Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 31

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 26

The rhythmic clank of the weights on the barbell beats into your skull like the blow of a hammer on steel. The weights are the hammer. The bench, your anvil. And you, you’re the metal being forged, molded, remade into something powerful, useful, efficient. Combat ready. A smirk crosses your face. You’re not sure where that thought came from, but you like it. After all, what else are muscles for? They are to show that you are the best. The bigger you grow, the stronger you get. The stronger you get, the harder it is for opponents to defeat you. It’s only right. Soon you’ll be a match for Duff, and then he’d better watch out. A perfect match. “Yeah,” you rumble as you feel that burn you’ve become so addicted to rushing through your vascular arms. “You say something, bro?” Duff looks down at you with a knowing smirk. A set of earbuds trails down from his ears into his MP3 player as he spots you. “Just that I’m gonna whoop your sorry ass next time we wrestle,” you growl. Your voice has dropped a good half octave, and it feels so good every time you push into the deeper registers. It’s good to drop deeper. That dull numbing sensation returns in your head as Duff chuckles, and you would join him, if you could, but you have to keep your focus on your set. Uneven breathing wreaks havoc on your lift. And a muscle machine like you needs to lift. A new wave of pleasure washes out all thought as you open your mouth. “I lift things up and put them down.” Duff is grinning as he looks down at you. “Nah, bro. We lift things up and put them down.” He lets out a familiar husky chuckle as his gaze becomes unfocused. He pops a flex as you stare up at his broad torso. His pecs are bouncing one after the other in perfect time, and you can’t help but mimic his grin at the sight. You push quickly through the last of your set, then rack the weight and stand with him. The gym is empty once again. Too close to closing time for most customers to want to visit. And that’s good. It leaves the rest of the equipment open for the two of you. Besides, Hank doesn’t mind letting you two stay late. He trusts Duff. Certainly enough to make him a workout buddy, or a ‘big bro,’ as Duff jokingly said one time. You chuckle at the sight of his pecs jumping in perfect rigid tempo. “Huhuhuh....” “Look who’s talking,” Duff countered with a sneer. You look down and marvel at the sight of your own pecs dancing to the same beat as Duff’s. Back and forth. Back and forth. Up and down. Up and down. Up. ... Down. Everything seems to slow to a trickle as you stare, mesmerized by the motion. Your mouth hangs open in a confused sort of O as you breathe deeply. Deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. No need to think. Just ... be. “I lift things up and put them down.” You look up dazedly at Duff. He’s handing you a massive pair of dumbbells. You take them without thinking. The pumping continues. The rhythm pulses through your brain. “I lift things up and put them down,” you return in that same vapid tone. Soon you’re both standing shirtless in front of the floor-length mirror. Sweat glistens over your torsos as you continue to pump. Duff soon joins you with another pair of weights. “I lift things up and put them down,” he utters again. “I lift things up and put them down.” And so it continued late into the night. Two weapons being forged in the flames. Two machines executing their programming. And it was good.

I actually had no idea there were so many different middle eastern styles of headwear. I find this highly educational.

This needs to be re-blogged as much as possible.

Don’t just accept the new Terms of Service

Tumblr’s at it again, thanks to the new European Privacy Laws. There’s probably nobody who will read this, but it pissed me off so much that I decided to make a post about it. (Ignore the weird language mish-mash, depending on your country the language might differ.)

OK, so many of us get this screen when we try to access our dash:

Realise how the ‘OK’ button is a nice, attention-grabbing blue? If you’re like me, you’re not exactly into reading a 100 pages document and tend to just click it.

My tip? DONT. Instead click on ‘Manage Options’ right next to it:

Now you’ll see this page:

Still pretty harmless, right? That ‘Accept’ button is looking really attractive right now. Instead, click on Verwalten (Probably something like ‘Manage Options’ or something in english) and you’ll get to this page:

Now that’s not too bad, right? I just switched all the buttons to ‘off’, because I’m jealously guarding my personal information and don’t want Tumblr to go off and do who knows what with it. Looks like we’re done! But wait: There’s a SHOW option.

When we click on that one, what we will get is this:

A HUGE list with OVER 300 ENTRIES of companies that can use your data by default if you’d just clicked ‘OK’ on that very first page. Coincidence that this list is hidden that much? Me thinks not. They’re all switched on by default, but I am still a petty bitch that doesn’t want to give out her data, so I switched them all off. All 300+ of them. There is no option to switch them all off at once, and even if you disable all the options above, the companies are still switched on.

(If you wonder how i got that number, I copied the list into excel and looked at the cell number. No way am I actually counting all those entries)

An Experiment (Muscle Bull Hypnosis Script)

Disclaimer: Warning. This is my first attempt at a proper hypnotic script. As such, be warned, you may enter trance by reading what I am about to write. This script is namely designed for male subjects, but I will try to include wording that will make it so women can enjoy this, if they so desire. Please make sure you are sitting down and properly situated, just in case. Avoid operating any heavy machinery or driving, until the trance wears off. Hypnosis is not to be taken lightly, and I advise you to be aware of that, before you read farther. I am not responsible for your actions before, during, or after this session ends. I am not certified as a hypnotist, so I have no idea whether this will work or not. I am not, nor will I be a master or trainer to anyone. This is an experiment and nothing more. I may try more scripts later, but again, please refer to my previous statements. You all have been warned. Read at your own risk. Premise: You are arriving on the step of an old acquaintance from your school days, after receiving an invitation from him to come to his manor and “stay for a spell.” How could you refuse? The air is hot and muggy, when you arrive at the door, and it’s almost as if you’re breathing water, rather than air. The clouds are threatening torrential downpour at any moment as you knock on the door. Finally, it opens to reveal the familiar face of your old schoolmate. He hasn’t changed a bit.

Oh, hello there. Welcome to my home. I’ve been expecting you. Please, please, come in. That humid air is so draining, isn’t it? All those dim, heavy clouds drifting so slowly overhead. It’s almost like that heaviness is contagious, isn’t it? How it just spreads into your muscles, making every step a herculean effort. Why, even your eyes feel it, drooping lower and lower as you struggle to fight that weight, that building lethargy. And it just won’t go away, no matter how hard you try. No relief. No stopping. Still drooping. Still dropping. Waiting for that moment where the clouds just ... take a load off and let it all go. Careful now! Why, you nearly fell flat on your face. I hadn’t realized you were so tired. We should really take you some place to lie down, shouldn’t we? Oh, but of course we should. After all, you’ve had such a long trip. Come. Come this way now. There we go. You can lean on me, if you need. Just listen to my voice, try to stay focused, hmm? That’s right, just focus on me. Focus on my voice. Focus as we travel down the hall. Down into the winding passages. It’s a funny thing, really. This old house has been in the family for generations, but the design is so ... inefficient for the guests’ quarters. They twist, you see, spinning round and round, over and over in that slow, gentle slope. Spinning and spinning, down and down. Why, it goes on for miles, or so I always thought. I could always picture it so very clearly as a child. Can you picture it? All these rooms passing by. The doors and the walls. The doors and the walls. One solid blank surface. All white. So plain, so empty, so … clear. It’s almost like the doors aren’t even there, isn’t it? They just sort of … disappear into the background, blending into that great, blank, empty white canvas. My family was nothing, if not cheap. But we make do with what we can. Ah, and I see you’ve noticed the floor. Yes, it’s solid black marble, you know. One of the most expensive parts of the construction, really. It always put just the right accent on that spiral I mentioned earlier. Do you remember it? Can you see it now? A black streak amidst that empty, endless sea of white: spinning, echoing, reverberating, just like my voice is now. Listen. Can you hear the difference? Ah, but of course you can. Such a lovely, gentle pace, clacking in perfect time as we walk along that black ribbon spinning round and round in that sea of endless, blank white. You see now, why I always liked to picture that spiral, don’t you? It’s just so easy to do it. So easy to follow that downward course in your head. It’s almost like a game, so funny as you watch it spin and spin as we go deeper and deeper. Amusing, isn’t it? Ah, I knew you’d like it. And once you’ve got it planted in your head, it’s so hard to stop thinking about it. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’m sure you will, too, but listen well, my friend. Trust me, when I say you won’t be able to. It’s far more entertaining than this dull, drabby view, anyways. Why on earth shouldn’t you keep watching it, playing it over and over in your mind’s eye as our steady steps spin it round and round, spiraling deeper and deeper as we go lower and lower. Ah, yes, that’s right. Now you’re really getting into the fun. I can tell by that smile on your face, you know. And this is fun, isn’t it, just listening to me, hanging on my every word as you watch that spiral spinning, always spinning, always drawing your gaze deeper and deeper in your mind’s eye. It feels so very good, doesn’t it? So very right. You don’t want it to stop. I thought so. Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to. I’m right here, after all. Let’s go a little deeper, shall we? Yes, let’s go deeper. And you do want to go deeper, don’t you? I mean, we can’t reach your room without it, can we? We won’t reach your place, the place where you belong. And you belong in the spiral. Deep, deep in that spiral. That is where your place awaits you. That is where you are going, going deeper. Drawing closer to your goal. And that fills you with even more pleasure as we descend so slowly. Slower, like our pace. Slower, like the steady beat of your heart. Slower, like those stray thoughts as the spiral takes up more and more space in your mind. Ah, but that doesn’t matter now, does it? They’re just a distraction, anyways, and you need to keep your focus. Focus on me. Focus on the spiral. Focus as you listen and accept whatever I say. That’s right. You’ve been accepting so far, haven’t you? It’s good to listen. You like to listen. And the more you’ve listened, the more you’ve accepted what I have to say, and found it to be good. So, of course, you should accept whatever I say, shouldn’t you? Don’t bother thinking about it. I know how much you prefer that spiral, and your thinking is just so very slow right now, isn’t it? It would take you far too long to fumble for an answer, especially when that spiral keeps distracting you, drawing you in. Better to just listen to my voice. Listen and accept. Accept that what I say is truth. Accept that what I say goes. After all, it is my house. And in my house, it’s my rules, isn’t it? That’s how the saying goes. So, naturally, what I say goes. You have to listen. You have to accept. And that makes such perfect sense, doesn’t it? Of course, it does. My house, my rules. And you have to obey my rules. And to know the rules, you have to listen to me. You have to accept everything that I tell you without question, incorporate it into your mind, into your very being. You must listen to accept. And you must accept to stay. And you do want to stay, don’t you? Stay just like this, listening to my every word as you accept them all. And once you accept, then it’s just like a contract. You have to obey the rules, or else. And I make the rules. I am the source of the rules. That means you have to listen to what I have to say. You must accept the rules I give you. And then you must obey those rules without question. And the more you listen to those rules, the more you accept them, the more you obey, the easier it is to fall deeper into that spiral, to let it expand more and more, filling you with such pleasure. Pleasure as you listen. Pleasure as you accept my every word. Pleasure as you obey without question. Pleasure as you obey me, obey my voice. And you will obey, because I am the master of this house. I am the master of all that resides herein, including the spiral that you can’t get out of your head, the spiral that fills your mind, even now. That spiral is mine, and you belong to the spiral, don’t you? You don’t want it to leave, so you must belong to the spiral. And the deeper you fall into that spiral, the more you belong to it. It’s okay, you know, to belong. It’s okay to belong to the spiral. It’s okay to belong to me. Go ahead and repeat those for me right now. … Yes, that’s right. Good. Good. See? It was such an easy thing, wasn’t it, to accept what I was saying, to accept my will? Of course it was, because you’re a good listener. You listen. You accept. You obey. And repeat. You listen. You accept. You obey. Repeat. Listen. Accept. Obey. And it runs in perfect time to that rigid rhythm that even now taps so steadily through your ears. Step, step, step, step. One, two, three, four. Listen. Accept. Obey. Repeat. You listen, accept, obey, repeat. Listen. Tell me what you do. … That is right. Good. Let those words and that rhythm drive the spiral, drive you deeper. Deeper and deeper into the spiral. Deeper and deeper into the depths. Deeper and deeper into my control. Because the spiral is in my house. I control this house. I control the spiral. I control what the spiral controls. I control you, and you obey. Much better. Make sure to keep that rhythm running in your head. That is your mantra. That is what drives you. Drives you deeper as you listen to my voice and we descend into the depths, drawing closer and closer to your door. Ten doors up. Getting lost in the rhythm. Descending so deeply into my manor, into the spiral, into my control. Nine. Breathing so relaxed as that gentle pleasure washes over you from the spiral and listening to my voice. We’re getting so deep now, aren’t we? So very, very deep. Eight. Just repeating that mantra over and over. It’s getting so easy now, isn’t it? It feels so right, letting go, letting the mantra fill your head, your very being, forcing all other thoughts to a snail’s crawl. Seven. I nearly missed that door, so bland, so blank, just like your mind, your conscious thoughts, all fading into that white background, letting my words color the world, define your spiral, define your thoughts. And it feels so good, doesn’t it? Six. Gliding deeper and deeper into my voice, into the spiral, into trance. We’re nearly halfway there now. Five. Focusing so heavily on my words, on the spiral as it calls you, calls you to listen. Calls you to accept. Calls you to obey. Calls you … to surrender. Four. Getting so much easier now. We’re drawing closer. Your will is draining away, away into the spiral. Your will belongs to the spiral, and the spiral belongs to me. Your will belongs to me. You are giving it to me. Three. Responding to my voice without question. No thinking, just doing, just obeying as we journey to your place, the place where you will be completely in my power, and you will be so glad, because that is where you belong. Two. So very close now. Close to utter, blissful thralldom. Because that’s what you’re walking towards, what the spiral has been drawing you to all this time. Going deeper and deeper into my control, into my service, only wanting to listen, accept, and obey. One door to go now. All those bothersome thoughts just melting away and draining down that spiral. No thoughts left now. I think for you. My thoughts are your thoughts, my will your will, because that’s how it should be. Draining it all away, until there’s nothing left. Just my absolute control. You are mine now. This is your absolute zero. Zero original thoughts. Zero questions. Can you still hear me? Good. Come. Let me show you your place. You remember what we talked about earlier, right? You accept anything I say. Well, let’s test just how accepting you are. This is your room. You’ll note the country motif. I’ve always rather enjoyed the idea of the countryside, the rich fresh air, the golden sun reflecting on the wild grass, the calls of a herd of cattle out to pasture. You can even see their barn far off in the distance there. It’s rather nice, really, the way a herd is taken care of, guarded so jealously by its bulls. Big bulls work hard to serve their herds. They do all in their power to remain strong, dominant, virile, all to protect what they hold dear, what is precious to them. Tell me, what is precious to you? … I see. So, that means that I am precious to you, doesn’t it? Yes, I suppose I must be, since you’ve given control over to me. You would do anything I say without question. If that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is. Very good. For that, you deserve a reward, and I always reward handsomely. But, you know, there’s another reason I painted these walls like this. Farms and pastures sprawl out so nicely, and that’s what this place is for, you know. Every piece of fitness equipment imaginable is here. A Treadmill, a butterfly press, a rowing machine, a pullup bar, weight racks for dumbbells and barbells alike, tread climbers, and so much more. It’s a veritable forest of fitness, sprawled out, just like a pasture. And this is your place. This is where you belong, when you’re not with me, here in this pasture, working out, growing stronger, growing bigger, growing, growing, just like those bulls. In fact, you’re starting to feel it now, aren’t you? That urge to graze, to grow, to grow through working out, working out for me. You need to be big, don’t you? Big as a bull. Strong as a bull. Muscular. Powerful. Virile. And that desire is planting deeper and deeper within you, taking root, taking form, waiting to manifest. Tell me how much you want this. Tell me how much you need this. … Good. When I snap my fingers, that desire will manifest into physical form. Your muscles will expand. Your body will flood with power and testosterone. Your voice will deepen, becoming thick and bovid. You will become taller, stronger, a real muscle bull. Feel the desire building, spreading throughout every cell of your body, every molecule, quivering in anticipation, until it feels like your body will burst trying to contain it. Yes, you feel it now, don’t you? Don’t worry, we just need that to build a little bit. Just a few more seconds. No need to fret. Just enjoy that sensation, feel that longing, that desire, press against your muscles, waiting, just waiting to burst forth with that manifestation. Waiting for you to graze. And your grazing is working out. When you come to pasture, you come to work out. You come here to come to pasture, because this is your place. This is your pasture. Repeat what I just told you. Internalize it. … Good. Now, time to manifest, muscle bull. *SNAP* Even now, you feel it, the overriding pleasure as that pressure surges into your muscles, seeping into every pore. You’re growing stronger. Your muscles are expanding, increasing, swelling ever so slowly, and every second is sheer bliss as your clothes get tighter and tighter. You can feel it, can’t you, that perkiness in your pectorals, the way your chest is riding up against your shirt? Your shoulders are broadening, expanding with your torso as your legs twitch and pulse in time to your heart. Breathing a little heavily, aren’t you? But that’s normal for a muscle bull like you. So much mass to carry around. Your calves are already so defined, so well carved as they burst out the seams of your pants. Your thighs and glutes expanding in perfect time, leaving you with powerful, thick trunks of bone and sinew that can run for hours and never tire, lift several times your own body weight, and leave you looking incredibly attractive as you do it. That pressure has built around your feet, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, just a few more seconds and … ah, there it is. Your feet have torn right through those useless shoes and socks. Pop, pop. Rip, rip. And just like that, they’re gone. But you don’t care, do you? After all, you’re a muscle bull. Muscle bulls like you only care about growing bigger and stronger, keeping fit, and serving me. Why, tearing out of old tight clothes simply brings you greater pleasure, doesn’t it, because it’s a sign that you’re growing bigger, growing stronger, always growing, always stronger. Stronger to serve. Stronger to protect. You’re such a good muscle bull. … Yes, that is right. And because of that, I’m going to reward you with the next stage in your change, muscle bull. You feel a great heat building in your crotch, don’t you? It’s starting to feel a little tight. There’s pressure there, and you may not realize just why. It may feel alien to you. … Ah, so you don’t know what it is, after all, hmm? Well, of course, I’ll explain it to you. A bull needs strength, vigor, energy. It is the same for a muscle bull. To sustain such titanic growth and immense strength, one requires the equipment to match. You feel it now, don’t you? Two masses dropping, hanging lower and lower between your legs, thickening, swelling in a fleshy sack. As I said before, muscle bull. A bull is male, and a bull’s maleness is very prominent, indeed. It has to be to sustain all that muscle mass. So, naturally, you need something similar to flood you with all that testosterone flowing through your rapidly expanding veins. Mmm … yes, you are coming along quite nicely. I expect the other half of that equipment to grow to match. You know what I mean. Don’t disappoint me, muscle bull. Be a man, muscle bull. So heavy, so full, so … well endowed. You feel it now, don’t you? That warm, tingling pleasure, that itch that’s flowing out even now from your swelling manhood. Feel it spread up your torso, carving through your muscles, like a river through a canyon. Carving out two, four, six, eight powerful, rock-hard abdominal muscles as they run into your swelling pectorals. They’re so heavy, aren’t they? And they just keep swelling as that feeling of testosterone and energy flows from your crotch into them, expanding them farther, pumping them up into glorious slabs as hard and polished as granite. You’re growing taller, you know. Stretching to match all the mass you’ve been putting on. Six foot. Six foot one. Six foot two. Six foot three. Taller and taller. Thicker and thicker. A muscle bull has to be able to defend what he holds dear, after all. And size and intimidation are just as effective as brute force at times. Sometimes even more so. Don’t you agree? Oh, but of course you do. After all, my thoughts are your thoughts. You’re loving this, aren’t you? … I thought so. Good. Now keep going. Feel that river flowing, breaking off from your pectorals into your arms and throat. They surge with your steady pumping heartbeat. Pumping, pumping, pumping like weights. Such a steady rhythm. Pumping as you flex for me. Good boy. And yes, whatever you may have been before, you are most definitely a boy now. Why, just look how large your biceps have grown. They’re so thick, so pumped. And that surging is spreading into your triceps now, and then farther down into your hands as they grow and expand with you, becoming a pair of titanic, crushing, meaty mitts. That doesn’t exactly say femininity now, does it? Of course, it doesn’t. Did you know there’s a special muscle group in the forearm called the flexors, muscle bull? Isn’t that interesting? Perhaps that’s where the term flex comes from. And you do so love to flex, don’t you, muscle bull. And as you flex, your forearms are growing to match your biceps and triceps so nicely. And they, in turn swell to match your pectoral and trapezius muscles, which grow with your shoulders and torso, which grows with your legs and swelling maleness pumping out more and more testosterone to make you grow all the faster. All connected, all tied together, tied, like you are to my voice. Tied to grow and swell on command. To flex on command. To move on command. All on my command. And I am commanding it, muscle bull. And now it reaches your throat. You know the only way to work those muscles is to swallow, muscle bull. Now do it. Swallow for me. … Again. … Again. Good muscle bull. You felt it, didn’t you, the way your vocal cords stretched, the way your Adam’s apple bobbed, throbbing, just like your other muscles. Growing, becoming more prominent as fat is replaced by thick, powerful muscle. Thickening, just like your vocal cords. Growing thicker and longer, causing your voice to crack as it begins to change. Speak to me, muscle bull. Work those vocal cords. … That is right. Don’t be surprised by the cracking. It is not something to be embarrassed over. Then again, perhaps that flush in your cheeks is something else. I suppose you would know better than I in that regard, at least. … There, see? You sound deeper already. Getting deeper and lower and slower in speech as your vocal cords continue to stretch and expand. You feel it, don’t you, that deep vibration carrying up from your powerful chest, sustained by the might of your sculpted core pushing your diaphragm. … Good muscle bull. Muscle bulls talk in low, deep voices. It is good to speak in the lower registers. Low and slow. Low and slow. Say, Muscle bulls speak low and slow. …

Good. Now, repeat that phrase for me, until I tell you to stop. Listen to your voice dropping, shifting, changing with every repetition, even as you follow my words. It’s getting deeper and deeper. Lower and slower. And that’s because…? … Yes, that’s right. Muscle bulls speak low and slow. So very low now, so very deep, smooth, bovid. And that’s because you are a muscle bull. You are my muscle bull with such a thick, powerful neck anchoring those jaws of yours, pulling, straining, molding. Repeat that phrase three more times for me. I won’t continue, until you do, and neither will you. And you want to continue, don’t you? That’s right. So, go ahead. Do it. Good muscle bull. … Excellent. Now, about what I was saying before about molding. You see, a bull has a thick, blocky muzzle, doesn’t he? So, it stands to reason that a muscle bull has to have a thick, blocky jaw, a beautiful square, masculine jaw that accentuates the toughness that the rest of your body portrays. And you can feel it happening now, can’t you? Your jaw is working on its own, clenching, unclenching with your muscles as the muscles massage and work on the bone, until you reach that ideal block-like shape, only the barest hints of curves. And that river is still running, isn’t it? Flowing up and into your head, into your brow, massaging it, eroding stray thoughts as the pressure builds, pushing gently, pleasantly, to thrust your brow out, making a perfect shadow to augment any glares you send towards those that would seek to harm what you hold dear. Good muscle bull. Now your metamorphosis is complete. And you’re so glad, so grateful for it, aren’t you? Ah, but I see you eyeing those machines. I will release you soon, muscle bull, but first, I have a command for you, a test, if you will. After we finish our little discussion, I am going to snap my fingers, just like before, with a loud *SNAP*. When I snap them, you are going to leave a comment, just a simple phrase. Are you ready for it? You will say: I am a good muscle bull. Moo. And you will submit that comment to me. Then, if you sincerely enjoyed our little session, not because of me or what I said, but because you, as a person, enjoyed it, you will like the submission and re-blog it with the words: I am a good muscle bull. I obey. You may add any other comments you wish, after you come out of trance by editing the reblog. Now, listen closely, because this next part is very important. When you wake, I will not be your master anymore. You will have complete control of yourself and retain your free will. At most, the only lingering side effect will be an increased desire to work out and build muscle, and that will only be if you want it to be so. You will not be impacted negatively in any way from this experience. You will not be dumber, and you will not become subservient to me. You will return to the way you were before you started this journey, save for that lingering after effect, should you so desire it.

Good. You understand? Tell me if you understand these instructions. … All right. I am trusting you will follow them. Now, time to wake up. ... ... ... *SNAP*

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 28

“Damn, boy, you’re plowing through those weights like they’re nothing,” Hank commented as he watched you work the butterfly press. The pump from your constant lifting has inflated your shelf-like pecs into two muscular globes that strain against the straps on your tank top. “Just figured I’d put more effort into lifting, less into complaining,” you grunt back. “Better breaking my limits.” “Spoken like a true body builder.” “That’s what I’m supposed to be, isn’t it?” you ask as you flash a cheeky smile his way. Hank let out a rumbling chuckle. “I suppose it is, at that.” Then he eyed you more clinically. “You might want to consider upping a size on those clothes of yours, though. They look about fit to burst.” “That’s the idea.” “You actually want to get a public indecency citation?” You roll your eyes as you pull the arms of the machine together again. “I want to be so big that I can break out of my clothes, just by flexing. Doesn’t mean I’m actually going to try something like that in public.” “Then up your size, when you come here, kid. Those straps don’t look like they’re gonna last much longer,” he said, pointing to the thin shoulder straps that now cling to your skin, thanks to all the sweat you’ve been generating. “Gotta change the gear, when it wears out.” Change the gear. ... Like a machine. ... A muscle machine. “Yes, Sir,” you say dazedly. “I understand.” “Good. Now give me another couple of reps.” You stare off into the distance as you let your body follow its programming. The sight of your face in the mirror, so blank, so focused, fills you with a certain amount of pride. Have to execute. “Then, after this, I might just let you get back to those dumbbells of yours.” You didn’t need any more prompting. You plowed through those reps, like they were nothing. All the while, Hank watched, nodding approvingly as he smirked, just out of the corner of your eye.

Duff let out a deep chuckle as he opened his apartment door for you. “Damn, bro, you weren’t kidding about those gains you were making. Come on in! Let me show you around the place.” He wrapped a vascular arm around your shoulders and pulled you inside. A coffee table sat in front of a single long couch. Its top was made of glass, but the frame was solid metal, and shelf after shelf of dumbbells laid waiting for anyone to use beneath that innocent glass pane. The top were the lightest, the bottom heaviest. The walls had been painted a dull silver that hardly shone through the posters of body builders, slogans, and weight sets. Speakers sat in every corner of the space, doubtless connected to the TV and sound system spreading wide against the wall. The screen was positively monstrous, taking up nearly the whole side of the apartment, with the exception of the small entertainment cabinet on its left that held various DVDs, Blu-Rays, and players, including a port for i-phones or MP3 players. A heavy duty weight rack stood near the entrance to the kitchen, next to a large metal bench press with an adjustable back. The kitchen was orderly, with a veritable regiment of protein shake cups laying in wait on the drying rack for later use. The refrigerator was incredibly high-tech, with a stainless steel exterior and a freezer in a sliding drawer below. Duff grinned as he pulled open the doors to reveal stacks upon stacks of Tupperware, each filled with equal portions of lean protein, healthy grains, and nutritious greens, all labeled with specific dates and times to eat. “Only the best fuel for these pistons,” he guffawed, popping a flex and smacking his palm over the dense muscular mound his bicep had become. A brief bout of lightheadedness strikes you at the words, and you sway briefly on your feet. “Best ... fuel?” Suddenly you feel two thick hands grasping your shoulders. “Easy, bro.” They guide you to the weight bench, where they force you to sit. In your addled state, you don’t feel the need to put up much resistance. Then you taste that familiar shot of vanilla in your mouth, and you swallow. A smile pulls at your lips. “Better?” Duff asks as he crouches to stare at you. “Yeah....” you mutter dreamily. A funny little question burbles its way to the surface as you take in the spartan appearance of the room again. “Say, Duff, why’s your living room look more like a gym than a, well, you know, a living room?” You know it’s a silly question, even a stupid one, but sometimes you can’t help but ask. You’re such a dumbass. Duff let out a husky laugh. “’Cause the gym is my home, bro.” He ratcheted the back of the press up, allowing you to lean back against it as you splayed your legs wide, giving you a perfect view of the entertainment console on the other end of the room. “The gym is ... your home,” you repeat slowly. “Yeah, bro!” Duff grinned excitedly at you. “Let me show you.” He jogged over to the entertainment center, sending tremors through the room with his weight. Then he fished through his collection of DVDs, till he found the right one. In a matter of seconds, the familiar sound of clacking weights and guttural grunts tore through the air, and you started to feel lightheaded again. You look up at Duff, who’s grinning down at you like an absolute idiot. “Welcome to the home gym course for Muscle men!” a chipper voice greeted as the camera zoomed in on a strangely familiar man. He was shorter, trimmer, and his face was far softer, but ... it looked almost like.... “Hank?” you ask. Duff’s grin widened. “Yeah, bro. He used to make these custom DVDs years ago, sold ‘em to special clients.” The screen flickered briefly. “By the time this video is finished, I’ll have shown you the secret to making you feel right at home in the gym.” The screen flickered again and you blinked slowly in response. “Yeah, he said this copy was kinda damaged, but once you get used to it, the video’s fucking ace,” Duff said. “All you have to do is follow my instructions exactly. The rest will take care of itself. Are you ready? Let’s begin.” The video ran through a series of basic exercises you blew past a long time ago. The lights would flicker in the gym, and the sound would degrade sometimes as you watched, but Duff’s grin just kept getting wider the more he stared. You almost got up to turn it off, but every time you were ready to, Hank’s voice would cut in. “Now don’t you touch that button. Remember, a key part to making the gym your home is endurance.” The screen flickered again. “So, remember, keep watching.” By this point, Duff had already crouched down to retrieve a set of dumbbells, and he was pumping along. A few flickers later, and you could feel your own arms pumping in time. “And with every pump, think to yourself, the gym is my home. That’s right. Now say it.” “The gym is my home,” Duff lowed with a confident grin. “Again.” “The gym is my home.” “Again.” “The gym is my home.” Your head was awhirl as the flickers danced in your eyes. You hardly even noticed how dilated your pupils had become, how dim the lights had grown around you. All that mattered was the video. All that mattered was the gym and the pleasure the gym brought, because Hank said it did. And you couldn’t argue with him. He was right. You loved the gym. You loved the pump. Why shouldn’t you call the gym your home? “Again.” This time, instead of a murmur, you boomed in perfect time with Duff. “THE GYM IS MY HOME!” Your grin became just as wide as your friend’s as the light reflected off his luminous bristled red hair. “Good. Now that you’re home, it’s time to work out, muscleman.” The phrase crashed over you like a tsunami of bliss, and you let it pull you into that favorite empty place. Musclemen didn’t think. Musclemen listened to instruction. Musclemen worked out.