Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 32

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 32

The days have all become a round of mindless repetition now. You eat you portioned meals, drink your protein shake, lift, drink your protein shake, return to the apartment, eat your portioned meals, lift your weights to the pulsing screen and throbbing beat of your speakers massaging your brain, drink your protein shake, train with Duff, sleep, repeat. One or two times, you questioned yourself, your progress, what you were becoming, but a few pumps of your dumbbells, a few words of encouragement from Duff, a few seconds of your recordings, and those doubts were swept away like so much sweat off your brow. You linger in front of every reflective surface you see now, and you flex out of impulse. With the arrival of late spring, you’re able to go out in public with your shorts and tight muscle tee. After all, Sun’s out, guns out. The bar bends under the hefty plates you’ve laid on both sides. You work more in grunts and growls now, hardly speaking, but that’s because you have to focus on your body. Put everything into your body. You smile proudly at your gains, at the power you now exert every time you press against that bar, pushing higher, harder. Up and down. Up and down. Then the pullups. Up and down. Up and down. Squats. Up and down. Up and down. Situps. Up and down. Up and down. You grin as you execute your purpose. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say to yourself. A brute like you doesn’t want to do anything else. And then your bliss is interrupted by the ringing bells from your cell phone. You stare at it for a time, considering just letting it go. But ... you promised to pick up, if it’s Harry. You groan in frustration as you break your daily routine for the first time in you don’t know how long and check the ID. As you suspected, it was Harry. “What is it, Harry?” you growl as you answer the call. “You’re interrupting my workout.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back it up, muscleman. Don’t go killing the messenger.” Your head reels a moment and you stumble briefly, then grunt as you shake your head to clear it. “Why would I want to kill you?” There was a period of dead silence on the other end. “Harry?” “It ... was a figure of speech,” Harry finally responded. “Oh.” You flex your pecs impatiently. Your body still wants to move. “So, what’d you call me for?” “The client loved your photos from the last session. What they don’t love is how pale your skin is.” “And your point is...?” “I booked you an appointment at a tanning salon. I’ll be picking you up tomorrow at twelve thirty. Make sure you’re ready to go, muscleman.” Once again, the world spun around you. “I ... understand. I’ll ... I’ll, uh, ... be ready. Yeah....” You liked your skin, but, uh ... whatever the client wants. Yeah. You’re bound by contract, after all. So, what the client wants, you want. ... Yeah. ... Have to follow instructions. “Good. I’ll see you soon. Keep up the great work, kid.” “Will do,” you low absently. The weights are already calling you back. You don’t even bother to end the call as you return to your exercise. Can’t allow yourself to lose the pump, after all. Real Musclemen love the pump.

“And I’m a real muscleman now,” you mutter to yourself as that pleasant haze returns again. “I lift things up and put them down....”

Flynn Rides Again

This story was inspired by a piece of artwork I stumbled across on Furaffinity.net. It’s a tad too mature for my standards, since I’m not exactly a fan of hyper, but the main intent of the brief two-panel sequence inspired me to do this story. I hope you all enjoy.

Eugene looked suspiciously at the strange metal cylinder that had been shoved into his hand. One moment, he was looking at some old mirror in Corona’s castle, definitely not in a forbidden wing that he’d be in terrible trouble for stumbling into, if the guards caught him. Then he was here, in this place. He remembered the dark room and the dank smell of a forgotten dungeon well enough. It really was his own fault for being too proud to ask some proper directions, but him being a newly reformed thief and all, he wasn’t exactly willing to take any chances of certain … misunderstandings that could potentially end his life, before he had the chance to propose to Rapunzel. You only got so many passes for being the love interest of the princess, after all.

He furrowed his brow in concentration as he continued to think back on the events that had led him here. He’d dodged into the room to avoid being caught by a guard patrol. He remembered that much. Enough light shone through the bars of the from the torches in the hall to grant him at least a dim view of the room. When the guards passed by, he quickly darted behind the closest thing at hand, a broad wooden mannequin bedecked in the strangest armor the former thief had ever seen. A thick cap made of hard leather with two straps that dangled on either side of the ears sat snugly on the top; a spacious garment not unlike chainmail hung from the shoulders, though it appeared to have been made from cloth, rather than steel, and a strange set of worn characters faded by the ravages of time and the nibbling of certain other creatures had left the man wondering if the garb might not have been enchanted at one point. It certain would explain the sheer size of the thing. The garment could have fit Attilla or Vladimir no problem. It might have even been loose on them, and that was saying something. When the guards’ speech had faded enough, Eugene emerged from his hiding place to take a closer look at the alien garb.

“Just who did you used to belong to?” Eugene had muttered to himself. The tattered remains of what had once been a pair of pants hung from the waist portion of the carved wooden frame, and the strangest pair of boots he had ever laid eyes on sat on the broad wooden base. They looked almost like shoes, with no sign of the usual high walls associated with the article, but they had thick powerful soles attached to their bottoms with dark spikes that would be great for traction and cause no end of pain to an enemy, if kicked or stomped on. Next, he picked up a large metal tankard with a massive upside-down horseshoe etched into its surface. As he ran his fingers along the etching, he felt the contours of a large B, followed by a capital N and finally a capital A. A set of dusty wooden placards sat atop the shelf. Eugene removed each one in order, before returning it.

“LilBro, Fall, BigBro, Spring? What are these even supposed to mean?” As he replaced the last of the items, unfortunately, his unique brand of luck kicked in, and in true fashion, one of the supports of the shelf came undone, sending everything falling to the floor. Eugene did his best to catch what he could, but he couldn’t stop all of it. The clatter was defeaning. The shouts of the suddenly alert guards and the steady clomp of their booted feet left Eugene’s heart racing as he shook his head, muttering worriedly to himself, and slowly backed up. That was his second mistake. The old stand wobbled, then crashed to the floor thunderously as he bumped into it. Now Eugene knew he was rightfully done for.

“Oh, come on!” Eugene wailed. “Give a guy a break.” As a last resort, he rushed to the back of the room, where a great white sheet sat. He whipped it up, ducked under it, and prayed the guards wouldn’t think to look as he leaned back against a cool surface and promptly fell through.

The next thing he knew, he found himself here, in this … place. It was a disorienting trip, but rather alarmed screaming, laughter and a pleasure-filled shrieking had greeted him, instead. He stood in the middle of one of the strangest manors he had ever encountered, and in his career as a thief, he had seen his fair share. The furniture in this one was finely crafted, albeit well used. The carpet was firm, almost rigid under the supple soles of his worn leather boots, and young men and women rushed around in costumes, laughing and partying to loud music that emanated magically from tiny boxes, yet somehow filled the entire vaulted room with noise that blended with the general hubbub of the crowd. More than one of the men came up to him, after he’d gotten his bearings with the lowing compliment, “Sweet costume, bro.”

After about the tenth compliment, Eugene rubbed the back of his head, his white shirt billowing slightly in the heated air. “Uh, thanks, … bro?”

The man with the devil horns just smirked as he walked past.

A thick arm suddenly wrapped itself around Eugene’s shoulders, and he looked up in utter shock at the massive minotaur that now held him bound. His eyes shrunk to pinpricks as his mouth dropped open, before the monster pulled its own head off to reveal a heavily muscled boy with golden hair cut into a tight buzz in a flat along the top of his head. His jaw was thick and square, and a carefully groomed layer of golden shadow rimmed his jaw like sand.

“You look lost, LilBro,” the big man chuckled. “First time at the frat?”

“Frat?” Eugene returned, completely confused.

“Omega Beta Nu Alpha. Biggest fraternity in the world.” He chuckled. “Only one with its own brewery, too,” he added with a wink. “You try our Alpha Brew yet?”

“Alpha … Brew?” Alpha Brew. Why did that sound so familiar?

“It’s good shit. Makes a real man of you in no time at all.” The hulk shoved a metal can into his hands. “Here. Have a cold one on me.” He grinned as he lumbered away. “And enjoy the party, bro! I’ll see you later!”

And so Eugene found himself back up to the present, examining the cylinder again. “Alpha Brew. Alpha Brew. Alpha Berew….” Eugene’s eyes widened. “Alpha Beru!” he snapped his free fingers. The place was supposed to be a myth, a land where just a short time in its borders would leave you a warrior among warriors. That explained why the armor on that mannequin had been so flimsy. A warrior must have come through from Alpha Beru at some point in the kingdom’s history. He wouldn’t have needed metal to stop an opponent. His strength would have been enough. Eugene tried to worm his way back towards the mirror again, but by this point, the room had been packed. There was hardly any space to maneuver, with all the thick muscled bodies surrounding him. And … actually, was it just him, or was he shrinking? Or … was it just everyone else was growing? More and more, he had to crane his neck to look up at a titan in a costume. The legends definitely seemed justified, but … why wasn’t he effected, then? Why was he still so small?

Suddenly, Eugene felt a thick set of knuckles bunched up around the collar of his shirt and he gulped as he was hoisted into the air.

“Hey, we’ve got a pansy here!” a deep voice bellowed over the crowd. Eugene’s eyes darted left and right. There was a veritable sea of testosterone turning as one to stare at him. “What should we do with him?”

The crowd roared. “Chugfest!”

Eugene gulped as the brute of a man hauled him over to a raised platform and plopped him down unceremoniously.

“You heard ‘em, pledge,” he sneered. “You ready to play?”

“I, uh … don’t know if that’s a good idea. You see, I’ve got this appointment with my girlfriend, and–.” The brute cracked his knuckles menacingly. “–Okay, I can play,” Eugene said quickly. Anything to avoid getting beaten up. “But, uh … what’s a pledge?”

The big man grinned predatorily. “You’ll see, LilBro.” He turned to the crowd and spread his vascular arms wide in the air. “Now let’s get this hazing started!” he bellowed. The crowd erupted into cheers.

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” they cried.

Eugene didn’t see any sign of the women from earlier, just a pack of burly men sloshing their cups and hooting for him to drink. He turned to look nervously at the man who had lifted him out of the crowd. His familiar black horns curled over his head as his significantly enhanced body tensed and flexed. He easily reached down, guiding Eugene’s hand to the tab resting atop the metal. “Like this. LilBro,” he said. The container fizzed and bubbled, after the tab popped the lid open.

The smell of fresh hops, honey, and a hint of fruit danced under Eugene’s nose. “This smells almost like mead,” he said, surprised.

“Take a sip,” the man urged. The crowd continued to chant, exerting their collective wills in that single repetitive word.

Eugene gulped, then, seeing no other way out of his situation, took the plunge. The taste as he tipped the strange container up to dump the brew into his mouth was surprisingly mellow. The earthiness from the hops mixed with the sweetness from the honey to mellow the bitter flavor and leave just a hint of a pleasant aftertaste that clung to the palette. A dull tingle spread through his system as a slight flush rose in his cheeks. “You know what? This stuff isn’t half bad.”

“That’s right. Now drink up, pledge. Take a nice long pull.” The behemoth of a man yanked Eugene’s head back, then upended the can, with Eugene’s hand still wrapped around it. Eugene sputtered and gasped as the liquid flowed down his gullet. He had no choice but to swallow or choke, so he did the one that would keep him alive and well. The tingling increased as his heart rate picked up and his shirt and vest began to feel taut. He gasped for air as the hulking muscle man finally let him go to breathe. “So, what’s your name, Pledge? We haven’t had someone come from Corona in decades.”

“You … know where I’m from?” Eugene asked. His head was starting to feel a little fuzzy and a strange sort of euphoria began to well up in his chest and stomach. He barely managed to keep the muscles in check as a twitch pulled incessantly at the corners of his lips.

The … frat(?) boy sneered down at him. “Yeah. Coach Henderson’s an old resident, one of the last to pass through, before people stopped coming. We still keep an eye for new pledges to pass through, just in case. Now come on. Tell us your name. Everyone’s dying to know.”

“It’s … Eugene,” the reformed thief said. “Eugene Fitzherbert.”

“Lame,” the man jeered as the rest of the crowd joined in. “Come on, man. Give us something to work with here.”

That stung his pride a bit. It was the old village all over again. “I … I used to go by Flynn,” he mumbled.

“What was that, pledge?”

Eugene took a deep breath, then set his shoulders. The heat was somewhat stifling, so he took another swig of the brew. The shimmering gold substance trickled down the side of his chin and the edge of the can from the last forced “pull,” as the behemoth had called it. “I said you could call me Flynn. Flynn Rider.”

“Now that’s a name!” The muscle man grinned as he smacked Eugene heavily on the back. A popping sound echoed in Eugene’s ears as he watched a series of familiar dark buttons go flying off his torso piece by piece.

“What the…?” He looked down at himself and gasped at the sight of two thick round globes straining against the confines of his vest and shirt. His grip tightened on the can, causing the metal to crinkle somewhat as his bicep tensed and began to tear ever so slowly through the material around it. Eugene’s blush deepened at the sight.

“There it is,” the frat boy said with a grin. “All right, Flynn, it’s time to chug.” He reached over to the edge of the stage, where a thick metal keg was easily passed into his hands and he dropped it onto the platform, like it were little more than a pebble. He handed a thick hose to Eugene, shoving it in the man’s chest, and causing a shudder of pleasure to pass through the former thief as he grabbed the extension out of reflex and stumbled back a step or two.

“But I … I just want to–.”

“Chug,” came the first call from somewhere on the floor in front. A thick meaty fist stood out in the air as the costume goer, a kid in a greaser outfit with a hat textured to blend into his hair at the back, began the chant.

“No, no, seriously. This has been fun and all. And … I do admit I like the muscles,” Flynn said as he raised his hands placatingly and absently flexed one of his arms. “It, uh … it really feels nice and all, really. I just–.”

“Chug,” came the call as the voices doubled, then redoubled, slowly spreading back as more of these frat boys picked up the call.

“No, guys. Really. I just need to–.”

Half the room was roaring at him now, and the rest would soon follow. “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Eugene breathed heavily as a faint dusting of hairs began to grow along the backs of his hands and his pupils began to fluctuate. The call banged like a hammer on an anvil as he struggled to keep his thoughts in focus. All the while, the titans continued to crow in bovid ecstasy as their eyes began to glow.

“I … I need to–.”

“CHUG!”

Eugene shook his head. “Have to–.”

“CHUG!”

“I … I….”

“CHUG!”

Eugene looked up almost pleadingly at the leader of the mob. The devil simply grinned as his own eyes began to glow. “Chug, Flynn. You know you want to.” Then he sneered as he cupped one massive hand around Eugene’s two and raised the hose to the man’s lips. “Let me help you get started.” He towered over Eugene’s back as he leaned over the man and brought the hose to the man’s lips. “Now listen to the crowd, Flynn. Listen, and start chugging.”

It all came in a whirl. One moment, nothing. Then he tasted the flow of the brew as his cheeks sucked in. He swallowed once, and then he was like a machine, sucking as fast as his body would let him, accompanied by the supportive cheers of the fraternity. His cheeks flushed even more as his body began to pack on the pounds and his irises began to change from a rich brown to a golden amber. The buckles along his vest burst apart, while the sleeves and remaining material continued to shred under his rapidly swelling muscles. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as the memories of Rapunzel’s flaxen golden hair shifted to cascades of the rich golden lager flowing down his gullet. Thoughts of old heists were replaced with memories of manning the pullies. Instead of getting thrown out of pubs, he was the one doing the tossing.

Soon the tube wasn’t enough. He needed that lager pouring down his throat. No pauses in between to pull more. He wanted to shower with it. He lumbered past the devilish frat boy, hardly even noticing how he didn’t have to look up so much anymore to match his gaze. He didn’t care when he heard the seams shredding apart on his pants or felt the breeze along his bare chest and back. All he saw, all he knew, all he needed was right there in front of him, sitting, waiting, and he had to have it. “Ch–chuuuuuug,” he said slowly as his voice warbled unsteadily.

“What was that, Flynn?” the muscle man asked with a knowing sneer.

“Chug,” Eugene said again, and his feet burst out of his boots.

“That’s right, Flynn. Chug.”

Eugene clenched his hands a few times and watched as they cracked and swelled into powerful mitts that easily tore the hose out of the opening to the keg. “Chug,” he repeated a second time, this time with more enthusiasm. His voice cracked, then dropped as what little remained of his pants strained to contain the bulge swelling at his crotch.

“Chug, Flynn. Chug,” the devil whispered as the crowd of spectators hooted, hollered, and whistled, still sounding their cry.

The former thief couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but listen to that constant march of orders. A dopey grin rose on his face as he hefted the massive can and then opened his mouth wide. “CHUG!” he said more assertively as his deep voice rolled over the spectators, causing them to roar in excitement. He upended the keg, surprised at how light it was, but happy with the heavy slosh he could hear inside of it. He squeezed, and the metal began to give way, sending a high-pressure jet of the rich, mind-numbing substance into his mouth and down his throat. His body swelled to titanic proportions as he nursed the last drop, hardly even noticing the new thick red cap that had been plopped onto his head, then twisted backwards. Two massive wrist bands had been snapped into place on either wrist, and there was the devil, grinning wickedly as he raised the drunken man’s arm triumphantly.

“Congratulations to Flynn Rider, the newest member of Omega Beta Nu Alpha!”

Flynn grinned, then let out the loudest belch he’d ever done in his life, before grinning dopily, letting out a low dimwitted chuckle, and finally saying, “Let’s party, Bros!”

The devil sneered as he watched a tattoo with the frat’s symbols engrave itself along Flynn’s massive neck. “Score another one for us,” he muttered, then chuckled.

Flynn grunted as he heaved the last of the massive kegs into place on the delivery truck. He wiped away at the sweat that had formed along his brow, even as he flashed a cocky smirk at the women he knew were watching from across the street. They wanted him, he knew, but he wasn’t that easy to bed. He still couldn’t remember how he got to OBNA, but he was glad he had. Things were simple here. All he had to do was work his muscles, drink his lager, help with the beer shipments, and play the occasional football game. His powerful body strained against the tight compression shorts and sleeveless muscle tee that made his fraternity work uniform. It clung in all the right places, leaving nothing to the imagination as he followed his fellow newly inducted laborers in the shipping department to a long countertop filled with beer taps. He couldn’t help but smile as he styled his perfectly coiffed pair of bangs sprawling flawlessly out the gap in the back of his twisted cap. “Man, if only I could bring Rapunzel here,” he said. Then he frowned and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Who’s … Rapunzel?” A brief flash of flaxen gold passed though his mind, followed by a … castle? What the…?

“Next!” the barman cried, snapping Flynn out of his thoughts as he approached the tap. A frosty glass soon sat in front of him, filled to the brim with his favorite drink. He guzzled the Alpha Brew and waited as that familiar tingle immersed him and washed away his worries. His eyes glowed gold as a dopey grin crossed over his face. “Fuck yeah,” he groaned in pleasure as he flashed his free hand up with his middle and ring fingers bent over against his palm. “OBNA for life, Bro.”

A burly arm rested across Flynn’s broad shoulders and he grinned wider at the sight of the frat’s president, the man who had inducted him just a little over a week ago. His short cropped red hair shone like red gold in the afternoon sun and his eyes glowed that same fiery gold as he peered intently into Flynn’s eyes. Flynn’s irises glowed brighter as his pupils dilated, and the president sneered triumphantly as he watched that little spark of intelligence and memory get smothered. The ones who were in love were always the hardest to keep, but it seemed this love was still relatively new. A couple more weeks, and Flynn wouldn’t think of Corona ever again, and Alpha Beru would have a new permanent resident.

“That’s right, Flynn,” the president said. “OBNA for life.”

Heifer Haven

It was such a funny little name. You really didn’t understand it, considering the fact the place seemed like a dairy. You’d done your research. You knew a cow couldn’t produce milk, unless stimulated through hormones or delivered of a calf. The former was little more than an artificial means of messing with the creature’s biological clock. The latter would render the farm’s name null and void, since a heifer is a virgin cow. Was it just an affectation or did the owner of this place really mean for the farm to only be for heifers? Of course, you didn’t know, and it wasn’t really for you to wonder about in the first place. All you knew was that you were here to test the quality of the product and write about the farm’s practices on your blog.

The farm’s owner was a kind and straightforward woman with broad shoulders and long flowing black hair. She started you off in the field, touring along the border of the property and pointing out all the cows grazing in the distance. Next came the milk room, where she showed you how the pump machines she utilized worked and the best way to milk the cows’ teats without causing undue irritation or pain. Then she showed you the barn and pens, where the cows would sleep during inclement weather and the winter months. You were happy to see she’d laid them with straw and other forms of bedding that would prove harmless and comforting to the herd. As a whole it was definitely one of the best dairies you’d seen. There were absolutely no signs of any form of abuse. The woman seemed to care very deeply for her herd.

Lastly, she led you to a small wooden stand, where a series of empty glasses sat waiting on the side.

“Now for the best part,” the owner said with a playful smile, “the sampling.”

“Sampling?” you return.

“You’ve never had a glass of real milk before, have you?”

“Um….”

“I mean before it’s pasteurized,” she clarified. “If you think you know milk, you’ll change your mind, after you’ve tried some of this.” She made her way behind the stand and crouched down to pull up a plastic tube that she placed inside one of the glasses. Then she twisted something from behind the wood and you watched as the frothy white substance poured out into the cup. When it had filled, she cut off the flow, then offered you the cup. “I guarantee it’ll change your life.”

You looked dubiously at the drink.

“Oh, would you relax? I’ve drank unpasteurized for years. It won’t kill you to try a single glass.”

“I have always wondered what it’s like,” you admit as you come closer and take the cup from the lady. You sniffed the glass carefully. It didn’t smell any different than your usual cup of milk in the morning. Then you took a sip, just a tiny one. The milk was thick and rich with a sweet creamy texture, nothing like what you’d bought in stores before. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head as you fought and ultimately failed to suppress the moan of pleasure that built in your chest and burst out your mouth.

The farmer beamed at you. “Told you it was better.”

You went after the milk with far more gusto this time, letting the froth coat your lip in a moustache as you did your best to swallow every last drop. Each gulp was a symphony of flavor on your taste buds. You moan again as you pull the glass back regretfully from your lips and lower it to the stand. Your nostrils flare as you snuffle, fighting to take in as much of that heady aroma as possible along your lips. With every breath, you enjoy more of the smell and a goofy smile crosses your face as you grin dopily at the farm’s owner.

You feel a peculiar warmth in your nether regions as you lick your lip with your broad tongue, brushing against your nose and moistening it as well. “Moooore?” you ask, heedless of how your voice has deepened. You sway briefly on your feet, feeling suddenly unsteady. You crouch to try to lower you center of gravity, but that doesn’t do you much good, and only seems to make your pants feel all the tighter as you lean heavily onto the wooden stand for support.

The woman is only too happy to provide. She holds a glass up to you and your nostrils flare again as you shove your face into it, licking and swallowing as much as you can. Any that spills, you just bow your neck down to lick up with your broadening tongue. Off in the distance, you can just make out the sound of the herd lowing to one another. Your ears flicker in annoyance as your fingers fumble weakly on the hard wood, scrabbling across its surface as they grow thicker and darker. A slight tickling sensation draws your attention down to your arms, where you notice a rigid dusting of hair. A strange sense of familiarity overtakes you as you look down at your hands. You think you’re supposed to see these strange pink things, but … all you see is a black mass. But … that’s what you’re supposed to see, … isn’t it? You work your jaw and smack your thick rubbery pink lips together as you struggle to gather your thoughts. A curious euphoric fog is clouding your mind as you feel thick calloused hands run over your head, rubbing at an upper corner. You groan in pleasure, and it comes out as a gentle low.

So good. So nice. Nice to just … relax and … and ….

A loud detonation sounds as the zipper on your pants breaks apart. A warm, sloshing mass is swelling, pressing tighter and tighter against your expanding girth. You don’t mind, though. It’s too good just enjoying the woman’s ministrations. She smells so wonderful. It makes you feel warm and safe as you nuzzle her gently.

“That’s right,” she coos into your ears. “Good girl.”

You hardly even register her words, too lost in the euphoria of her touch and the swelling fog that derails your train of thought. You shudder as she nurses and pulls ever so gently at the horn that’s starting to emerge from your skull. Another few breaths and the constriction on your chest is suddenly relieved as the sound of shredding fabric tears through the air. The woman reaches down and pulls off scraps of white cloth, the shredded remains of your shirt, but all you can think of is the loving caress and the question of why such a thing would be on you in the first place. It doesn’t even smell like you.

The woman stops to peer into your eyes and smiles. “You’re coming along very nicely.”

You don’t understand the words, but you don’t mind. You nudge at her with your long, thick neck and toss your expanding head as your ears flick again. She soon gets the message, and you feel that wonderful touch on the other side of your head. A second horn bud soon emerges to join the first. You shudder in pleasure as the warmth becomes more pressing against your belly. You’re dimly aware of a faint sloshing and a distinct sort of pressure starting to build down there. You’re loath to ask, but the question needs to be answered. It’s starting to get a little uncomfortable, after all.

You kick back with one of your legs and low softly as your ears drop behind your head. She seems to understand, nodding her head and passing behind you. You crane your neck, which feels surprisingly flexible, and watch as she lifts your rear hooves and pulls off the offending pieces of cloth that have been keeping you from feeling the familiar pressure of the turf. A loud popping sounds as more cloth breaks free and falls. She reaches up to reclaim it, brushing your wide, bony hips, which leads to more tingling as a long ropey tail launches out from your rear. It flicks casually left and right, leaving you with a sense of repetition that eases that twinge of fear floundering in the back of your head.

You lick your broad velvety nose as the lady cuts away at the band that’s been biting into your waist. It finally breaks free with a satisfying snap, allowing that uncomfortable warmth to slosh down low to the ground. The pressure has built so heavily that you can’t think about anything else. The tall grass tickles against the protrusion and you low with need. The woman smiles and walks back to the wooden stand, while you drop onto all fours, looking patiently and trustingly at the lady that has been so very kind to you. She withdraws a stool and a large bucket. She places the bucket beneath you, then lowers the stool onto the ground by your withers. She pats you once on the side, then begins to pull at the sensitive sack that had been so tightly pressed against your body before. You hear the distinct sound of high pressure liquid striking metal as she pulls. Relief floods you as the pressure begins to ease. Her hands aren’t even cold.

“Good cow,” she utters. “Good cow.”

Over and over again, she repeats. It’s almost entrancing as you stand there, leaving your tail to flick in the wind. You low gratefully to her as the pressure continues to ease and your eyes widen Your pupils expand into broad ovular pieces that flick left and right as your nostrils flare. You smell your milk. You smell the sweet scent of fresh grass, and your stomach rumbles at that smell. Actually … you’re pretty sure you feel … four rumbles?

“Good cow.”

Euphoria rushes over you again and the confusion is gone. You chew the grass with thick, flat teeth, grinding it to paste and swallowing happily as the green leeches out of your eyes to be suffused with a rich dark brown. A light tingling near your rump is the only source of discomfort as the image of the farm’s brand engraves itself harmlessly on your flesh. You low gently, and the herd responds to your call. It is questioning, suspicious. They don’t know you yet. But that is right. You must earn your place with them.

Suddenly, the woman is standing in front of you, pail in hand as she smiles at you. “Go on, then. They’re waiting.”

You blink a few times as you look at the kind smile with innocent, unthinking eyes. You approach her, nuzzle her hand briefly, then turn and lumber your way across the field.

The woman smiles as you walk off and she whistles pleasantly to herself as she pulls out a fresh insulated container from behind the stand to dump your milk into it. “Score another for the herd.” She smiled then as she flipped her phone open and hit the speed dial. “Yeah, Jack? Tour went off without a hitch. This one’s a real producer. You still looking to add some studs to your herd?” She nodded at the response. “Yeah, I’ve got plenty of wet cows for the season. I’ll see about having your breeders ready, after the next tour.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 40

You chuckle as you stare into the mirror and flex, posing with your muscles. Words like musclehead, dumber, lift, don’t think, obey,” lick so gently through your earbuds as you grin blankly at your reflection and it looks back. “So, what do you think, Lil’bro?” Duff asked with an equally vapid grin as he posed next to you. “I don’t think. I flex,” you repeat automatically, instantly, like the muscle machine you are. “Needs more pop in the pectorals. Show them the pump, but don’t make it look like you’re trying. It needs to be natural,” Hank instructed. You immediately breathe deeply, thrusting the upper portion of your chest forward, even as you keep your smile plastered. A thrill of pleasure rushes through you as you feel the familiar tightening in your crotch. “I am a natural meathead bodybuilder,” you say, even as the recording continues to whisper its affirmations of agreement into your ears, stimulating that now familiar numbness in your head that settled in so easily, after the accident. It was like that blow to the head just ... made everything so much clearer, so much easier to just focus and let go. Your eyes drifted briefly over to the corner of the mirror, where a hint of movement pulled your gaze. Harry stood in front of a man in military fatigues and a sweaty olive-green shirt that clung to his frame as he mounted the bar and slowly sat up. A set of earbuds sprang from his own ears as he stared ahead and rose swiftly to his feet, clicking his heels together as he offered a sudden salute. His face was clean-shaven and his dark hair had been reduced to mere stubble as he promptly dropped to the ground and began methodically performing a series of core exercises to the agent’s barked commands. You notice a slightly baggier waistband and pant leg as Harry shifts his stance and folds his arms, revealing the hints of mounds that are starting to press against the fabric in the sleeves. Then your eyes are back on the military man and his head. The words induction cut flash through your brain, followed by a dim memory of a dark ponytail and a sweaty puffing face as you worked out in front of your television screen at home. You stop as realization suddenly strikes and you point at the man in the mirror, before lowing, “Lil’bro.” “Not yet,” Hank said gruffly. “Commercial first, muscleman.” “Yes, Sir,” you repeat as the strange urge leaves you and you resume your posing, completely oblivious to the once interesting cadet.

You shudder in pleasure at the sound of the heavy metal doors shutting firmly behind you. The bells went off as the take finished and you turned back to see the grinning man in the yellow shirt holding the door open for you. “That was brilliant!” he praised you. You shrug, letting the plaid button-up shirt you’re wearing ride up against your thick pecs, while the tight shorts cling in just the right places to leave you comfortable as you show off the powerful muscles and well-developed tan that you’ve gained. “Not a big deal. I got a lot of training,” you say as you lapse back into your normal deep tone from the heavy Austrian accent you’d been pressing before. “Besides, I really have just been lifting up and putting down for the last few months. I was just saying it like it is for me.” The two of you step back onto the set and you smile at the sight of a smirking Hank next to a sleeker man with well-toned muscle. “You killed it, kid. Great job,” he praised. You beam at the compliment and look questioningly at the man staring woodenly ahead beside your coach. “This is Brutus,” Hank said. “He’s the owner of this new gym chain and my future partner. When people are ready to take the next step in building, he’ll refer them to my gym and we’ll be able to transfer membership seamlessly.” He clapped Brutus on the back. “Isn’t that right, Brutus?” “Yes. We’ll introduce them to a world of fitness, until they are comfortable and confident with their bodies,” Brutus said with a smile. “Then, when the time is right, we’ll take the big fish and put them into a bigger pond, so the smaller ones don’t feel threatened or intimidated. Jeff here has been waiting for a chance to get big for a while. He’s one of the main reasons we came up with this scheme in the first place,” he said, pointing to the man in the yellow shirt. Jeff blushed. “It’s kinda flattering to think of it that way. You’ve both been so kind to me.” “Just wait till we put you through your paces with your trainer. Then we’ll see how kind you think we are,” Hank said with a hearty laugh. “He’s received training in all the most recent and efficient techniques, including some of Hank’s own unique program. You’ll be in good hands,” Brutus assured Jeff. “Who?” you ask. “Who else?” Hank asked with a smirk. “Duff, of course.” “Duff? But I thought--.” “He’s accelerated, and he already earned his certification. Based on my recommendation, Brutus is confident he’ll do a fine job.” “Yes, I’m confident he’ll do a fine job,” Brutus parroted in a strangely chipper sort of voice. “So, uh,” you say somewhat sheepishly, “can I use the equipment now?” Brutus shrugged. “Why not? It’s just models here today, anyways, and we have plenty of footage to edit for the commercial.” You grin as your pecs begin to bounce in excitement. “Awesome. Let me show you the basics, Jeff....”

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?”

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