Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 34

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.

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 29

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

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 30

You strode confidently through the doors to the warehouse with Harry by your side. The man was positively beaming. Must’ve been having a good week. You grunt and shrug. It’s not your concern, anyways. Your concern lay ahead, past the sea of flashing strobing cameras to the waiting Fängsla. His broad shoulders and wide grin were the same as ever, and you can’t help but grin yourself as you feel your muscles tense and flex in anticipation. Soon you would be able to pose for the camera. And it always felt so good posing for Fängsla. “You are back!” Fängsla greeted cheerfully. He eyed you up and down. “And you have grown.” “It’s what they hired me for,” you return as you clasp the man’s hand with your own and feel the forces of his grip grapple with your own. Something about the contest filled you with an inexplicable thrill. You held that grip for a time as Fängsla peered deeply into your eyes. Then he nodded and he released his grip. “You are comfortable now, yes?” You grin as you pop a flex. “Perfectly.” “That is good. Go get changed. I will finish last calibrations.” You nod and make your way to the table. As had been before, the underwear sat waiting in a variety of sizes. Your eyes wandered over each of them, until they fell on a unique posing strap with bold capital letters on its waistband. DJUR You don’t even hesitate. You seize the strap and make your way to the changing room, your head awhirl with the giddiness of that familiar emptiness you’ve come to enjoy so much as you listened to your recordings and grew. You grunt again as you toss your clothes aside in a crumpled heap and step out, wearing the new garment. Harry whistled in surprise as you tromped over to the blank white background screen and stood at attention, waiting for Fängsla’s guiding touch. “Excellent!” Fängsla praised. “You have grown so much in all the right places. You are ... what is the word? Fantastic!” The cameras began to flash, and you smiled that dimwitted grin you’ve been practicing so much with your selfies. “Good. Good! Now show me dum. Show me korkad. Remember, you are djur.” Flash. “A djur does not think.” Flash. “Muscle thinks for him.” Strobe. “Muscle thinks for you.” You grin vapidly as you enter pose after pose, completely shameless over your body. After all, you worked hard to earn this muscle. It deserves to be shown. It wants to be shown. Muscle thinks for you. You turn to your side and pose, heedless of the swelling fog and tightening pouch. Muscle wants to show off, so you want to show off. Flash. Show off. Strobe. Listen to muscle. Flash. Obey your muscles. Strobe. Because that is what djurs do. Flash. “Djurs like you,” Fängsla’s voice echoed faintly through the fog. You look eagerly into the camera lens as the next flash blazes into your retina. Your pupils can hardly keep up. Shrinking and growing, pulsing in time to the constant input. The lights and the breaks blur together in an endless cycle of pleasure as you flex and pose on command, running that program, executing the orders, both from input and from your own muscle memory. “Because that is what you are becoming.” Flash. Becoming. Strobe. “More and more.” Flash. “Every day.” Strobe. “Each time I see you.” Flash. Your head is reeling. You let out a husky chuckle. “Huhuhuhuhuh....” “More muscle, less mind.” Strobe. “Because djurs only care about their muscles. Brutes must grow.” Flash. “You must grow.” “Grow....” Strobe. “Because you are djurisk, brutish. But you are not true djur yet.” You frown at that. “Wadaya mean?” you slur. Flash. “Simply I do not believe you are djur.” Fängsla shrugged his shoulders. “You think too much. Djurs let muscles do the thinking, bodies do the talking, yes? You do not do this. It is shame, really.” A low growl rumbles out your throat as you glower at the camera. Flash. “Good! Good! Show me anger. Show me fire! That is muscle talking. Much better!” Fängsla praised. Strobe. “Muscle must control brain. Muscle must fill head. That is how you become djur.” Flash. “Muscle....” Strobe. “Proud muscleman does not think. He acts!” Flash. Doesn’t ... think.... “Show me muscleman. Show me djur. Be the muscleman. Be the djur!” Strobe. Doesn’t ... think.... Flash. Listen........ Strobe. Be the djur. Flash. “Yes, Sir.....”

Your head felt sorta funny as you left the changing room later that night. You could hardly believe that you’d taken the whole day to pose for this session. Fängsla grinned at you as you emerged in your Underarmor shirt and compression gear. “You are very close,” he praised. “I am sure bosses will want you to shoot commercial soon.” You sway briefly and broaden your stance to steady yourself as you massage your temples with your mitt of a hand. “Shoot the wh--? Oh, right. Yeah. The commercial.” You look back at your now much shorter agent. When did he get so tiny? ... Does it really matter? “Harry, how’re we doing on that, uh ... that ... you know.” Man, is it hard to think. “The timeline?” “Yeah, that,” you utter in a low, husky voice. You want to smile as it vibrates your vocal cords, but you’re just too tired to. Maybe that’s why you’re not thinking straight. ... Yeah, that’s gotta be it. “Smooth as a whistle. Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ve been keeping tabs on things. All you gotta do is keep doing what you’re doing and pick up when I call you. You can leave the rest to me,” he promised. You sigh in relief. That was a major weight off your shoulders. Though, speaking of weights.... “Thanks, Harry. Think you can drop me off at the gym? I need to lift things up and put them down.” You didn’t mean to say it, but a wave of euphoria sweeps over you, the moment the phrase is out of your mouth. You’re so caught up in it that you don’t even notice the broadening grins on both the men beside you. “I look forward to next visit.” Fängsla smiled as he clasped your hand once more. “By the way, I like new haircut. Is very Maskulin, very ... butch is the word, yes?” A dull tingle of pleasure prickles through you, emanating in waves from your chest and crotch. This time, you do smile. “Thanks.” “It is my pleasure. The look is good on you. Good luck. Next time we meet will likely be last, but it is always pleasure having you as subject, yes?” You chuckle at the broken English. “The pleasure is all mine, Fängsla.” “Come on, kid. Let’s get you to that gym,” Harry said. You turn respectfully, albeit a tad eagerly to avoid being noticed as your pecs begin to bounce in anticipation. “Yeah. Let’s go.” Time to go home.

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?”

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*