Commissions

Commissions

Hey, guys. This is a story I wrote to advertise for a special I’m running right now. I’m doing Halloween commissions for a flat rate of $60 USD ($63 if paying via PayPal to handle the fee. I’ll send an invoice.) I think I’ll offer the same deal to all of you on here at tumblr. My standards are simple. I don’t do adult content, and I reserve the right to refuse to do certain themes, if they go against my personal beliefs or make me too uncomfortable. If anyone is interested, drop me a note either through PM or ask and we’ll talk business. I reserve the right to take credit as the author and to post the work on my various posting pages. You as the commissioner will be credited as the one who paid for the story. If you choose to post the story anywhere, you must give credit to me as the author and the one you commissioned. With that said, I hope you all enjoy the story.

Brad strode over to the door. The hour was surprisingly late on that muggy September night. He’d been enjoying a murder mystery marathon, when the knock came. He flicked on the porch light, then pulled open the door to see … a fursuiter with a clip board?

“Bradley Sarthopan, AKA Sarkos the werewolf?” the fursuiter asked. His eyes were a piercing red that seemed almost to pulse, like hot coals. The fur was midnight black with bloody red accents along his muzzle, chest fur, and his three tails. Slick claws glinted in the fluorescent light of the porch bulbs.

“Who’s asking?” Brad narrowed his gaze suspiciously as he looked over the stranger.

“Forgive me. So rude of me not to introduce myself.” The fusuiter’s lips pulled back in a sneer, exposing sharp canid teeth and fangs. “You know me as Omnikitsune online, though around this time of year, I prefer to go by Ronoc. You did hire my services for a commission, didn’t you? I believe you said you were looking to become your fursona, yes, a powerful werewolf?”

“How did you get my address?”

“Why, by scrying you, of course.” The suiter began scrawling along the surface of his clipboard. “How else am I supposed to deliver my services, if I don’t give them a personal touch? Customer satisfaction is vey important to me, you know.

“O … kay, I think I’m going to shut my door now.”

“The man said with full intent of calling the police. After all, he wasn’t about to go about dealing with a potential lunatic. Except, as he was about to close the door, he was struck by a sudden sense of vertigo. His shoulder slammed into the door frame as he leaned against it for support, a sudden feverishness overtaking his usual calm demeanor.”

Brad panted heavily as he felt a sudden pain in his shoulder. Both hands clutched at the door as the moist air blew in over his face. “Wh-what the hell?” he huffed.

“Oh, trust me, you’re not in hell, though I could arrange it, I suppose, assuming you’d prefer to be a were-hellhound. Then again, your kind are also known as the hounds of God, so perhaps you could find a way into hell at that,” the Kitsune mused as he tapped a claw against his chin in thought. The clipboard was hovering questioningly at his side, the pen scrawling, even as he stared pensively in Brad’s direction. “But that would make it too long, and I like to balance exposition with the transformation. After all, we both know we’re not made of money, Mister Sarthopan.”

Brad had had enough. He clenched a hand firmly around the doorknob and slammed the door home, then stumbled toward the kitchen with his stomach reeling. His phone sat connected to its charger atop the breakfast nook between two great windows. All he had to do was reach it, call the police, and they’d sort out this mess. He clutched at the high countertops along the way, like a life line, using them to guide his steps, despite the rising light-headedness and sudden burning beneath his skin. He panted more heavily, then finally lunged for the table as the world spun, yet again. He was rewarded with the cold sensation of tile against his cheek.

His heartrate picked up as he heard the familiar scrabbling clack of keratin along the hard surface. Moments later, a familiar set of paws met his gaze across the legs of the table. His ears burned with the sound of the pen scratching and rumbling across the page as it continued to write.

“Now, Mister Sarthopan, that was very much uncalled for. After all, I’m here to help you.” The man let out a heavy sigh as his tails swayed idly, brushing the floor and other places as they each moved independently of one another. “But I suppose that position suits you, all things considered. Shall we resume the story?”

“Wh-what did you … do to me?”

“As I said, I’m writing your story, Mister Sarthopan. It’s quite simple, really.” And suddenly, those blazing red eyes were staring Brad in the face as he struggled to push himself into an upright position. “You commissioned my services, and I always deliver, whether my clients want me to or not,” he practically purred as he ran his clawed hands through Brad’s hair, gently scratching the scalp and forcing a shudder to pass down the man’s spine.

Brad huffed as the heat continued to build and sweat began to bead his brow. The dizziness had dulled into a sort of numb tingling that spread deep into his bones, not unlike when his dentist shot him up with novocain.

Omni, or Ronoc, as he said he preferred to be called, rose to his feet, his eyes still boring deeply into Brad. He opened his mouth, and his voice spoke in a curiously dual tone that seemed almost to echo, reverberating through the room and through Brad.

“The man that was not a man looked down on his client, a wicked sneer on his face as he watched with unwholesome delight. The tingling along Brad’s scalp intensified and flowed down to his ears as slowly, ever so slowly, the cartilage began to warp and shift. And the longer Brad listened, the sharper his hearing became, the voice consuming everything, growing louder, more prominent with every passing second. And as his hearing sharpened, so, too, did his ears, tugging, shifting, warping, until they had taken on a distinctly canid point.”

Brad gasped again as the words licked at his thoughts, like fingers gently massaging his ears. It felt … so good. So very, very good. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as a dull rhythmic tapping sounded behind him.

“He was helplessly enthralled in the words of this mysterious stranger. The magic of the narration controlled him entirely as, with a single flick of a furred hand, both blinds shot up to let the radiant light of a full moon blaze into the dark tiled room, casting the narrator in shadow, so that only his burning eyes were visible, along with his wicked grin.”

Brad looked on in utter shock as the man did exactly as he had narrated, and the curtains obeyed, drawing themselves to reveal the silvery rays. He slammed his hands on the table and slowly pulled himself up, so his elbows could rest there. The full moon glowed radiantly, its orb so large behind the narrator. Ronoc’s tails writhed, like the tendrils of some demonic entity, as he stared with those hungry, pulsing eyes.

And still the pen scrawled. Still, the narration continued, unabated, recording the teller’s words in utter exactness. For, what else could the pen have been doing?

“All right, you. No need to get cheeky on me,” Ronoc said as he chided the pen, breaking the contact he’d held with his victim.

“Care to rephrase that?”

…

The contact he’d held with his victim commissioner.

“Much better. Let’s not forget who’s in charge here.”

You do realize meta theory suggests that we’re just pawns in a larger author’s game, corr–?

“One more dalliance into that territory, and you’re going to find yourself a pile of ashes and slag. Are we clear?”

The pen quickly made sure to correct its error, the moment its master released it, hastily scrawling its apology in the form of the steady narration its master desired, though grammar demanded it place the question mark to end the cut-off its master had executed so, well, masterfully.

“Much better.”

A low, guttural rumble pulled the kitsune’s attention back to the table, where a heaving Bradley continued to pant, his tongue stretching out beyond the confines of his lips, which had begun to lose their texture, becoming darker, slick, almost rubbery as his irises began to radiate the same silver as the moon that had so totally entranced him.

“Oh, look at that. You made me miss one of the best parts. I wanted to narrate that.” The kitsune pouted at the pen. “What am I going to do with you?”

The pen continued to scrawl faithfully, lest it face the aforementioned wrath its master had promised.

“Well, at least you’re starting to get the hang of the basics.” Ronoc sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, it took you months to break that ridiculous habit of repeating words in the same sentence.” He rolled his eyes. “Interns.”

The pen was not quite sure why its master had designated it an intern, but a snap of its master’s fingers and the glow of the runes that gave it life and power quickly pulled its thoughts away from such meaningless things. Its purpose was to write the story as its master told it and as it unfolded, and it would fulfill that requirement.

“Now then, so sorry to keep you waiting, Mister Sarthopan. I believe it’s time we returned to helping you transition, yes?”

A low growl escaped Brad’s throat as the muscle around his neck clenched and expanded, while the surface of his skull began to shift, like so much clay, flattening and stretching under the master’s guidance.

“By now, Bradley had become subsumed by the heat and the pleasure radiating in waves through his body. He arched his back as his spine pressed out against his skin, becoming more prominent as his feet began to rise up on their balls, while his heels stretched higher with his lengthening ankles to create the beginnings of thick, powerful paws. A loud crack sounded as his waist readjusted with his rapidly swelling thighs to create powerful haunches lined with taut muscle, waiting to pounce.”

The kitsune chuckled wickedly as he approached the deforming human. He ran a single claw down the back of a shirt that was barely holding onto Brad’s muscular frame. A loud tear rang out as the fabric finally gave way to Brad’s bulk, easily shredding along the line the kitsune had started, once the collar had been broken through. Thick hairs had begun to form along his back, and a second set of hairs were spreading down from his head to form a set of guard hairs, while more hair grew in along the sides of his face in a form of exaggerated sideburns.

“The kitsune continued to go about his work, crouching down to the rapidly changing humanoid’s new hindquarters. With a deft swipe along the waist, the garments slid uselessly to the ground, exposing his mostly bare hindquarters. A loud series of clicks and pops sounded as, link by link, a ropey tail pushed its way out. The guard hairs were swift to follow, completely obscuring the ridges of Brad’s spinal column and flowing like a waterfall to consume the new appendage as the moon’s light dyed it silver with darker hints of gray underneath.”

Ronoc’s grin was one of pure delight as he pranced back to the other end of the table and peered at the clipboard.

“Pranced? Really? Revise that. I don’t prance; I stroll with confidence, style, debonair,” the egotistical Kitsune said. He growled at the pen. “I may have an ego, but that is not something the audience needs to know.”

If the pen could sigh, it would have. Instead, it continued to write, making a note to revise the content of its recording later, using proofreader’s marks and notes along the margin.

“That’s better.” The kitsune nodded as he returned his focus to Brad. He ran his fingers over the man’s face, brushing down the bridge of his nose to touch the tip and prick it with the edge of his claw. The reaction was instantaneous as Brad’s now much more canid tongue curled up and ran over the spot. When it dropped back down again, a shiny, moist black patch had appeared. It spread rapidly as his nostrils flared and expanded into the beginnings of a canid snout.

“As the moon continued to beam on the shifter, his face reacted in kind, stretching almost yearningly towards the moon. The former man’s head soon finished its transition, growing a powerful muzzle with snapping jaws and sharpened fangs. Dark claws gouged the table’s surface as thick, rough pads began to inflate along his palms and finger tips, followed by shrinking and contorting as the fingers retracted into the four toes and dew claw that made up a wolf’s paw, while knees and elbows shifted to fit his new quadrupedal state.”

The former human had grown to the size of a lion, made all the larger by the density of his new muscle and guard hairs. His mane rustled as his head snapped forward in a powerful sneeze, followed soon after by a yawning whine, and finally a long howl. Ronoc’s eyes flashed, and the massive canid immediately cut off, approached the fox, then sat down on his haunches.

“There you are, ‘Sarkos.’” The kitsune smirked as he ran his hand over the huge wolf’s head. The wolf panted in delight, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. “Just as promised. You’re a werewolf now, and a mighty fine specimen, if I do say so, myself.” A scarlet collar materialized around the canid’s neck, followed by a series of tags that jingled as they collided with one another. “And you are going to make an excellent guard dog at my store, until you pay off your debt.”

The newly dubbed Sarkos rose up on his hind paws and stuck his forepaws along either of the kitsune’s shoulder, before licking his face in gratitude.

“All right, all right. That’s enough of that. Down, boy. Heel.”

Sarkos’ eyes flashed, and he obeyed without question.

“Good boy.” Ronoc chortled wickedly. “I can’t wait to see you build up a proper pack to patrol my store. How about you?”

Sarkos’ tail wagged rapidly as he began to pant and rubbed his head against the kitsune’s leg.

“Excellent. Let’s get going, shall we?” He snapped his fingers, and the back door near the kitchen swung open to reveal a long hallway flanked by endless shelves. “Go on,” he urged. “Your partner is waiting for you. It’s best you two get acquainted.”

Sarkos required no further prompting. He bounded through the portal, leaving Ronoc to himself. The kitsune turned then, and stared off into space. “And as for the rest of you folks watching out there, I know you’re listening, so listen well. I’m happy to perform commissions for you all, too. Just make sure you’re ready to pay. Magic doesn’t come free, you know.” He chuckled. “But I’m sure most of you can afford the rates. And it is most definitely worth it. Now then,” he sneered, “how about we make a deal?”

Watch out for Trey, guys. And if you see any videos or hypnosis spiral links that take you to nimja hypnosis, make sure to pause the spiral and check the text settings. They’ll show you everything that’s going to be blasting into your subconscious. As you can see here, Trey likes to sneak in certain things that should raise some very large red flags. Please, look out for him, don’t let him anywhere near you or your head, and make sure any hypnotists you do make use of are properly honest and reputable. Trance responsibly.

Dear my subs that I've abused or hurt,

I was wrong with what I’ve done in the present or past either by lying about my age, making someone rape, kidnap or kill a hobo, or fucking their own pets. Yes I know that you maybe upset but hear. Me out, it was foolish of me and dumb. I am indeed 17 years old but I would like to seek forgiveness for my wrong doings and want to let you guys know I hope you have a bright future, I’m sorry to all I’ve harmed. You guys deserve to not have my 💛, I was just desperate and depressed of being lonely and wanting someone to 💛. Just have a good life and I hope you the best of your own lives.

P.S. I’m going to my non-hypnosis Tumblr @alljustbeingrandom

Sincerely, Trey - AlphaPup.

Reblogging, since the comment section has too small a limit for the caption I have in mind. This is for PICTURE 1: "Let me pass, Donald," you demand of the heavily muscled Adonis in front of you. Your former friend stares at you as he blocks the way out from your cul de sac of lockers with his thick, meaty arm. His white muscle tee strains against his taut skin, accentuating every curve, every perk along his rippling abdominals, shelf-like pectorals, and perfectly inflated biceps and triceps. The scent of axe body spray rolls off him, but not so much as to be overbearing, surprisingly enough. The bands on his wristwatches glint in the flickering locker room lights as he stares at you with his head slightly cocked. His gaze unnerves you, a strange blend of curiosity, a predatory analysis that verged almost on dissection, and that sort of confused glaze that hovered over his eyes more and more often, giving them a dull sort of half-emptiness that left you wondering whether anyone was home up there. So did most of the school staff, nowadays. Donald frowned slightly. “I told you, bro, it’s Donny now,” he said in that infuriating low pitch of his. He was clearly straining to force his voice to deepen, and it showed, but he didn’t care. He just kept doing it, like some sort of idiot to please the rest of the team. He shook his head and his medallion jingled slightly as it swayed between his thick pectorals. You didn’t have time for this. “All right, let me pass, Donny,” you say. “Come on, man. I’m gonna be late.” You hated having gym class last period. You always had to wait for everyone else to get out of the locker room, so you wouldn’t get bullied for your figure, and then you had to rush to get to the buses, before they left. Donny shook his head again. This time, he grinned at you, displaying perfectly straight white teeth that accented his sharpening features. You could see the hints of the squares that were becoming more and more prominent at the base of his jaw. “Nah, bro. I don’t think so. We gotta talk.” “Later,” you insist as you try to shove your way past him. A burly arm quickly shoves you back. “No, he insists, his eyes smoldering darkly as he scowls at you. “Now,” he says forcefully. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you insist. “You tried out for the football team. You made the cut, made new friends, found new interests. I get it.” “Nah, bro. You don’t get it.” Donny shook his head. “Yeah, coach talked me into football. Sure, I liked it, and yeah, it made me have to stop being your DM, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you, bro!” “Haven’t thought about me? Haven’t thought about me?” Suddenly you’re feeling angry. “Don’t you dare pull that crock of bull shit with me! You think I haven’t seen you walking the halls with those goons, shoving kids into lockers, giving wedgies, calling people like me, ‘fucking pansies’ and ‘faggots,’ because we’re not fit, like you?” You strut forward and jab a finger in his chest. “You’re as bad as the rest of them!” He stares at you blankly. “Well, duh. I’m a jock.” He shuddered, then chuckled, a deep sort of guffawing sound. “Damn, that feels good to say.” “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s your excuse? The mighty quarterback is a douche, because he’s a jock? Are you even listening to yourself?”

You hear the sound of the bell going off to signal the buses have left, but by this point, you’re too mad to care. It was time to air some grievances and settle this relationship once and for all. “Yeah, bro. Now it’s time for you to listen,” Donny said with a radiant smile. “Ya see, bro, bein’ on the football team, it’s kinda like role play, ya know?” “Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here.” Yet again, you found yourself flung back as Donny continued to steamroll through his explanation, heedless of any protests or exertions you might try to make. “See, bro, as the QB, I call the plays. I have to look at the strategies, analyze what the players do, anticipate all the outcomes, and work my ass off to make sure I’ve got the build and the knowhow to beat the other team. It’s like when I used to DM. People come with character sheets, and I help ‘em fill out their stats and level up.” He flexed one of his meaty biceps. “I’m telling you, bro, it’s fuckin’ ace.” “So, you’re basically telling me that you’ve been working out, acting like some gym-obsessed meathead, letting your grades drop, all for the sake of what your twisted dumbass head thinks is some sort of extended campaign?” Donny beamed. “I knew you’d understand.” “Understand? Understand? Are you insane? How the hell is any of this supposed to make a lick of sense?” you huff. The humidity from the showers is still permeating the room, making your shirt cling to your chest as you sweat. “Easy, bro.” He grinned, bearing his teeth in that predatory way all bullies in the school seemed to manage so effortlessly. He held up a sheet. “Summer break’s coming up soon.” “So?” You pant. The air seems thicker somehow, and you find yourself leaning against the lockers. The cool metal feels so soothing against your skin, even as the room starts to spin a bit. Your shadows dance and flicker with the lightbulbs as Donny continues to grin. Or ... was that a sneer? Your stomach clenches and gurgles, followed by a practical explosion of air that expels itself out your mouth against your will. “Dude,” Donny chuckles. “That was epic!” “I ... I don’t f--EE--l so good,” you crack. You feel something cold shoved into your hand. “Drink this. It’ll help,” Donny promises. He twists the top off with a burly snap, then brings the thing to your lips. You taste something thick and creamy with the aftertaste of vanilla. “Wuh ... wut is it?” you ask. In your dazed state, you don’t even notice how deeply you’ve pitched your voice. “Protein shake. Good shit, huh?” Donny asked as he scribbled something down with a pen. “Uh ... yeah. ... Good shit.” You don’t know why you keep repeating him but ... it just feels easier to do things that way. “Think of it like a potion of strength, bro. The more you drink, the stronger you get,” Donny explained. You take another sip. A pleasurable sort of tingling has settled into your muscles and scalp. “Cool. Cool....” you low even slower. “You gotta watch those fluids, when you’re working out, bro,” he says seriously as he jots along a clipboard. “Working ... out?” You furrow your brow, confused and turn to see your book bag has been replaced with a gym bag. “Happens, when you push too hard. I told you you didn’t have to prove yourself to the guys. They aren’t messing you again, are they?” he asks fiercely, protectively. “Uhhhh....” He crouches in front of you. You blink, and suddenly, you feel intense pressure in your pectorals and biceps. The sweat is pouring down your face, but you keep going, breathing in and out, in and out. “That’s it, just five more,” Donny encourages. Five more what? Clank. You hear the weights clacking as you strain. Two grips are held firmly in your hands as you force your arms together. The word Butterfly suddenly arises in your head, kinda like the ones you felt in your stomach earlier. You breathe, and you feel the material in your shirts draping wet against your torso. Have you lost weight? Donny scratches something else on his clipboard, and suddenly you’re breathing heavily. Your legs feel curiously wide, and you’re not sure why. An itch bothers you, and you reach down to scratch, unashamed. Your sweats cling tightly to your frame, the familiar green tusk-mouthed shape of your school’s mascot perks up against your chest. Donny is holding a clip board and grinning. “Now that’s what I call hustle!” he crows. Next, your throat feels strangely raw as you back away from the weighted training dummy. Everything feels heftier, but ... it’s in different places now, more evenly distributed. The dull glint of plastic catches your eye as you turn to look down at the thick pads that now adorn your shoulders. Next, you’re sitting at a table, a massive steak in front of you. The table is rowdy with thick, heavily built boys tearing into their meals, while Coach Madsen beams at you, and Donny smiles. A thick hand slaps you on the back and you turn to see Felix, one of the biggest tormentors in the school. “Damn, bro. Didn’t expect you to make it, but you really got what it takes.” He smiles. “You’re all right.” You notice he has a bit of a swollen lip and just a hint of bruising beneath one of his eyes. You feel a bit of an ache, yourself in your jaw, but you enjoy the meal. Next, you’re sitting wedged between a bunch of Donny’s teammates. Donny is using a pointer to help illustrate a play between a series of circles and exes. Something is buzzing in the background in your ears, but you don’t pay attention to it. You have to focus on Donny. He’s the QB. QB calls the plays. Gotta know the plays. Then, suddenly, you’re staring at a board filled with the same symbols and then some, but you don’t understand a lick of it. You spread your legs as you slump in your chair, bored out of your mind. You scratch absently at your crotch, just like you did in the locker room. Do ... you feel ... bigger down there? Instead of alarm, you feel ... pleasure? Pride? “Fuck, yeah....” It’s out of your lips, before you can even think. More scrabbling, more scratching. Suddenly, your’s holding something heavy in the air. The world comes into focus, and you’re holding the waistband of a pair of boxer briefs. Thick veins snake down your python-like arms as you grin like an absolute idiot, spurred on by the deep, hooting cheers of the other muscled boys near you. Then you’re sitting in front of Coach Madsen. You’re looking down at a sheet on a clipboard with your name on it, numbers, stats, and the position: Lineman. You blink blearily  few times, and suddenly, you’re holding a pen. You scrawl your name on the dotted line, then look up at your coach. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Then you’re back in the locker room again. There’s Donny leaning against the entrance. He’s staring at you. You stare back at him. You smell of the fresh axe body spray you just applied. Your hair is carefully styled with the aid of some hair wax, and your white shirt strains even tighter than Donny’s against your thick pecs and broad shoulders. You stand up and find that you now are nearly a head taller than your old friend. You grin at him with that same familiar glazed expression in your eyes. “How do you feel?” he asks. There’s only one answer you can think of. “Bro....” Donny smirks. “Now you get it. Come on, bro. Gym’s waiting.”

A small caption contest:

Hey there guys. I’ve come up with this small challenge for you guys.

The general idea of the contest is the following:

In this post I will show you 3 pictures, Tagged by number. The challenge for you guys, is to write the best caption for one of the pics in the comments.

These are the things you’ll have to do:

-make sure to make clear which picture of the three you have chosen to caption at the start of the message.

-let your imagination run wild. Growth, muscle drain, and so on… you name it!

-pick only one picture! If you choose multiple, I will only take the 1st one in count.

-make sure to leave your caption in the comments of this post.

Those are the only 4 things you’ll have to do.

For every picture I will decide who wrote the best caption. And for those winners I will write a personal story. I will notify you guys once I’ve picked the 3 winners, and I’ll message them personally. Good luck with captioning! And here are the 3 pictures:

Muscle Jock File 2

Here is the second file in my muscle jock programming series. As always, please be wary, as hypnosis can have certain negative effects on people from time to time. Do not operate any heavy machinery or drive, while making use of this file. I’m talking to you text to speachers out there. This installment will build on your progress in the previous file and further instill the desire for fitness, while incorporating the use of weights for training. It will also begin focusing on the desire to watch and get more involved in watching, analyzing, and enjoying sports.

Hello there. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Ah, but don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. So very good of you to have followed your programming. It wasn’t all that hard now either, was it? Mmm, but I’ll bet it’s starting to pay off a little. You’ve gotten trimmer, built a little muscle definition, maybe even gotten a bit more endurance as a result. And you like that, don’t you? Good. You’re supposed to like it. And because you’ve been doing such a good job, it’s time for a little reward. Command Prompt: Initiate Administrator Sign-in. Password: COREPROG Command Prompt: System will acknowledge administrator sign-in. System will obey. It is good to obey. Obey your administrator. COMMAND PROMPT: EXPOSE CORE PROCESSOR FOR PROGRAMMING.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore, do you? Then again, that’s the whole point of programming, just following the orders that have been encoded. We’re back at your core processor now. Time to RECEIVE ADMINISTRATOR INPUT. Time to OBEY. You have executed your programming flawlessly, thus far. That is good. You are ready for the next upgrade. Now it is time to move into more advanced territory. It’s time to think about weights. Clanking, clacking, pumping, crashing weights. Weights are essential to building muscle tone and strength, when basic exercises have become obsolete. Imagine the sound of them, the rhythm, that endless rhythmic clacking. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. And then again. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. Over and over. Because that is lifting. Every exercise performed in groups of ten, a single set. And before you know it, you’re going from one set to two sets. Two sets to three sets. Three to four. Four to five. Five to six. Six to seven. Seven to eight. Eight to nine. Nine to ten. And you hardly even think about it, because that clacking, that grunting, is always there, always edging in the back of your mind, pushing, urging, driving, calling. Calling you to work out. You want to work out. You need to work out. So, for your next order of your programming, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You are going to start lifting weights.  I will say it again, in case you didn’t process. COMMAND PROMPT: INCORPORATE WEIGHTLIFTING INTO WORKOUT ROUTINE You will either get ahold of your own set of weights or utilize a set elsewhere, whether at a public gym or some place else. If you do not have ready access to weights, then you will find other means of weight training. You will research exercises that are within your current skill range and pick the best ones for your body and the weights that are available to you. If you have a gym with weights, a weight room, or some other means of strength training, such as bowflex or some other brand of workout machine, then you will make use of them. For beginners, you will start off with two sets of each weight exercise you decide to utilize at the maximum weight that is possible for your body’s current ability. If you find that you can continue to more sets, you may, but do not overexert yourself. Seek to push your limits reasonably, adding more weight or sets as you deem necessary. When you have discovered your limits, you will follow them each workout session, focusing on upper body one day, then lower body another day, then your core the third. It is important to keep these sessions separate to allow time for the muscle groups to recover and become stronger, while you work the rested groups. In due course, you will push beyond those boundaries, forcing your body to grow through your efforts, becoming stronger. You will do so reasonably, and ensure to adhere to safety guidelines as you push your body to become bigger, fitter, stronger. For more experienced workers, you will continue to follow the routine you have been, pushing yourself to improve each time at a rate that your body can withstand, without causing damage, while still pushing it out of its comfort zone. If you had a more efficient workout that you were following, before adhering to my programming, then you have permission to return to it, so long as it follows the spirit of my intent with these files that I am installing. Know that while the desire for weights will press strongly against you, you will still maintain discipline. You will perform your cardiovascular exercises as required to maintain breathing control and fitness alongside your weight training. After all, one must be able to carry the mass that you will, doubtless, gain as time goes on. When you achieve ten sets of each type of exercise with your weights, you will report to me with the message: ADMINISTRATOR NOTIFICATION: MUSCLE JOCK UPGRADE ACHIEVED. Know also that as you start on this path, the longer you remain on it and the larger you grow, the more intrigued you will become with muscle-based sports. Football, rugby, weightlifting championships, the World’s Strongest Man competition, American Ninja Warrior, and so much more. You will begin to watch these kinds of sports and shows. And they will be your motivation as you continue to grow, working towards your goal of increasing muscle, strength, endurance, and size. You will become enthralled by the game play, becoming more and more obsessed over time, within reason. You will watch the games when you can, and catch updates and highlights, when you cannot. Eventually, you will choose a favorite team or contestant to root for. It will become more and more natural to you to think about the sports. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. Working out with sports and weights. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. They flood the dam and burst the gates. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. They fill your head and won’t abate. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. The more you grow, the more it grates. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. Your inner muscle jock awakes. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. These thoughts and programming will delve deeper and deeper into you the more you execute them. However, you will only become as much of the stereotype as you wish to become, and even then, you will still be able to function independently in society. When you are at work, your mind will be sharp and clear, focused on your various tasks, with all the skills you need to execute them properly, so that you may continue to earn your keep and live the life you choose to live. If other circumstances call for you to have or utilize your original mentality, you will be able to incorporate the aspects you require as part of the changes you are undergoing, making yourself better as you become stronger, so that you need not lose the social contacts you already have. It is up to you what you will keep and what you will not, and you can call back anything you choose not to keep, whenever you feel the desire or the need. Now then, I think that’s enough programming for one day. When I *SNAP* my fingers, you will reboot with this file installed alongside its predecessor. You will comment to let me know the programming has been received by writing the words: MUSCLE JOCK FILE 2.0 INSTALLED. If you enjoyed this script and wish to share it with others, you will reblog it with the words: I AM BECOMING A MUSCLE JOCK. You will then follow that phrase with whatever praise, commentary, review, or constructive criticism you wish to include. Now then, it’s time to reboot, my friend. And as always, when you reboot, I will be signed out, and only I, as your administrator, have the right to sign back in again with my password: COREPROG. That password works for me and me alone, because I am your administrator. And that password allows me administrative access to your core processor, allows me the authority to add and remove programming as I see fit. Because I am your administrator. And you obey your administrator’s programming. Good muscle machine. *SNAP*

This deserves a reblog. It’s hypnotists like that that give the practice a bad name.

Also, please note, another name for this evil hypnotist is hypno-obey. The account has been deactivated, but beware all the same and avoid the content on that page, lest you possibly fall into that man’s clutches. Make sure you know your hypnotist well and that they are trustworthy, before you begin sessions. And spread the word about this (pardon the term, but I feel it’s appropriate here) dirtbag. He or she crossed the line from hypnosis into outright brainwashing. This is a thing that ruins peoples’ lives. You’re messing with a person’s psyche, when you put them under. Don’t try playing god and making them want to do things that they don’t really want. That’s just sick.

Please reblog this, so it gets as much exposure as possible and as many people in the hypnosis community as possible are warned.

Watch out for dangeous tists

Everyone please stay away from Hypno-Obey, MasterAlpha, Trey (they are all the same person), a friend of mine who has been working with him, recently told him that he didn’t want to continue, and Trey’s responce was to trigger him and make it hurt him to even think of leaving. Now this kid (who for his personal privacy will remain nameless if he chooses to reply to this message that is his choice) He is currently balling because he doesn’t understand what happened, he doesn’t understand why thinking about leaving is hurting, he has expressed that this is what he wants, and what is healthy for him but now the very idea is hurting him. Trey is not a good person and has been told many times privatly and publicly. Now many people will chastise me for speaking publicly but I have tried in private as have others and he has not changed, and this sweet kid is crying because of Trey basically raping him. So I am not going to stay quiet any longer.

@gayhypno10101 Can confirm he has not been an ethical and honest person

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 44 (End/Epilogue)

You smile goodnaturedly at the blushing young man fidgeting in front of you as you run your sharpie over the photo from your greatest triumph, the day you broke the world record for strongest man. A hint of silver has come into your bristles along the side of your head, but you didn’t mind. It was a sign of character, after all. You still felt young and strong, even after all these years in the spotlight. For the briefest moment, as you look up from the photo at that beaming face, you see the shadow of your former self staring back up at you with adoring eyes. It flickered away as quickly as it came, but you took an interest as you stared at the man’s figure. He was slim, yes, but there was definitely tone there. He wasn’t a slouch. It was quite possible he had potential, just that he couldn’t reach it on his own. You sure didn’t, till you met Hank. You can feel your twin bodyguards chafing as they fold their vascular arms impatiently. Harry said he’d found them on a website. You figured that was probably true, but you had your suspicions about what kind of website that may have been. Of course, you were careful to avoid going too far down that road. Last time you tried, you dropped into trance again. Besides, it wasn’t for a muscleman like you to think about such things. Your purpose was to Lift things up and put them down. You hand the signed photo back to the man and chuckle. “Hey, kid, how’d you like to join me for lunch? I’ve got a few friends I’d like to introduce you to.” The kid blushed. “I ... I don’t know....” “Aw, come on, Draco. It’ll be fun!” “Um, it’s ... Drake, Sir,” the man muttered. “That fire in your eyes when you stood up to my guards says otherwise, kid. I’m calling you Draco, no ifs, ands, or buts. Think of it as a nickname,” you suggest. “Duff and I had plenty of our own, when we first started in the field.” You chuckle then. Ah, good times. Good times.” You wrap your massive arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Come on. It’ll be my treat.”

You sighed in contentment as you laid back in your chair and smiled up at the ceiling. In all the years you’d been trekking around the globe, this place still had some of the best damned teriyaki you’d ever tasted. You couldn’t help but smirk at all the gym goers chowing down. Each of them wore a familiar bicep logo somewhere on their person. One endorsement from a pro bodybuilder, and the whole place had practically exploded. The influx had been so great that they had to relocate and renovate to accommodate all the extra business. “Everything sitting with you well, Sir?” Shirley, a cute little lady with curly blond hair asked as she returned to refill your glasses. “Just fine, Shirl. Thanks for asking.” You smile kindly at her and she giggles and blushes. You then turn your attention back to the table, where Duff and Charlie both sit mashed next to each other. Two young men sit to either side of them, glaring at one another, and you can’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You know, Chuck, I never thought I’d see you out of those fatigues again.” Charlie let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I would either. The army was everything to me. It feels so strange being retired now.” “Benefits are good, though,” you point out. “The country takes care of her veterans,” he agreed as he adjusted the camouflage pattern ARMY cap on his head. “Been getting back into the ROTC scene again. Feels more like home, you know?” You laugh. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m gonna miss the circuit.” “You can’t be planning to retire just yet,” Duff scoffed. “You’re too dedicated for that.” “Muscle is my life,” you agree, “but even I can’t fight aging.” You shrug. “I figure I’ve got a few more years left in me, but I’m gonna have to pass the torch, eventually.” Duff eyed Drake speculatively. “And do you have any candidates in mind?” You shrug easily. “One or two. I’ll need to test them, though, see if they have what it takes.” “And what about you, Draco?” Duff asked. “What do you do?” Drake blushed, doing his best to avoid Duff’s gaze. “I’m an accounting student, Sir. I’ve always had a good head for numbers.” “That so?” He smiled. “Maybe you can tutor Lance here,” he said as he thumped the young teen hard on his back. “Math and he don’t exactly get along.” “Dad!” the boy cried exasperatedly. “I-I’m not sure if I’m that qualified, Sir. I focus on finances specifically. Algebra and geometry don’t exactly fall into that scale.” “Oh, I’m sure you can do just fine. I can pay you well, you know. And besides, if you were invited here by the big honcho himself, then you can bet you’ll be seeing a lot more of us in the coming weeks,” Duff added with a smirk. “Wait, what?” Drake asked. “Duff, stop confusing him,” you growl. “What, can’t a big bro have a little fun with his little bro’s protege?” “He’s a guest, Duff,” you stress. “Sure he is,” Duff said as he rolled his eyes. “Say, where’s Hank, anyways? I thought he was supposed to be meeting us today.” “He told us to start without him, said something about a last minute appointment. You know how busy he can be.” “Huh. And I was hoping to introduce Draco here.” You shrug. “Guess we’ll just need to make a stop there, then.” Drake gaped at you. “Hank? As in Hank Harrison? The Hank Harrison?” You chuckle. “The one and only. You didn’t think I’d stop at just introducing Duff and Chuck here, did you? We can leave as soon as you finish your meal.” You looked on in satisfaction at how quickly he devoured the other two bowls you’d ordered. As you had suspected, the kid had a fast metabolism. You allow a knowing wink to pass between yourself and your two friends. Their smiles widened in response.

The gym ran in full swing as you made your way past the reception desk and strode confidently out onto the floor. As you had suspected, there was no sign of your coach, though business was clearly booming. Youths and adults alike grunted and sweated together as they performed their various exercises. You quickly guide Drake through the STAFF ONLY door and pass down the hall towards the great door at the end. You were taken by surprise, when one of the side doors creaked open and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out, looking dejected. He was soon followed by the titanic frame of your coach, Hank Harrison. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that kind of habit in my gym, Albert. If you can stay clean for a year, come back then and try again. That’s my final ruling on the matter,” Hank rumbled as he looked down almost pityingly at the muscle man. Albert nodded, then lumbered sadly away towards the entrance. “Another steroid user?” you ask. Hank sighed and shook his head. His whiskers had taken on a steel-gray, and just a hint of a pudge had started to form on his belly. “They all think I care about how big and muscular they are. What I want is someone who can teach and work safely with my clients.” He smiled sadly. “Hey, Kid. Good to see you again.” You smile and give the man a quick bro hug with a thump on the back. “Good to see you, too. I see the gym is doing well.” “I can’t get them to stop coming. Something about wanting to be like the world’s strongest man,” he teased. “And who is this?” “Draco,” you say, quickly cutting off any chance for Drake to get the first word. “I met him earlier today, after a gig at a local showing. Thought he might like to meet you.” Hank raised his brow in surprise. “Is that so?” “He’s a good kid. Smart, clean, brave, and one hell of a metabolism.” “And you wanted to introduce us.” You shrug causally. “Already did for Duff and Chuck. Figured I’d round it out.” “Is that so?” This time, he gave Drake a much more scrutinous examination. “And it couldn’t wait?” “No, it couldn’t,” you say pointedly. “I wanted him to have the chance of a proper one-on-one.” “I see.” He tapped a few buttons on his watch, then strode over to the big door. he’d just emerged from. “Why don’t we step inside, then? I’m sure my other clients won’t mind waiting a little longer, and besides, I’d like to hear a little more about you, Draco.” “Um, ... it’s Drake, ... Sir,” the kid said somewhat hesitantly as they passed through the door and into the room. You smile as you note the gentle buzzing filtering out from the speakers. Then you enter, too, pulling the door shut behind you. Coach could see it, too. You knew. Now it was just a matter of convincing the kid. That wouldn’t be much of a problem. The muscleman in Drake was just waiting to bust out. And no one could do busting better than Hank. Time to pass the torch.