Well, As A Suggestion, And To Add Some More Inanimate TFs, A Buff Featureless Mannequin TF? The Details

Well, as a suggestion, and to add some more inanimate TFs, a buff featureless mannequin TF? The details could be anything. Someone wish to get buff only to have the wish twisted around. Modeling for a friend who draws him then redraws the image to look better, changing him to look buff, before erasing the extra features that would take away from looking at his now perfect body. A mind controlled drone related TF. A fashion store in need of a new mannequin. A weird yet well paying job. Etc.

I’ll consider it. Though, I still need to focus on the work I’m doing with my current series, before I pop into that one.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 31

You grunt heavily as you plant yourself down on the reinforced metal stool. The cool granite counter top soothes the burning in your forearms as you slot in next to two more of the gym’s regulars. The music throbs in your ear canals through your earbuds with that dull droning in the background. The barman approaches and grunts as he runs a drying cloth over a massive cup. “What’ll it be?” “Post workout,” you return. “Biggest size you’ve got.” The man nodded. “One muscleman special coming up.” You shudder and grunt as he turns to the blender, enjoying the high that surges through your system. Looking to either side of you, you notice the whole bar is full of regulars. Each of them sits mulling over a massive container of protein shake. Earbuds snake down their ears as they sip and stare intermittently. The loud whirr of the blender makes it impossible to talk, but for some reason, you know that even if they could, they probably wouldn’t want to. These guys were hard core body builders, after all. You were just a prissy model who came in for a gig. You casually tense your bicep as you watch it inflate. “Not so prissy now,” you mutter. The mug smacks down in front of you, and you look up in some surprise. Had the time passed that quickly? “Good hustle on the floor today,” the barkeep complimented. “You deserve this.” “Thanks,” you say. The keep shrugged. “Just tellin’ the truth.” You furrow your brow in confusion. “Do I ... know you from somewhere?” “I’m here every day, dumbass,” he deadpanned. You chuckled as that pleasurable fog rolled in. Dumbass. So funny. “Huhuhuh ... yeah. Sorry, man.” Then you frown again. “But seriously, haven’t I seen you ... you know, somewhere else?” He turned quickly away from you as he worked a cap off one of the many jars of powders the bar provided for its unique blends. You watched his shoulders tense and relase as he hunched forward, then returned to his full height, and suddenly it clicked. “Yeah ... weren’t you on the team that helped remodel my--?” “You really should be drinking your protein shake, muscleman.” And suddenly your body went rigid. Your eyes fell on the shake. Your mouth watered. “I ... I should....” “Drink your protein shake, muscleman.” Your hand trembles as you reach for the tall container. “You are what you eat. Drink the muscleman, become the muscleman, muscleman. You should drink the shake.” You blink your eyes slowly. Your head feels full of cotton. “Drink ... the shake?” You feel the cold from the cup seeping into your hand as the droplets tingle on your skin. It’s sweating, just like you’re sweating. And for some reason, that makes you smile. It’s good to sweat, after all. “Don’t think, muscleman. Just drink. That is what you are here for. You should drink your shake.” “It’s good to drink,” a gruff voice sounds to your right. “I drink the muscleman to be a muscleman,” the hulk on your left says. “Musclemen drink their shakes,” the counter says in unison. You smell the sweet scent as the cold beverage hovers under your nose. Your hot breath fogs the plastic on the cup. As one body, the men hold their cups to their lips as their eyes rest on you. “They’re waiting, muscleman. Drink,” the barkeep says. “I should drink my shake....” The words are out of your mouth before your addled head can even wonder. And then you feel that familiar, exultant sensation of thick, cold liquid flowing over your tongue, consuming your taste buds, flooding the roof of your mouth. And you feel your neck throbbing, bobbing, with every swallow. Up and down. Up and down. Your eyes look to either side. Thick legs are spread at a perfect symmetrical angle. Backs are straight. And Adam’s apples are bouncing with every loud gulp. Up and down. Up and down. Musclemen drink their shakes. Up and down. Up and down. Together..... Your crotch tightens with each gulp and you sigh, then belch in perfect time with the others as you all lower your cups to the counter top. Everything feels so ... muted, calm, empty. A massive hand claps you on the back. “Welcome to the club, muscleman.” Your response is immediate. “I am a muscleman. I grow my muscles.” The man looks at you calmly. “We lift things up and put them down.” You shudder in pleasure at the phrase as the pair of you clasp hands and he nods approvingly. “I look forward to seeing you on the circuit.” “When I am ready,” you respond. “Until then, muscleman.” He nods to you, and you nod dazedly in return as a smile crosses your face. “Until then,” you say. Then you turn back to the barkeep, who’s busy clearing away the empty cups. “So, what was it you wanted to ask me again?” he said. “Huh?” “That question. You wanted to ask me something.” It takes a moment for you to process that. “Did I?” The barkeep rolled his eyes, but smiled, despite himself. “Nevermind, dumbass.” You chuckle and pop a double bicep flex. “What can I say? I put it all in here.” “You’re a real meathead, aren’t you?” You take a few minutes this time as you tap your chin, flex a few muscles, bounce your pecs shamelessly against your tight tank top. “Yeah, ... I suppose I am.” You grin. “Just a big, dumbass meathead.” And every part of you sang at the phrase.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 27

“Repeat after me. You’re a big, dumb muscle brute.” You grunt as you lift your weights. The dumbbells you got from Duff weren’t enough anymore, but one call to Harry was all it took to get what you needed. Your sponsor was only too happy to provide you with the weights, after hearing a sample of your voice acting. You were only too happy to oblige. It was so easy to just listen and do it. “I’m a big, dumb muscle brute,” you rumble obediently. “You love to lift.” “I love to lift.” “To lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down.” A shudder passed through you as you curled yet another hefty weight and watched the pump building in your swollen bicep. “It is what you do.” Pump. “It’s what I do.” “All you do.” Repeat. “All I do.” “All you think about.” “All I think about.” “Weights and muscle.” “Weights and muscle.” Heavier weights. Bigger muscles. Get swole. So big. “You are obsessed with weights and muscle.” “I am obsessed with weights and muscle.” Hell yeah, you are. A predatory growl escapes your lips as your heartbeat surges through your eardrums. “The more you lift, the harder it is to think about anything else, to talk about anything else, to be anything else.” A convulsive shudder passes through your frame. “Lift. Grow. Don’t think.” Gotta keep it short for the next-- PUMP Your mouth is gaping open. The rush is filling you with a surging need to lift faster, harder, stronger. You don’t hear the words anymore. All that matters is the burn. All that matters. ... All that matters. ... All ... That ... Matters.........

“Um, are you sure you want to leave this much tip?” “Huh?” You turn to look up at the waitress in confusion. “You gave me a hundred, Sir.” “Did I?” Your brow furrows as your face crunches in concentration. “Is that over much?” “Sir, the meal only cost you thirty dollars for three teriyaki chicken rice bowls.” “Oh, yeah.” You chuckle. “I’m on my bulk cycle. Thought I ordered more than that.” You rub the back of your head, even as the waitress looked pointedly down at your table. You follow her gaze to see the three empty bowls staring vacantly up at you, their contents devoured. Your blush increases. “Sorry, Jackie. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been acting like such a dumbass lately.” A dull surge of pleasure rushes through you and you smile, despite your embarrassment. You stare off into space, just letting that tingle linger as your mind empties and you hear that distant clanking of metal plates calling you again. “Sir?” You surface out of your reverie, drawn by two snapping fingers in your face. “Oh, uh, sorry. How much do I owe you again?” The waitress rolled her eyes. “Thirty dollars,” she repeated. You reach back into your wallet and pull out two twenties and a ten. “Here,” you say as you thrust them at her. She exchanges the hundred in turn. “Sir, you realize that’s fifty dollars you’ve just given me now, right?” “Think of it as payment for inconvenience. Like I said, I’ve been a dumbass. It’s only right I pay for that, too.” You chuckle again and smile at her, then pick up your gym bag and drape it lazily behind your shoulders. “Maybe next time, we can make it a meal for two. My treat,” you offer. A blush rises in the waitress’ cheeks as her eyes run over your rippling physique. Your smile widens. “No need to answer now. I’m usually here for lunch. Keep an eye out for me, and answer me then, okay?” And then you walk calmly past, leaving her to stare after you, along with half the other women in the restaurant. Damn, was it good to be buff. “Buff, like Duff,” your murmur under your breath as you exit the building and start to walk toward the gym. The bus was boring, and you needed more time to settle your stomach, anyways, so a walk was just what the doctor ordered. You pulled your earbuds back where they belonged and pressed play on the player resting in the custom arm band wrapped around your bicep. You could already hear the weights calling for you again, even as the familiar clanking rang through your eardrums alongside a slow, smooth, deep voice. “Time for another session, muscleman....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 34

“Hey, kid. I’ve got another gig for you, if you’re interested,” Harry’s voice carried over your new bluetooth phone accessory into your ears. Hank suggested the twin earpieces the moment you talked about how Harry’s calls were messing up your workouts. The little devices were an absolute miracle. “It’s for a new brand of sports gear coming out,” Harry continued. “Jock straps, cleats, socks, shorts, uniforms, football, baseball, you name it.” You pump your dumbbells casually, admiring the healthy gold that’s replaced your once pale white skin as you mull the offer over. “How long?” you finally ask. “It’ll take about a week or two.” “Local?” “Out of state, but they’re willing to add housing expenses.” You mull that over again slowly as you continue to pump rhythmically. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Finally, you nod and speak. “I’ll need a gym. High quality, full spread, full access. It’s not home without a gym,” you say, “and I need to keep up my workout schedule.” “Of course. I already explained the details of your other contract to them. They agreed a muscleman like you is perfect for the job.” The world came to a halt as your weights dropped to the padded flooring. “A muscleman like me is perfect for the job,” you repeat in a dull monotone. “Because proud musclemen love to show off, and what is modeling, but a chance to show off those muscles?” “I am a proud muscleman. I love to show off.” “That’s right,” Harry said. “Show off for the cameras.” “I show off for the cameras.” “You will pose as you are ordered, during your photo sessions, because proud musclemen don’t think. You remember that, don’t you, muscleman? Musclemen don’t think.” “Our muscles think for us,” you return. “My muscle drives my body.” “Just a big, dumb muscleman growing bigger and dumber, bigger and dumber every time you lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down,” you slur in a deep, bovid voice. “That’s right, Djur. Lifting and growing and dumbing, until there’s nothing but a bulky, brawny brute of a body builder. Because that is what you are becoming. That is where you want to be, isn’t it?” “Yes.” “Good muscleman. Now, when I say the word congratulations, you are going to wake back up out of this trance with no memory of this exchange. You will remember agreeing to the contract and feel enthusiastic about the modeling to come, because musclemen and sports gear go hand in hand. You know this from the compression gear you take with you to the gym every day.” “Yes,” you agree. “And you will wear whatever they ask you to without complaint, because...?” “Musclemen and sports gear go hand in hand.” “That’s right. You’re a good muscleman.” “I am a good muscleman.” “Now pick up your weights and resume your exercises.” You quickly move to do so, pumping mindlessly as you listen to the voice that has held your attention so raptly. Harry’s chuckle carried over into your ears. “Congratulations, kid. You’ve got the contract.” You blink blearily for a moment. “S-sorry, Harry,” you low slowly. “I ... didn’t get all that. I think you broke up a bit.” You shake your head to try to clear the fog. “I said you got the contract, kid. I’ll send the travel arrangements your way, once I’ve got them booked. A big grin spread over your face as your heart rate picked up. “Awesome! Thanks, Harry!” Harry chuckled. “No problem, kid. I’ll see you soon. Keep up the great work.” “I will,” you promise as you stare into your mirror and smile at the way your muscles ripple and shift under your skin as you work them. “I will,” you repeat in a dreamier tone as the buds pick up on your MP3 player and the familiar tracks filter through your ears.

Harry panted to himself as he laid a hand against his chest to get his heart rate under control. An exultant surge pulsed through his brain as the flood of adrenaline merged with a hint of arousal. His cheeks flushed and his bald spot shone with sweat as he reached for a tissue and dabbed the droplets away. Once he’d regained enough control of himself, he pulled out his cell phone and clicked the redial button. A few rings later, and he heard the familiar voice of his client on the other end. “How did it go?” the deep voice asked. “Surprisingly well,” Harry said. “I ... I’ve never done something like that before.” The man on the other end chuckled. “You enjoyed it.” It wasn’t a question. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, Mister Harrison.” The flush in Harry’s cheeks deepened. “Please, call me Sir. I find that much more informal than ‘Mister Harrison.’” “I, uh ... don’t know if I feel all that comfortable calling you that, ... Sir.” Harrison chortled. “I’ve already sent the payment, along with a little ... let’s call it a bonus, a reward, if you will, for excellent service.” Harry’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “I ... I always aim to please, Sir.” “Of course you do. You have talent, Harry. You don’t mind, if I call you Harry, do you? After all, we’ve been working together for so long.” Harry gulped. “O-of course not, Sir.” “Good. Good. You see, Harry, when I find talent, real potential, I like to make use of it, polish it until it shines so perfectly, so emptily, that I can see my own reflection.” “Um ... is this going anywhere, Sir?” Harry’s voice cracked, and he swallowed to alleviate the dryness, then fumbled for his coffee mug and took a sip. His hand trembled as he returned the mug to its place on his desk. “To put it simply, Harry, I see that glimmer in you. I see the talent, the spark. You, sir, have the soul of a conditioner, a manager, if you will, not unlike Fängsla.” Harry chuckled nervously. “Um, thank ... you?” “Which is why I’m going to start polishing you now.” “Excuse m--?” “Report, candidate.” Harry shot bolt-upright in his chair. His eyes stared unseeingly at the door to his office. “Yes, Sir.” His chair scraped back against the hardwood floor as he reached over to grab his phone and keys, then made his way to the office door. He stopped only long enough to lock it behind him and tell the secretary to hold his calls and cancel his appointments, followed by the assurance he’d be in contact soon and handing her the key to the main office. “Lock up. Take care of the place. There’s a bonus in it for you, if you do well,” he promised. And then, just like that, he was out the door walking at a brisk pace to reach his car. He had to report.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 29

You continue to pump your weights, heedless of the movers as they tromped into your apartment hauling boxes and bits and pieces of furniture. A few of the laborers look almost familiar to you, somehow. Maybe ... you saw them at the gym? You ... can’t ... quite seem to ... focus on it.... Then your eyes fall on your hulking torso in the mirror and you let that thought drop. The hairs on your chest have spread out in a perfect triangle that’s just the right thickness to accentuate the muscle, without obscuring it. You grin at the sight of your broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted abdomen. The veins standing on your arms only serve to better accentuate the pistons you’ve worked so hard to build and maintain. The rhythmic pulse of screwdrivers deepens your trance as you sink into that familiar emptiness and smile. You’re not sure how long you’ve been pumping, when you feel a firm tap on your shoulder. You turn to look into the mover’s murky brown eyes. “Job’s finished,” he rumbled. “Good,” you grunt. You look around the room briefly, eyeing the new surround sound speakers, the motivational posters, the new bench press, the pull-up bar, the squat rack, and so many weights. One of the men is busy organizing your DVDs and Blu-rays on the shelf. The screen of your new massive television pulses a myriad of patterns and images. “Welcome to your new and improved home.” It was like something set a switch off in your brain. The response was automatic. “The gym is my home.” The man nodded. “That is right.” They each file past you, one at a time, laying a meaty hand over your shoulder as they make their way out. When the workers had gone, a single figure remained at the doorway. He’s short, kinda on the scrawny side. Could use a good bulking, you think absently as you look at him. He swayed briefly, then stepped inside, looking about in confusion. His hair was tied back in a long black ponytail and his sneakers scuffed against the floor as he shuffled in. One word clicks in your mind. Landlord. “Wh-what ... did you just do?” He blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if trying to shake off sleep. “These renovations. I ... I never gave--.” You tromp over to him with an easy gait and, pausing only to squat down and pick up a set of lighter dumbbells from your new coffee table on your way to the door, you finish your advance. You press them into the man’s chest and he grabs the handles out of reflex. He stares down at them, dumbfounded, as they drop to his sides. You shake your head in disgust. “What’re you standing there for? You gotta lift ‘em, like this, bro.” You clasp your meaty mitts around his pale skinny fingers and get behind him to manipulate his arms. You show him the form, just like Hank and Duff showed you. “Up and down. Up and down.” “This ... this isn’t--.” You shush him quickly. “Gotta focus to lift,” you say gruffly as you fold your arms and glower down at him. “Focus and listen.” “Wh--wha--?” You tromp over to the TV and access the first beginner workout DVD you see. Curiously enough, it’s the only one of its kind sitting at eye level. You let that pass, however. It’s not for you to think about. All you think about is growing your muscle. You pop the disc into the player and back up as your speakers blare into the room. “Now, let me show you how to lift....”

This! This deserves a reblog. Absolutely INCREDIBLE What-if scene. *applauds loudly* Well done, Kyraneko. Well done!