Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 35

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 35

You’re a linebacker, tensing down at the starting line, just waiting for the call to crash into your enemies. Your jockstrap and cup hold your manhood securely as you feel the tight hug of the lycra in your pants and the weight of your shoulder pads clinging to your bulky frame. You’re a brick wall, and you’re not about to let anyone past you as you enter a three-point stance staring through the bars along your helmet’s guard. A few flashes later, and suddenly you’re a grinning, happy-go-lucky beach bum in a speedo. You feel the volleyball resting casually between your vascular arm and your hip as you stare into that beautiful lens and chuckle emptily at the sensation of sand between your toes. Sun’s out, guns out. It’s good to show off. Next thing you know, you’re up at bat, ready to slam into that ball as it comes flying over the plate. Your hands clench tightly to the wooden bat as your gloves creak from the pressure of rubbing against the varnished wood. A thick baseball helmet adorns your crown, with an extension of the ear to protect against any blows to that area. You can almost hear someone whispering, “Pose for the cameras....” So, that’s what you do. Because that’s what good musclemen do. And you’re a good muscleman, just doing as you’re told as the flash empties your mind more and more, making it that much easier to just ... do. One more flash, and you’re a goalie who’s just made a saving catch. The ball is hoisted over your head as you prepare to throw it back into the field. The next moment, you’re posing victoriously over the ball, with your heavy cleats resting atop the blended cover of polyester and cotton that forms the outer layer of the soccer ball. Your jersey clings to all the right places as you grin for your fans. Then you’re suddenly feeling heavier as you hunch your shoulders and clutch the rugby ball close. Your compression shorts cling to your legs and your dark jersey shines with every shutter from the camera. The game must be won, the ball passed on to another teammate. Another flash, and suddenly you’re shaking hands with a member of the opposite team. You feel the surge of anger at this, but the voice whispers again. “Sport requires fairness. You must show respect.” Must show respect. You release your crushing grip and look at him with a placid expression, neither friendly nor hostile. After all, you’re both just competitors. Then, suddenly, you’re standing holding a long metal pole with a woven net at its top. A casual glance reveals a heavy white ball that holds the container down. Your pectorals jut out against the material of your jersey as you stare with just a hint of a smile and smoldering eyes. The voice whispers praise, and you grin as your body trembles with pleasure. Suddenly, you’re back at the gym, pumping a massive pair of dumbbells and loving every second of it. Your posing strap holds comfortably to you as you shift and pose in front of the mirror, never once stopping your reps as you maintain your form. It’s so good to just lift and pump, lift and pump. Flash. Lift the weights up. Strobe. Lowering down. Flash. Up. Strobe. Down. “Huhuhuh,” you chuckle to yourself as you retreat to that place deep in your mind and let your muscles squeeze the thought right out of you. ‘I’m a good muscleman,’ you think as the reps continue. ‘I lift things up and put them down.’ You come to in the gym at your living quarters, still lifting, still staring. Your protein shake is on a cup holder off to the side, waiting for you to take another chug. You chuckle again as you notice the bulge pressing against your posing strap. “Big meat,” you low to yourself, then return to your vapid gaping at the mirror. “That’s right, muscleman, because musclemen are meatheads.” “I am a muscleman. Musclemen are meatheads. I am a meathead.” “Good muscleman. Good meathead. Now get back to work.” You happily obey.

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*

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

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

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 37

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

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 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....”