muscle beast, a brute.” You chuckle. “I wouldn’t go that far.” You shake your head. At least not yet. Still, it is a funny little word, and it bounces around in your head as you follow  Fängsla to the booth. “But that is what bosses want, yes?” the photographer asked as the flashes began. “Someone djurisk, brutish.” Another strobe. “And djurs spend their time growing stronger. Strength brings them pleasure.” Flash. “Pleasure brings them pride.” Strobe. “Pride in their muscles, growing their muscles.” Flash. “Muscles grow, strength grows.” Poof. “Strength grows, pleasure grows.” Strobe. You’re starting to feel dizzy. Flash. You blink your eyes as your pupils struggle to adjust, shrinking and growing with each burst of light. “Pleasure in muscles, pride in muscles. Pleasure in strength, pride in strength. Is kretslopp, a cycle. But you understand this, don’t you? You are already part of it, yes?” “Uh, ... yeah....” The room is starting to spin. “Because you are proud muscle man.” Flash. “Proud....” Strobe. “Proud of muscles.” Flash. You grunt as you flex, and a familiar tingling floods through you. You’re hardly even aware how glassy and unfocused your eyes are becoming as you stare, befuddled, at the camera. Strobe. “And the bigger you grow, the more djurisk, more brutish, you become, yes?” Flash. “Yes....” you slur, hardly even paying attention anymore. You just want to pose, show off your muscles, because you are proud of your muscles. Strobe. “Good. Good. Just like that. Show me more djur. Show me more muscle man. Let him out.” Let him out. “Let him stay.” Let him stay. “Good.” “Good,” you low. Your mouth opens up into a dopey grin as you listen to his rolling voice and follow the pretty strobing lights. So good. ... So ... tight.... ... ....... ....................

"And we’re done.” The words were like a bell going off in your ears, jarring you out of that strange sort of half-conscious state you’d come to enjoy. You furrow your brow and frown in disappointment.  “Already?” you ask. Fängsla chuckled. “Is already after noon. You have been here for several hours.” He smiled then. “You are very good model. Take well to instruction.” “Um ... thank you?” You rub your head to knock out the last of the daze. “Here, kid.” Harry handed you a plastic bottle, and you guzzled its contents gratefully. The rapid click of photo shutters and the occasional distant flash alerted you the fact that the three of you were no longer alone. And yet, ... you didn’t feel ashamed. You stretch briefly to work out a few kinks from the session, then stride over to the table.”I’m keeping these,” you say as you grab the various underwear. “Of course,” Fängsla says mildly. “You practice with them, yes? For next time?” “If I have to.” You wave your clenched mitt offhandedly, letting the handful of straps do the talking as you crush the bottle you’ve been holding in your other hand and toss its crumpled remains into a nearby trash can. Then you reach down and scratch the pouch of your jock strap, letting out a low grunt. That familiar tingling pressure builds in your head again, this time focusing around your brow. You chuckle and smile as you make your way to the changing room, practically strutting with a new rolling gait. “Damn, you’re good,” Harry swore as he stared at the door you had just disappeared behind. Fängsla shrugged his broad shoulders. “It is gift. Some models just need the right probing. I enjoy helping people let go of fear. Bodies are beautiful. They should be shown to the world. I never understood why you Americans are so shy about this.” Harry coughed. “Call it a cultural weakness.” You step out a few minutes later and swipe the rest of the garments into your gym bag. Then you stride forward to shake hands with Fängsla. “Thank you again.” “It is my pleasure,” Fängsla replied with a white-toothed grin. “You should let that djur out more often, yes?” He chuckled. “I like that muscle man.” You can’t help but chuckle in return. “We’ll see, Fängsla. One step at a time.” “Of course. Of course. Farewell, little djur. Until next we meet.” You roll your eyes and smile good-naturedly as you stride past the other models. Your New Balance shoes leave a spring in your step that only adds to the giddiness you’re feeling from this most recent photo op. “Harry?” “Yeah, kid?” “Thanks for getting me this gig.” Harry smiled. “No problem, kid.” He looked at a notification on his phone screen. “No problem at all.”