Writing Is Something That You Can Never Do As Well As It Can Be Done. It Is A Perpetual Challenge And

Writing is something that you can never do as well as it can be done. It is a perpetual challenge and it is more difficult than anything else that I have ever done – so I do it. And it makes me happy when I do it well.

Ernest Hemingway (via writingdotcoffee)

Words of truth.

The Military Daze series reminds me of an idea of mine of a guy turning into a buff new green army man toy, slowly shrinking and converted into living plastic before becoming indistinguishable from other green army men toys.

I remember that suggestion. Unfortunately, life has prevented me from being able to do much with it. I do have a chess piece transformation in the works, though. At least in my head. Found a perfect image to caption for it, but a lot of my time is being put into searching for a job right now. It sucks, but real life has to come first.

This story is a call back to an old series I never completed and need to continue, and since I haven’t done anything military in ages, and I promised a proper military story to @armybrute​ for the help he gave me. I hope that this will suffice as a good and proper story while I ponder how to move forward with Military Daze again.

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Ten Hut

“You’ve been doing such an excellent job.” You hear the voice echoing in your ear. You’ve heard it for so long now. Even when you’re not in class, it follows you. All you have to do is look into the mirror to see how much you’ve changed. Your sweat pants cling to your trim waist, while your swollen muscles press so prominently against your shirt. Army green. It’s almost as though the two were one. “Well done, Private.”

Your parents couldn’t afford to send you to the prestigious academy, but the United Armed Forces Military Academy (UAFMA) was willing to offer you a place in their new Remote Officer program. The school website had a digital library with all the materials you would need to study in order to graduate with honors. They even had audio files to listen to on the GO ARMY.

“Thank you, Sir,” you reply. CO’s voice was kinda scary at first, but once you got used to it, really accepted the fact he was your Commanding Officer, things got easier. You weren’t a troublemaker, and he knew you weren’t a troublemaker. He knew you were there to learn, to listen, to excel.

And boy did you excel.

Hours passed in front of that computer screen like minutes. Tactics, mathematics, history, science, English. Your CO was with you every step of the way. His voice. His smile. That flat buzz cut. It was deep, soft. But it rang with authority, an authority he wasn’t afraid to use if you messed up.

Your parents expressed concern over the fitness portions of your credit. Naturally, this was a military academy. They weren’t about to overlook that necessity.

Drop and give me twenty, maggot!

You could barely manage one the first time. You weren’t sure why you kept trying. Maybe you feared expulsion. Maybe you were tired. Or maybe it was something about his voice. You just had to do what he told you.

And boy was he brutal.

Any time you showed a lack of effort or improvement, he’d be on you. You learned how to explain yourself quickly and effectively. You had to. Otherwise, he’d order you to do more exercises. Debates were encouraged when appropriate. You’d just be checking,

One, two.

One, two.

CO would respond. Back and forth, back and forth.

Got kinda hard to focus sometimes, though. especially when you talked about the pros and cons of various fitness styles. Strength training, cardio, aerobics, anaerobics, diets, supplements, all that stuff for getting buff.

And damn did it feel good to be buff.

You usually lost those debates.

Actually, you hardly even ... remember ... those....

...

What were you thinking about again?

Radio ops was some of the most fun you had in the courses. Analyzing sound waves, crossing signals, identifying codes. Nothing advanced, but it was something ... stimulating. Defending your methods when they were challenged helped to sharpen your tongue, but you didn’t really have the balls to go against your CO for a while. Not till your body really started growing, anyway.

And people noticed.

Old school bullies tried to intimidate you, but they were nothing compared to your CO. Took a good beating for that little adventure when you told them as much. That was when your curriculum changed. Nobody beats up a member of UAFMA and gets away with it.

CO had you in the gym every day. You’d lift weights, jog, squat, do burpies, whatever he wanted. And the whole while, you’d be following along. Sir, yes, Sir. Three square meals a day. Four upstart teens to teach respect. Five sets in every exercise.

Tic toc. Tic toc.

It became easier and easier to keep up the pace. 

Order and discipline became your creed. Follow the program, get the results. It’s that simple. Always is in life. Constant study made finding answers simple. You retained the pertinent tactical data. You hadn’t used your X-bo in months. You had a schedule to keep, after all. You had to build, had to defend the honor of your school.

Honor. Integrity.

Service. Duty.

Obedience. Sacrifice.

Stick to the mission. Stick to the mission.

And you had.Your six-pack was harder than steel, your biceps sculpted pistons, your chest a mighty bellows, your shoulders broader than mountains.

Combat training came at the dojo. CO would arrive personally to ensure you knew how to handle yourself. And you followed his commands to the letter.

“Ours is not to reason why....”

You straightened your shoulders in response and snapped to attention. “Ours is just to do and die.”

You do. You do. You do.

You do your exercises. You do the work. You do the planning. You do the learning. You do the following. You do the obeying.

Don’t blink. Don’t think.

Do.

Do.

DO AS YOU’RE TOLD.

“Yes, Sir,” you say in your deep, deep voice. Deep, like your CO. Deeper and deeper every day. That’s what he’d said. And it happened. Because a good soldier obeys. A good soldier does as he’s told.

Seventy times seven, the bible says. Your study in numerology taught you that was meant to mean perfection. And you had to be perfect for this op. Seven times, you practiced. Seven hundred. Seven thousand.

Study. Train. Prepare. Repeat.

Eight months you worked. Eight months you slaved. Eight months, you grew into the stud you see before you now. You’re fit for service. Fit to dispense a little justice, and a little lesson in discipline.

“Are you ready, Private?” Your CO is asking you a question, and you feel the growl rising in your throat.

“Sir, yes, Sir.”

The buds are already cupped in one hand, the players in your pocket. All you need is the command.

“Report for the op.”

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The squad was professional and focused. Your fellow cadets fell in line for debriefing, which you presented flawlessly. There was no room for weakness or fear in the academy. Courage would win that battle time and again.

The fight had been a short one, in a secluded corner of town where there wouldn’t be any witnesses and no cameras to record the incident.

Nine squad members marched onto the lot. Eight cut off the exits. Seven seconds passed to get the offenders’ attention. Six more to explain the retribution to come. Five combatants stood off against each other. Four juvenile delinquents were easily defeated. Three were tied up and plugged into the players. Two leaders faced off, until one was restrained.

You watched with a cold satisfaction as the manic light fled from their gazes. Their shoulders relaxed. Their breathing deepened and steadied. Finally, they slumped forward with gaping mouths and hooded lids. A curt order had them released them from their bonds. You smiled briefly as you looked to your men and they to you. These boys were in for a rude awakening, and you were going to give them hell as their CO. You braced yourself, took a deep breath, puffed up your chest, then roared at the top of your lungs.

“TEN HUT!”

Twelve fell into line as your CO drove up in the unmarked van. You salute him and grin. A massive hand claps you on the shoulder.

“Good job, Soldier.”

The pleasure and pride were overwhelming as you straightened and clacked your heels together. “Sir, thank you, Sir!”

He chuckled, then looked at the former bullies with a wicked sneer. “Let’s get these recruits oriented. You’re about to get some new classmates.”

Pulling out the Stops (Patreon Preview)

“H-help me.”

I watched Milo as he strained at the weight machine. The man had exploded into a tower of lean, powerful muscle since the last time I’d seen him. His shorts strained against a set of thighs that were thick as tree trunks. His biceps were larger than footballs, and sweat caused the fabric of his too-tight tank to cling to his pecs and abs like a filmy sheet. I could practically see through it to the skin and weight belt that lay beneath. The bad-boy fauxhawk he used to model had been neatly trimmed down to the point where it would barely qualify as a cowlick over the patch of stubble that was now his hair. High and tight. He licked his lips desperately as he stared at me with pleading eyes.

“I tried to warn you,” I said....

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Here’s a teaser to my latest patreon story. For as little as a dollar a month, you get first view at my transformation stories before anybody else. (It also helps pay my bills, so I can have more time to write these things.) Higher tiers give you bigger perks. Feel free to stop by and take a look. Link below.

https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

You seem like a really nice person but your blog scares me... I guess for assurance, can you explain your fixation?

Well, to answer your question, I write those stories because I enjoy the fantasy. I can’t ever achieve that kind of fitness because of personal medical issues. I admit I also wonder about the hypno/mc aspect and mental draining. Again, I fantasize about it from time to time, but I am not the kind of person who would ever want to hypnotize someone to change them like that IRL. (I admit the arousal I get when I write those scenes is likely a contributing factor to why I enjoy this niche so much. Escapism was a large part of my youth, and while I have outgrown it, I do still indulge in it from time to time with these sorts of fantasies/scenarios that come to my mind.) So, yeah, namely because I like the idea of the possibility of such a change, though to make it a reality would scare the crud out of me, too. I’m not even a certified hypnotist, which is why I tell anyone who asks me to help them with tfing into their ideal state of jock or whatever that I don’t feel comfortable doing so. It’s been a while since people have asked, but yeah, I’m not some creepy pervert or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.

Another reason why I write these is because my mind is able to home in on these worlds and see legitimate characters and scenarios unfold for me to record and share with people.

However, I do have a strict policy with my writing, due to my religious background. I will never write sexually graphic material of any kind. In short, no adult/NSFW content. However, I will go mature with my works.

I don’t know if this all answers your question properly. And if it doesn’t, feel free to message me privately, so we can pursue the discussion further. I want to lay your fears to rest.

Saw a little of this on twitter. So glad to see a fuller version. This is totally worth the reblog.

Parasite and Girl