Working Like A Thrall Chapter 2

Working Like a Thrall Chapter 2

Here’s the second chapter. By this point, I started incorporating our friend, the librarian into the story as a sort of pre-part, before going back into this “journal” of our protagonist. I hope you all enjoy it. P.S. What do you think of me linking PDF URL to my transformation stories, rather than putting the text directly in the post box? I can’t do it for all of them, but for those that I have posted elsewhere online in PDF files, I can. Please let me know what you think. Thanks! ~Omni

Working Like a Thrall Chapter 1

This is best shown as a PDF, so if you’d all just follow this link here, you should hopefully be able to read it as intended. I’ll be including a brief introductory portion below that pertains to the story from the librarian’s perspective, so please read it, before you go to the document. Thanks. :D P.S. This does get a bit on the mature side in some places. You have been warned.

Azeroth had been safe for the last six years, after the first great war ended. The dreaded Horde was defeated, its armies pushed back, and its gateway destroyed. Unfortunately, that was not to last. The Horde returned, and it was out for revenge. Many men, women, and children fell victim to this great and terrible foe in their second and most ruthless campaign to date. This is but the narrative of one such victim, whose word was sadly unheeded. The fate he has faced may be deemed too terrible for words. Peruse this narrative with caution, reader, for it is not for the faint of heart, and some small piece of the Horde's foul essence still remains bound within these pages. You are still determined to read it? ... Very well, then. You have been warned.

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.”

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 21

You stare at the poster on the wall, uncertain as to which may prove the best style for you. There were so many to choose from! You knew you wanted short. That much was certain. But just what kind of short would really suit you? Did you want the high and tight, the flat top, a simple buzz cut, maybe some kind of crew cut? Whatever it was, you knew you wanted short. It was just so hard to choose with all the possibilities! The comforting buzz of electric razors at work hummed cheerfully in the background as they sawed through hair follicles to the tune of soft jazz. You could already feel a sympathetic tingling in your scalp as the sound permeated through your ears. Then came the sound of smart shoes clattering against the laminate tiles as Harry approached from behind. “So, you decide yet, kid?” he asked. You shake your head mutely. He whistled. “Sure is a lot to choose from, isn’t there?” “Don’t remind me,” you reply glumly. Your long-sleeved Underarmor shirt hugs tightly to your frame and you take a certain amount of comfort in that constant embrace. Every time you moved, it was like someone was giving you a massage, rubbing over each muscle, and it felt so very good. You couldn’t understand why you’d never had more of these shirts in your wardrobe to begin with. Harry chuckled, and the crown on his head shone as he wagged it back and forth. “You know, kid, you could always ask the barber what he thinks would look best. He is a professional, after all. The company recommended him specifically for you.” You furrow your brow a moment. “Why ... would they do that?” “Do what?” “Why would they recommend a specific barber? There are plenty of others out there. Why this one, in particular?” Harry shrugged. “He may not look it, but the guy’s trained in more than barber school. He’s a former stylist for all sorts of events. Fashion week, Couture, movies. You name it, he’s done it. The man’s a genius. He always seems to know just the right look for his clients to get into character. You sway on your feet as a bout of dizziness overwhelms you. Were it not for Harry’s swift reflexes, you probably would’ve faceplanted. You’re dimly aware of the steadying arm wrapped around your own as you’re led, stumbling, to a padded leather chair. You feel a gentle breeze on your face, and something is shoved into your moth. You clamp onto it and suck, filling your mouth with the familiar taste of vanilla and cinnamon. “Easy, kid. Easy,” Harry soothes. The dizziness subsides. “That’s it. Relax. Just relax.” You gulp heavily, until the familiar rapid staccato of air rushing with the last dregs of liquid pounds through the room. You sigh as you fall back into the chair, and are pleasantly surprised to feel a head rest cradling your neck as your shoulders slump. “What just...?” you ask slowly. “Dizzy spell. You’re all right now,” Harry promised. “Barry here’s gonna take care of you. You can’t help but chuckle. “Harry and Barry, huh?” Harry smiled. “He’s gonna be okay.” “Good. I’d hate for my client to have to run, before I even get the chance to handle him.” You feel your chair swivel, and suddenly you’re facing a veritable Adonis. His golden hair was perfectly coiffed with a natural wave that formed on his right side to jut up into the air. His skin was a healthy tan and his face was rounded, almost heart-shaped. His white teeth practically radiated confidence as he bore them in a smile. His long white sleeves are rolled up around his biceps to highlight the light dusting of golden hairs along his arms that accentuated each curve of well-toned muscle perfectly. His deep blue eyes were an incredible sight, the kind you might have killed for, back when you were more focused on your modeling career. Well, it’s not like you aren’t still focused. It’s just ... not on those aspects anymore. You’ve been too busy focusing on your body. And ... well, the results speak for themselves. You can bench a good 140 pounds now. The repetitive clank of the weights, the burn as you feel the muscles working to tear and repair over and over again. That same process over and over.... “Hello? Earth to,” Harry calls your name. You blink blearily as you turn to face him. “Huh? Oh, sorry, Harry. Was kinda lost in thought.” Well, not so much lost as visiting a happy place. You never thought you’d consider all that effort as enjoyable, but now you find yourself almost longing for those exercises. A body is a machine, and your machine was designed to LIFT. “One of those, is it?” Barry asked in a bored tone. “It is what it is,” Harry said with a shrug. “Bosses want him to look the part.” “Well, he’s certainly well on his way to acting it,” Harry mused as he stroked his smooth chin. “How long?” “He’s been training for about the last two months.” “And how much has he gained?” “See for yourself.” You watch in that twilit sort of daze as Harry passes a phone to the man. He passes his finger along the screen a few times, and Barry lets out a whistle. “He has potential.” “That’s what I told them. Kid’s a hard worker.” “What can I say? I love to work out.” You shrug your shoulders casually. Barry pursed his lips as he considered you. “I see.” He walked over and stared at you closely, occasionally cocking his head to the side. “I’m going to touch you for a moment. Please don’t get upset. I just need to check your facial structure to be sure.” “Sure?” “Of what types of styles would work best for you,” he clarified as he reached forward and started probing at your cheeks, your neck, your jaw. “Hmm ... yes, yes. I think I have it now.” He withdrew and started stroking his chin again as he paced. “You, my friend, are most definitely a square type.” “Hey!” He rolled his eyes. “Square in facial structure, not in the insulting kind of way.” “Oh.” You chuckle nervously. “Sorry.” You’re such a dumbass. That dreamy smile returns again as you think that word, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Hmm. Yes, I think I know just the kind of cut you need,” Barry mused. “Something ... simple, low maintenance.” “I like simple.” “Of course you do,” he says offhandedly. “Um, excuse me, Barry. Can I pay up now?” A smaller, more reserved young man with black hair and a smooth part that shone with pomade looked timidly up at the man. A simple sweater vest hugged over a creamy white long-sleeved shirt. “Oh, but of course, Alexander. Forgive me. I completely forgot.” “N-no problem, really. I don’t mind waiting, if you need me to,” the boy said hastily. Barry’s smile widened. “Nonsense. A good young man like you deserves to be treated fairly, after that terrible ordeal in juvie. You’re a proper reformed citizen now, aren’t you?” “Yes,” Alexander said dreamily. “A proper reformed citizen.” He held out a twenty dollar bill, which Barry was only too happy to pocket.  “And do try to remember to stay with the right sort of people this time, won’t you?” Barry asked. “Of course, Sir.” Alexander’s smile widened into a dopey grin as he clicked his polished leather boots together and gave a smart salute. Barry chuckled. “Off you go now, my boy. I’m certain your parents must be anxious to see you again.” “Oh, right. Thanks again, Barry!” Alexander waved happily as he snatched his jacket off the coat rack and made his way out the door into the snowdrifts to a waiting sheriff's car. Barry sighed happily. “Ah, youth. I love seeing them make the right sort of choices again.” Then he turned back to you. “Now, then, let’s get started on your haircut, shall we?” He clicked a button on a remote and the lights dimmed as a familiar whirring began to play over the speakers. The buzzing of the razor left you feeling loopy as the vibrations carried from the first contact, seeping deep into the nerves along your scalp and neck. You roll your eyes back in delight as the room starts to spin. “In the professional circuit, we like to call this style the induction cut. Why don’t you just lean back, relax, and I’ll tell you all about it....”

The (former) Companion

We spoke just the other day.

You never left me after.