Working Like A Thrall Chapter 2

Working Like a Thrall Chapter 2

Here’s the second chapter, folks. Just click this link.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 37

You smile as you arrive at the gym. The sun is setting, painting the stone along the building’s outside a fiery orange, and that only makes you feel more fired up for the reunion and workout to come. You open the glass door, gym bag in hand, heedless of the fact the sign has been flicked to closed and the illuminated one turned off. It’s not your first time arriving close to closing. You smile as the familiar clank of the weight machines in full swing rings through your ears. Hank must’ve decided to get in a little pump of his own, after shutting things up for the night. After all, people knew better than to try to break into a gym frequented by bodybuilders and run by one of the greatest personal trainers the circuit has ever seen. You make your way easily to your usual locker and quickly pull out your combination lock. After you grab what you need from the bag, you stow it in the locker and click the lock shut. You drape your hand towel over your shoulder and start to guzzle your protein shake you prepped before coming down. You already feel the familiar tension in your muscles as the surge of your heartbeat rages in your ears. That same dimwitted smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you passed through the locker room door and back into the entry point. You flip the cap shut on your mixing cup and strike into that double bicep pose you’ve been practicing as you let that smile pull into a confident grin and step onto the main floor. “Yo, Hank, I’m--.” Hank wasn’t on the floor, but the gym was packed with some of the most chiseled and buff men you’ve ever laid eyes on. Barbells bent with the sheer weight some of these men were repping with as rippling muscles strained against their singlets. “--back,” you finished lamely. Nobody responded. Nobody stopped. You strode into the fray, watching as the builders and lifters pushed in eerie silence. No cursing, no growling, no roars of rage or triumph. You felt almost like a ghost as you passed through their ranks. Those who weren’t at the machines stood in a perfect line in front of the floor-length mirrors. Their bronze skins shone slickly under the lights, whether from sweat or those oils you’d heard Duff gushing about, you weren’t sure, but the sheer synchronization of their movements was incredible. They switched as one man, fluidly, from pose to pose. It was almost like a dance, pure poetry in motion. You couldn’t help but give a sympathetic flex of your own at the sight. This. This was the ideal. This was what you were training to become. Perfect strength. Perfect symmetry. Poetry in motion. Over at the drink bar, a familiar flash of red drew your attention. Stocky builders would walk to the counter and grab the cups lying in wait along the counter’s surface. You approached and smiled at the familiar face of your lifting buddy. “Yo, Duff. What’s up?” Duff continued about his business as if he hadn’t heard you. He mixed the powders with the proper fluids, then closed the lids and started the blenders, before turning back to you again. When he noticed you hadn’t moved, he strode over, picked up a cup, and shoved it at your chest. “Please drink and return to your workout,” he said in a peremptory tone, not unlike those robo recordings you used to have to deal with when you had to call about your banking and stuff. Man, were you glad you didn’t have to worry so much about those things anymore. “Duff? Big bro? Anybody home?” you asked as you waved a hand in front of his face. He didn’t have the chance to respond as a group of the hulking giants came over and shoved you aside to drink lustily from the cups. Once again, Duff sounded the refrain. “Please drink and return to your workout.” When the drinks were finished, they slammed the cups down on the countertop and rose from their chairs. “We have finished our drinks,” their voices echoed in unison. “We are returning to our workouts.” And that was it. Duff took the dirty cups to the wash station and cleaned them up, without saying a word, while the men returned to the main floor. Then he dried and refilled the cups to place on the counter top again. “Uh ... okay, then. Guess I’ll catch you later,” you say lamely as you lumber away from the bar. This wasn’t exactly the welcome back you were expecting. Practically all the weights and equipment are being hogged by the titans, and there’s still no sign of Hank in sight, so there’s nothing you can do about it. You sigh and decide to poke around a bit. Maybe some of the equipment will get freed up in the meanwhile. It was worth a shot. You’d hate to waste the trip, especially after that letdown with Duff. You wander over to the door marked STAFF ONLY. Maybe Hank is back there. You test the door and find it unlocked, so you pass through into a long, broad hallway. A series of doors stand on either side, just waiting to be explored. A smile pulls at your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be a wasted trip to the gym, after all. And if you did get into trouble, well, you were just looking for Hank, after all. Surely, he could forgive you for that. You pick a door at random and test the knob. Much to your pleasant surprise, it’s unlocked. The room inside is dark, so you flick a switch to get a better idea of what’s inside. A series of speakers have been mounted on all sides of the space, while a single large monitor sits atop a desk. A mounted camera in the corner stares sightlessly at the opposite side, clearly inactive. You shrug and withdraw, making your way to the next door. You continued your search, finding more of the same. After the tenth one of its kind, you were getting exceptionally bored. You decide to try one last door, before you turn back. The handle shifted as easily as the others had, but when you cracked the door, this time, you saw something different. The light was dim as you stepped through, save for the glow on the monitor highlighting the familiar face of your landlord. A sandy shirt clung tightly to his frame, highlighting the beginnings of a perk in his pectorals that you knew only too well from when you first started your journey of growth. His eyes were completely locked on the screen, his pupils wide as the light flickered over his face. A thick set of headphones had been mounted over his ears and as you drew nearer, you could just make out the familiar camouflage pattern of military style fatigues and the heavy duty boots that lay beneath them.  “Collin?” you ask. He doesn’t answer. You walk around behind him to see the rapidly flashing images of tanks, missiles, heavy duty weapons, marching soldiers, men saluting, ancient soldiers fighting in their armor, battle scenes, all superimposed over a flickering spiral and words that flit in and out along the screen at random points. Finally, he lets out a sigh, followed by a, “Sir, yes, Sir.” Since when had he gotten all gung-ho about the military? You get closer and pull one of the earphones off slightly, leaning in close to pick up on whatever is playing. “That is good. You’ve identified your commanding officer. And you will listen to your commanding officer at all times, won’t you, soldier?” “Sir, yes, Sir,” Collin said dully. You reel back from the headphone as it plops back into place. That voice. That was Harry’s voice. “What the hell...?” That was when the door came open and a heavily breathing Hank stared at you. “Hank, what’s going--?” “Sleep, muscleman,” he ordered. And suddenly, everything went dark.

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

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 38

You slowly open your eyes to the sound of that throbbing clank. You wince and hiss as your brow furrows in reaction to a sudden stabbing pain. You try to reach for it, but a familiar thick hand holds yours steady. “Easy there,” Hank rumbled gently, then smiled. “Gave us a real scare there, kid.” The room swam around you and you groaned. “What ... happened?” “You smashed right into my door is what happened, or maybe it’s better to say my door smashed into you.” You feel a stinging pain as a red cloth dabs at your skull. You turn your head weakly to see Duff staring down with clenched teeth. “Idiot. Don’t scare us like that!” he growled “Ambulence is on its way. You’re gonna be fine. Just make sure to relax, okay?” “I ... I thought I saw....” Hank shook his head. “Just try to keep calm, okay? How about you tell us about your trip?” “My ... trip?” You blink blearily as you try to think what he means. Then it clicks. “Oh, you mean the modeling.” “Yes. Tell us about that.” “O-kay, if ... you want,” you slur. “Stay with us, now. Come on.” You smile goofily. “I’m not going anywhere.” “‘Course you’re not. You’ve got too much to tell us about. What’d you model, huh?” So you talked, answering the carefully worded questions one after the other as Duff and Hank switched off, always keeping you talking, until the ambulance arrived. You remember blinking a few times, then the gym was just gone, and you were staring at a bland wall with a TV running overhead. “He’s going to be fine, Duff,” you hear Hank’s reassuring voice, followed by a heavy smack and thump you know to be the big man clapping Duff on the back, maybe the shoulder. “The doctors say he just needs rest now. You do, too, ya little musclehead.” “But--.” “No buts. Go home. Sleep. Work off some steam before, if you have to, but you’re not going to do him any good here in that state. It won’t do you much good for that test of yours either.” “But--.” “I said no buts, Duff. Move it. That’s an order.” You hear Duff sigh. “Yes, Sir,” he said sulkily. “You come on by as soon as you finish that final. I’ll keep you posted. I promise.” “You’d better,” Duff growled. Then you heard his heavy footsteps falling into the general hubub of the hallway beyond, followed by the creak of the door slowly shutting. You wait patiently as Hank makes his way over to the bed, then smile weakly. “Hey,” you croak. “Hey, yourself,” Hank chuckled, after he got over the initial surprise. “You had us worried for a second there, champ.” “Worried? You? Now I know I must have hit my head.” “Pity it didn’t do something about that clever mouth of yours.” “Apparently, it’s the only part of me that still is. I mean, who walks into a door like that? I should’ve seen you there, or Duff, or whoever it was. I mean, it’s glass for crying out loud!” “Well, at least you remember that part of things.” “More I remember you telling me.” You sigh. “It’s probably not a good thing for me to rub my head right now, is it?” “Probably not, considering the bandaging and all that,” Hank agreed. “You’ll need to sleep sitting up tonight. No letting your head fall too far out of place. You should be in the clear after tomorrow, though, so that’s a plus.” “I’m such a dumbass,” you grouse. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, kid. It’s only natural, the way you’ve been these last couple of weeks. I should’ve expected you to come back to the gym as soon as you could. A muscleman like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but the gym.” “Yeah,” you murmur sleepily. “The gym is my home, after all.” “Yes, it is. Why don’t you tell me more about it, talk the smart out of that mouth of yours, eh, muscleman?” “Yes, Sir, ... Coach....” Hank smirked. “Took you long enough.” He chuckled. “Was starting to wonder if you’d ever agree to it.” “I wanna be the best muscleman. And the best muscleman is a proud muscleman is a strong muscleman ... is a ... good muscleman ... is ... an ... uh ... uhhhhh.....” “Obedient muscleman.” “Oh, uh ... yeah. Right,” you say as you smile dopily. “Sorry. That was kinda stupid, huh?” “No, it’s just how you’re supposed to be,” Hank said with a smile. “Tell me, did you see anything unusual, while you were unconscious?” “Hmm?” you ask sleepily. Your eyes feel so heavy, even heavier than your usual high. Hank shook his head as his smile faltered somewhat. “Get your sleep, kid. We can resume our talk later. Just get better, you hear me, muscleman?” “Yes, Sir....” You fade away to sleep, barely laying your head back against the comfortable bed as that last order echoes in your ears to send you off. When Hank was certain you were asleep, he pulled out his phone and quickly pressed speed dial. “Report, Harry. How’s the subject coming?”

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 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.