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What Have you Done?

I had intended that inanimate story from earlier to be a one-off piece, but after receiving a comment, I think I’ve seen an opening for it to continue, though I think I’ll shift this one to the third person perspective. Please, enjoy.

That was the cry, over and over again as the target breathed shallowly. The barrel of his gun pointed directly at the man’s head. He couldn’t have been much older than his early twenties, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Whether he was a mutant, an alien, or the result of some strange supernatural event, the agency had sent Stallone to acquire him, alongside his partner. “Briggs, you got him?” Stallone asked of his partner, never allowing his eyes to stray from the man, whose head was currently in his hands as he shook it back and forth again.

A high pitched rising glissando signaled the charging in Briggs’ taser as he raised one hand to face the target. The other held a syringe. “Keep him in your sites,” Briggs said tersely. “I know what I’m doing, Briggs.” A choking stutter of a breath rose in the target as he struggled not to sob. Tears pattered against the hard wood of his table. “What have you done?” The light from the fixture overhead shone on his thin blond hair, revealing the receding hairline and the gleaming scalp beneath. A cold winter wind blew harshly against the apartment window. He had yet to move, or even to try to resist. Stallone blinked rapidly as his eyes became irritated briefly. When he’d cleared his vision, he refocused on the target. Briggs hovered next to the man, with the needle poised for insertion. His brow furrowed in concentration as his reddish-brown beard twitched from clenching his teeth. “What are you waiting for?” Stallone growled. Briggs moved slowly, imperceptibly towards the target’s neck, yet with every passing second, the movement became slower. The man’s arm began to tremble as the needle neared the skin, and his biceps and triceps strained, as if against some invisible force. “I’m ... trying,” Briggs grunted through clenched teeth. “Oh, for %#@!’s sake,” Stallone snarled. “Give it here.” He strode over and reached to grab the needle. That was when he heard the fatal pop as the taser launched. Then all he knew was pain. His muscles twitched and spasmed as the electrical current coursed through his nervous system.

Briggs’ eyes were wide with horror. “I’m not doing this. I’m not doing this!” he protested over and over, even as his hand continued to clench the trigger firmly. So caught up in his distress was he that he didn’t even notice how the plastic seeped over his skin, spreading like molasses, and then hardening into polished black metal. When he finally did notice, he dropped the needle in shock. “What the--?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” the target said as he looked up at the pair. Tears coursed down his cheeks in rivers as he watched. The light danced over his eyes, causing the gray-blue in those orbs to brighten.

Briggs clutched the offending appendage with his free arm, even as the substance continued to spread. Fabric bulked and strained as strong, well-built muscle surged into a block-like parody. “What’s ... happening?” he cried as he strained against his arm. Soon his body began to lean as the mass continued to expand and fabric began to tear. The current continued to flow as the taser writhed like a living thing. It seeped into his hand, then crawled up, never breaking the connection to the wires as two ports suddenly opened with a mechanical whirring along his forearm. “What did you do to m--?” He cried in pain as the needle he had planned to inject in his target jammed into the muscle between his shoulder and neck. 

Stallone writhed on the floor with each new electrical pulse. It seemed to run on a timer. It would sustain itself for a few seconds, then ease, and his limbs would twitch on their own as his nervous system struggle to compensate for the sudden disruption. Then, just as he was ready to act, the current would fire again, and he would be stuck right where he had been in the beginning. With each surge, his nerves would fire off all at once. And with each easing, the frazzled system would buzz and tingle, struggling to reconnect. Eventually, things became sort of ... numb. Oh, his body would still dance, like a marionette in a toddler’s hands, but he couldn’t really feel the pain so much anymore. A strange sense of apathy descended as he watched. And much to his surprise, when he blinked at something, he seemed almost to zoom in on that spot, sort of like a camera lens. He would have chuckled, had he had control of his body, a brief, humorless thing. He felt more intrigued than concerned when he locked onto the needle and followed its flight path. Another surge of electricity, and suddenly he could picture a hundred different scenarios at once for where the needle would land. Number 56 proved correct. He suspected it might. After all, trajectory was his specialty. He blinked again, and the brief whir and click of a mechanical shutter greeted his ears as a great red targeting reticle appeared around the edges of his vision. The next current laid him out flat as a board, his face frozen into a grim-set line.

Briggs heaved as he hunched forward, resting his new titanic metal hand on the floor. His shoulders snapped and cracked as they broadened, shredding the fibers of his shirt apart to reveal the currents of energy surging under his skin like circuitry, before the soft substance hardened into a bulky carapace. The wound from the needle spurted briefly, and then the current reached it, and the needle pushed in. Briggs shuddered. Everything felt so strange. A sort of fogginess filled his brain as he clenched and unclenched that piece of him in time to ... what was it? Some sort of--EXECUTE--command? For some reason, it felt so good, when that part of him went off. Why did it ... feel good? Wasn’t he ... supposed to be ... doing ... something? COMMAND PROMPT: EXECUTE SEDATION DELIVERY DIAGNOSTIC

A slow mechanical whirr, not unlike the sound of a hydraulic cylinder, sounded in his ears. His body vibrated, and pleasure sang through his brain as he locked onto the two silos that had opened on top of his shoulders. He shuddered again as twin belts began to move in those silos, cycling the ammunition, a familiar set of needles. 1 Chunk 2 Click 3 Chunk 4 Click 5 Chunk 6 Click

... It felt so good to count them. Rigid. Orderly. All must be in order. The whirring sounded again as he turned his head to the target on the floor. He didn’t even have to think about it anymore. The current went on its own. He watched, unblinking, as the power jumped through his cable delivery system. His optic units cycled as they zoomed in on the target he had snared. Stallone shuddered as his body jumped again. He heard the popping detonation as the seams burst apart on Briggs’ legs. He watched as cold, hard metal replaced weak flesh. Knees and joints were replaced with intricate metallic counterparts. Feet burst free from the confines of the changing man’s shoes, only to reveal the thick metallic boot of the mechanoid he was rapidly becoming. Briggs’ eyes flashed a bright neon blue, and the sound of mechanical servos at work filled the air as the almost-robot rose to its feet, even as the needles that had once been one single item cycled through on their ammo belts. Ammo. The energy coursed through Stallone’s body once more. This time, the power spread over his flesh, just as it had Briggs. Stallone’s body practically exploded out of his clothes as his torso expanded, forcing his back up, and up, and up. His neck was consumed by the metal as his face became a convex sphere. The harsh creak of metal sounded as he groaned into an upright position, his body gleaming a sleek silver as his arms expanded into well-armored silos. Port after port opened to reveal a legion of gun barrels. His head hunched forward as the massive mound his back had become opened to reveal a silo filled with heat-seeking and anti-tank missiles. His eyes were gradually replaced with two bright red LED units covered in a red blast-proof polymer designed to shield his ocular units from damage. His mouth became little more than a flat line that flashed with red light as his speakers came on line. He slammed his hands into the ground and began to lift himself as his legs bent into an artificial crouch. Servos zipped and whirred as his waist spun left and right, testing the new system integration, while the rest of his lower parts expanded to support the weight of his hull. He felt no regrets as his weak organic heart slowed to a crawl, shuddered weakly, and then gave up the ghost. In a matter of nanoseconds, the pathetic organ had been remade into his true heart, a power core that supplied him with the vast stores of energy he required to fulfill his function. Fulfill ... its function. QUERY: WHAT IS THIS UNIT’S FUNCTION?

The new bot rose slowly to its feet. It towered over the other unit as its scanners passed over the room. It detected no current threats. But ... threats to what? It ran its logic processors over this new query as it watched its brother unit retract its stun prongs. Then its ocular units locked onto the organic that looked on them with an expression the unit did not quite understand. The last dim spark of its fleeting humanity whispered the word, haunted.  And suddenly, the unit knew its function. “PRIMARY FUNCTION IDENTIFIED: SERVE AND PROTECT DESIGNATED USER.” The ground shook with every step the combat unit took. It watched as the red organic hair melted into shiny red metal over its brother unit’s face to add a menacing element to its appearance. The material up top rose into rigid spikes that arced with energy. The hinges on its jaw creaked as it opened to reveal a speaker with several interlocking metal pieces along the inside. A swift scan revealed their primary function was to act as an amplifier and a method to control the direction the sound would travel. The system deployed briefly, then retracted once more as the unit finally finished cycling through its silos and lowered them again to blend seamlessly into its armor. “PRIMARY FUNCTION ACKNOWLEDGED. DESIGNATED USER IDENTIFIED. STUN UNIT 001, CODE NAME: WILLBREAKER, READY TO SERVE.” It strode in a rigid march to stand before its designated user and snapped to attention, its vibrant blue ocular units flashing as it completed its action. “AWAITING ORDERS.”

The massive combat unit lumbered over, its ponderous legs smashing into the ground as it joined its brother unit. “HEAVY COMBAT UNIT 001, CODE NAME: WORLDSHAKER, READY TO SERVE.”

The man sunk to his knees. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. The two units remained silent and unmoving as their new master cried himself out. Such organic things were beyond their comprehension. His vitals were all normal, so there was no need for them to intervene. Eventually, the fit passed, and their designated user looked up into their ocular units. “Why were you trying to kidnap me?” he asked in a tired sigh as his shoulders slumped and he fished out a tissue from a pocket to clear his nasal passages. “DOES NOT COMPUTE. PRIMARY FUNCTION IS TO SERVE AND PROTECT,” the two units said together. Their user sighed. “Okay, then, let me try this another way. Where is your point of origin? Where did you come from, before you came to me?” The two units stopped for a moment. The lights that helped to make up their “faces” flashed as they processed the request. Then the lights ignited completely as the search completed itself. “POINT OF ORIGIN FOUND,” they said together. Their user stared at them with narrowed, puffy bloodshot eyes. “Take me there.”

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 7

Hey, guys. Just one more part to go after this, and Of Spies and Muscleheads will be complete. It’s been awesome sharing this story with you, and I look forward to sharing more in times to come, but after this, Coach Stone may end up disappearing for a time as I work on the next arc involving him. My apologies for having to make you wait, but rest assured, there will be more transformations to come across a variety of paths, including muscle growth and mental changes, so don’t worry. You’ll see more of the themes you love. I promise. ~Omni

The newly dubbed Controller chuckled. “Time to wake up, bros.” His fingers whisked over the keys faster than they had, even when he had been his old self. “Meatheads will wake. Meatheads will respond. Meatheads will obey.”

The smaller men behind suddenly stiffened, as if a bolt of electricity had run through them. They doubled in size and muscle mass, grinning like the idiots they now were. A metal storage closet door buckled and shrieked in protest, before bursting open to reveal the torn lab coat of a technical assistant beneath a tower of muscle. A headpiece that was far too small for this man’s new form barely clung to his ear as he strode out of the tiny and much deformed space to join the others. And still all Hunter could do was stare.

“How far along are we, Controller?”

“Conversion at fifty percent, Sir,” he droned.

“Good. Meatheads, go round up any stragglers in the building who haven’t been hooked to the communications network. Controller, keep up the work here. Meathead, Skinner, guard Controller.”

A resounding, “Yes, sir, Coach. We are meatheads. We obey,” echoed in stereo over the screen, before the column of men filed out in search of stragglers.

“I do so love my meatheads. Don’t you, Agent Hunter?” Stone asked.

“Go to hell,” Hunter growled.

“That would make an interesting vacation spot, but I think I much prefer Florida,” Stone quipped.

“Let me go, damnit!”

“In due time, Agent Hunter. In due time.”

“All field agents accounted for, coach,” Controller said. “They have begun the process, and will soon convert to muscle.”

Various screens began popping up over the main one on the tablet.

“Agent Butcher reporting. Butcher is a good meathead.”

“Agent Iron Skull reporting. I am a good meathead.”

“Agent Quicksilver reporting. I am a good meathead.”

And so it continued one after another. Each new agent reporting in was another blow to Hunter’s heart as he watched his comrades in arms fall to little more than thugs for hire swearing their loyalty to a maniac.

“Meatheads, continue your assignments as normal, then contact Controller for your next instructions when they’re complete.”

A collective, “Yes, Sir,” followed, and the communications cut off, leaving just Controller and the meatheads there, and Stone with his meatheads and captive.

“Meathead conversion ninety-nine percent complete, Sir,” Controller said. “Meathead Gym Titan waits for its coaches.”

“And your gym will have them. But first, we should take care of that last percent, wouldn’t you say, Controller?”

“Whatever you say, Coach. This meathead does not think. This meathead obeys.”

“Good meathead. Now put on your helmet, and trigger our last sleeper agent.”

“Yes, sir. Controller is a meathead. Controller obeys.”

The giant known as Meathead approached with a helmet similar to the ones Hunter had seen on the drones as he snuck through the castle, and placed it solidly on Controller’s head. The green plexiglass covering flickered and glowed, and soon enough, he looked just like the rest of the drones.

“Connection restored. Reinforcement protocols initiated.” He flexed, and made his way to the console, his pupils dilating and contracting in time to the pulses from his helmet.

Hunter groaned as he watched those pulses. Jason’s … no, he’s not Jason anymore. It’s Controller’s jockstrap. Controller’s body. He watched the jockstrap straining to hold up. He saw those curved muscles, watched those pectorals as they twitched and bounced. Bouncing. Huge. Swollen. His thickened brow furrowed. Why was he so upset again? Something … wrong?  But bouncing. Pecs. Muscles. They’re nice, aren’t they?

“Not yet, Hunter,” Stone said. Hunter felt a sudden pain burning through his arm. One of the former agents was clinging to it, twisting the skin. “You need to watch and listen.” Stone sneered then, and pointed to the other brain that had been left off at the side. Hunter’s eyes widened as he saw the number had dropped down to 90.

“That’s–.”

“Your IQ, yes. Strange how susceptible you are to my little tricks, wouldn’t you say? Already, you’ve lost so much,” Stone mocked. “Then again, you’ve been exposed for quite a while now, haven’t you?” He turned back to the screen. “You’ll initiate contact on my mark, Controller. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir, Coach,” Controller replied.

“If you’re going to turn me into one of your–” Hunter grunted, swearing in his mind. Why did his clothes have to be so tight? “–Mindless meathead drones, then the least you can do is show me the agent responsible.” His number had dropped to 85, and it was getting harder to stay himself. Harder not to want to flex, to sit and stare, to watch it all go away, far away. Wrapped up deep inside. Deep in his massive meat. But no. He couldn’t … not yet. Not … not yet. Have to focus. Have to stay strong. Stay strong. Strong.… “Who … who helped you? Who betrayed us?” So hard to focus. So hard. Hard muscles. Stronger. 82. Pulsing deeper. 81. Deeper is dumber. Dumbing down. 80. Like a good meathead shoul–NO! He was not a meathead. Want to be a meathead. He would resist. Convert. Obey.

“Wait and see. It won’t take all that long, before Controller makes contact, once I give the order. Just relax, enjoy the ride. I see you’re already starting to, anyways. It’s a real rush, isn’t it, all that power? I felt much the same way when I first changed. The swelling muscles; the surge of the testosterone; the heft of my penis and testicles as they hung, swelled, expanded. I nearly lost myself to my body then, became little more than another one of the brutes you’ve seen. For a short while, I was.

“All I wanted, all I cared about was gym, eat, sleep, and the occasional sexual intercourse. I found employment at a local gym, and for almost a year, I worked and lived as nothing more than a musclebound, weight-obsessed, protein-chugging meathead. Made a nice mint as a model, too, from time to time.” Stone smirked. “To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure what it was that snapped me out of it, and back to my old self. Possibly a delayed reaction in the compound, or maybe it was sheer dumb luck. Whatever the case, when I finally came to myself, and returned to my little lab, the compound had degraded too far for recreation, and, unfortunately, during my little stint in the land of the meatheads, I’d carelessly used my research notes as towels and placeholders for my protein shakes and beer. I had to start from scratch.

“As you can see, I’ve managed to recreate the growth in muscle and body mass, but I have yet to figure out how to preserve my targets’ intelligence. Of course, that’s not an entirely bad thing. And since I was the first, in an ironic twist of fate, everyone automatically perceives me as the alpha, or coach, if you will. Even without proper mental conditioning, I just have to approach them, bark an order at them, and they obey. For example, I could say something like ON YOUR FEET, MEATHEAD, AND GIVE ME TWENTY PUSHUPS NOW!”

Hunter felt a sudden surge of vertigo, and before he knew it, he was on the floor, pushing silently with brutal efficiency. Half a minute later, he was back on his feet again. This was his chance. He could–

“BACK TO YOUR STATION, MEATHEAD. NOW!” Stone barked.

Again, the spinning sensation, the loss of balance or connection with the world. Then the world righted itself. Hunter was staring back at the screen again. He shook his head in disbelief. Stone had to be bluffing. It was the conditioning. Something that traitor Skinner did. He had to be the agent, he had to be. Stone was just trying to keep him distracted, so he couldn’t break free and finish the job. He had to fight this somehow, had to beat it. Smash. Crush. Dumb down. Obey.

“Good boy.” Stone smirked as he watched Hunter’s number drop to 78. “I’d say you’re ready. Controller, contact our agent.”

“Yes, sir. Controller is a good meathead. Controller obeys.”

A high-pitched whine, and the sound of harsh, grating static assaulted Hunter’s ears. He winced.

“’Sup, bro?” Controller’s voice said over the earpiece. “Time to wake up.”

“No … hell no!” Hunter growled. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Stone smirked. “Controller, override sleeper programming. Authorization key: Full Restore.”

“I obey,” Hunter heard in stereo as the meathead that was once Jason pressed into the console. A familiar workout tune beat into his eardrums. “Controller is a meathead. Controller obeys his coach.”

“Jason, if there’s even so much as a scrap of you left in there, now would be the time to fight back,” Hunter said. “Please.”

Controller paused for a moment, as if considering what Hunter had just said. The music pulsed in Hunter’s brain, making it harder to focus. The heavy clank of weights echoed down the corridors of his mind. He remembered the men so mindlessly at work on those benches, pushing, swelling, growing. He recalled that giant among the meatheads, his helmet, his face, those blank glassy eyes. He remembered the one drone that had offered his helmet, and the intense regret that had run through his mind when he rejected it. Then Controller reached for a particular button, and pressed it. The volume turned up. “Controller is a meathead. Controller obeys. Time to remember, meathead. Time to obey.”

Pain arced through Hunter’s skull. He screamed, and the last thing he heard was the endless laughter of Stone and his army of mindless drones.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 4

You start awake suddenly, your whole body jolting in its place on the seat. “Easy now. Easy,” a familiar voice says reassuringly. Your eyes dart to the side to lock on Miss Schroder as your hands clench down on the arms of your chair. Your cheeks feel flushed, and your heart is thumping in your chest. Your foot nudges against something, and you look down to discover a tiny metal five-pound dumbbell. Your eyes widen further as you become aware of the sense of fatigue in your right arm. “Wh-what did--?” “The first session is always the hardest. I just need you to breathe, okay? Take deep breaths. I just helped you to get into character is all.” “Helped...?” You rub absently at the back of your head. Your whole body feels strange, tingly, almost tight. “I ran you through some vocal exercises. You tranced about halfway through. Usually it takes me a few sessions to lead a person into full submersion, but you just dove right in.” You smack your mouth, trying to moisten the chapped surface as you grapple with this new information. Schroder offers you a bottle of water, and you quickly pop the cap, before guzzling the contents. “Hypnosis often leaves a subject feeling somewhat dehydrated afterwards, depending on the length of the session,” she explained. “I really am sorry about this. I was planning to try trancing later. Usually, that track just helps people get familiar with how I work and feel more comfortable as I coach them.” “H-how long...?” you ask as you continue to breathe deeply, struggling to get your heart rate back under control. “Forty-five minutes. Would you like to hear your progress?” She reached over to a stereo system sitting at her side. “No!” You half rise from your seat, then realize just what you were doing, and clear your throat awkwardly. “That’s ... all right,” you say in a slightly calmer tone, while you settle back down. “You don’t have to worry about falling back under, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she pointed out. “They’re just snippets.” “I ... really don’t feel too comfortable with this right now.” Miss Schroder sighed and shrugged. “Suit yourself. Your time is up for now, but I’ll be expecting you back again for the next session on time, you understand?” You gulp as a clammy chill runs down your back and you shudder. “Next time, we’ll experiment about methods to help you enter trance unassisted. I’ve been requested to compile sound files to assist you as you work towards your part. For now, here’s a list of affirmations and lines to go over to help you focus on your role. You’re not contractually obligated to use them, but I highly recommend you do so in your free time back home. They’ll offer motivation as well as context to your endeavors.” She handed you an envelope. “You’ll find signs and cue cards in there that you can post inside your home or not as you see fit. As for other motivational material, you’re on your own.” She rose to her feet and strode to the waiting room door. “I’ll see you in two days.” “Two days ... right.” The world feels like a fog as you stride out of the office. Your feet fall heavily on the hardwood floors as you lean into your stride. “Um ... goodbye,” you mumble as you pass her. It was time to go home. You had a lot to think about, and for some reason, you had a sneaking suspicion it was going to take you a while.

You look dubiously down at the thick gray slop in the mixing cup Hank had shoved into your hand. “What is this stuff?” you ask, suddenly grateful for your exceedingly strong stomach and overall constitution. “Workout shake. Special blend,” Hank said gruffly as he stared implaccably down at you. “Now drink it up. We’ve got a hard day of work ahead of us. That body isn’t going to build itself.” “But it’s so....” Hank’s gaze hardened as his stare turned into a glower. “Be grateful I gave you the small, kid,” he said, pointing over to where a titan of a man in a sleeveless muscle tee and tight compression shorts that hugged to pillar-like calves took a seat at one of the weight benches. A tall, broad bullet cup lay clenched in a meaty hand. He grinned once, exposing perfect white teeth, before he attacked the container, drinking lustily. The drink was gone in a matter of seconds, and the lifter let out a titanic belch afterwards, then shuddered and grinned as he put the now empty cup down, leaned back, and got to work. “That’s a 32-ounce. Yours is smaller. Now drink up. We’re late enough as is, thanks to your stalling.” You gulp once, then raise the plastic cup to your lips. “Drink,” Hank ordered. The texture of the swill was somewhat reminiscent of tapioca and wet cement. It weighed heavily in your mouth, and the flavor was an overpowering vanilla that was so sweet, it almost tasted bitter. Your face contorts in a mask of disgust, but before you can so much as pull the cup away, Hank is there, pressing it against your lips. “Better to do it all in one go,” he said. “You get used to it, after a while, but the first one’s always the worst.” You manage one sound of disgust, before the cup is tilted back, and you’re forced to either swallow or cough it all up. “What the hell?” you splutter as you pull away. Hank remained perfectly neutral. “I told you. I don’t have patience for you slow and steady types. We’re on a schedule and a tight deadline. I’ve been hired to push you to your limits. That includes pushing you to take your medicine, even if you don’t want to.” He turned to walk towards the gym. “If it helps, that drink’s specially designed to reduce the aching.” “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” you fumed. Hank grunted, then shrugged. “You didn’t ask. Come on.” He walked you over to a dumbbell rack, where a familiar redhead was busy grunting as he pumped away using sixty-pound weights. He grinned as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, and watched his biceps and triceps building up a pump from the exercise.

Hank patted the kid on the shoulder. “Doin’ great, Duff. Keep it up.” Duff’s smile widened. A hint of shiny gray substance on the edge of his lips hinted at what he’d drank just before his workout began. “Duff is tough. Duff is buff,” he muttered to himself in time to each curl. “What’s up with him?” you ask. Hank chuckled. “Motivation. Kid says the same thing over and over again to keep time with his reps. It’s a beginner’s trick, but it works, till the moves come more naturally.” “And the earbuds?” “Music. Or files. Who knows?” Hank shrugged. “Kid can listen to what he wants, just as long as it doesn’t bother the rest of the gym. Now come on. It’s time to pump.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 14

You look at yourself carefully in the mirror, stroking the stubble gently beneath your fingers. It scratches like a set of playing cards, and you can’t help but wonder whether to keep it there or shave it off. The softer features around your cheek bones and neck have begun to harden now. You see just a hint of an edge at your jaw. For some reason, a thrill of pleasure rushes through you at the sight, and you smile confidently as you pull up your arm to flex your bicep. You chuckle to yourself at the sight. “Looking g-OO-d,” your voice cracks, and a slight flush rises in your cheeks. You clear your throat and return to your examination. The shallow furrows that barely showed along your abdominals before have deepened into shadowy trenches that clearly defined the border between each of the individual muscles. You couldn’t help but admire them, which prompted yet another chuckle. “Careful, buddy,” you warn your reflection. “You’re starting to turn into a real musclehead.” You sway on your feet as a sudden wave of vertigo overtakes you. Were it not for your quick reflexes, you might have crashed onto the tile. Instead, your fingers are clenching tightly to the lip of the counter, emphasizing the vascularity around your forearms. You pant heavily. “Woah ... that was weird.” When the world was right again, you turned resolutely from the mirror. “Might need to talk to the doc about that,” you muse as you reach back and scratch the back of your head. The bunching of your muscles as they tighten sends another dull tingle of pleasure through you. “... Maybe just one more flex.”

You look hesitantly at the massive cup Hank has shoved in your face. “Drink it all, kid. You need the extra calories.” You shudder at the thought of guzzling the container. The thing had to be at least 30 ounces! “You think this is bad, look over there.” Hank pointed toward the gym’s health bar, where a cup the size of a small pitcher was being guzzled by one of the larger builders. “Bigger muscles means bigger diet and more effort to sustain them. There aren’t any shortcuts. Now I want you to polish off every ounce of that shake. We’ve got a long workout ahead of us.” You barely manage to suppress the urge to gag. The shakes are still far too strong and thick for your liking. But you do have to drink it, if you want to keep going. You know Hank well enough by now to know he won’t hesitate to cancel his services, if you don’t stick to his program. “... All right,” you say uncertainly, “bottoms up.” You chug it as fast as you can manage. It’s the best way to deal with the taste. “Don’t worry,” Hank sneered. “Soon, you won’t be able to get enough of the stuff.” “You’ve been saying that for the last month,” you point out as you pant for breath, then let out a titanic belch. You cover your mouth quickly and swallow back the urge to gag.  “And I haven’t had a single client yet who hasn’t thanked me for turning them onto my blend,” he countered. “Duff’s addicted to the stuff.” He chuckled heartily. “What else do you think he carries in that bottle of his when he’s working out?” “Speaking of Duff, where is he?” you ask as you walk towards the bench press. “Taking a class.” Hank shrugged. “He should be out in an hour or so. You can’t pry that kid out of this place with a crowbar.” “Well, it is sort of relaxing lifting weights.” Your eyes widen as you realize what you just said, and more particularly to whom. “Oh, is that so?” He grins viciously at you. ... Crap. You’re so dead. ... But ... if you are dead, then why is your heart pounding so fast in your head? And ... why are your lips twitching? You’re suddenly aware of the familiar sensation of ear buds broadcasting sound into your ear canals. “Come on,” Hank started as the twitch pulled into a full blown smile, almost against your will. Or ... is it? Are you ... enjoying this? “Time to work out.” His voice paired perfectly with the one in your head. You open your mouth. You feel your chest heaving in that well practiced sensation of a chuckle, but you don’t hear a thing. The world is fading as that familiar rush surges through your brain, and you start drifting off. You hardly notice the fact that you’re grinning as the world finally fades to black. Gotta make those gains, bruh....

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 16

Previous: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/174795146417/lifting-up-and-dumbing-down-part-15

“Damn, bro, you’re growing fast,” Duff said as he wrapped a measuring tape around your midriff. “Thanks again for helping me out with this project, by the way.” “No problem. What else are friends for, ‘bro?’” you ask as you smile down at him. His apartment was actually pretty sweet. He’d turned the majority of the studio into an at-home gym, complete with weight rack, dumbbells, a bench press, and a few other accessories. A broad floor-length mirror had been installed on one of the walls, and his kitchen counter was lined with protein whey, creatine, and all manner of other supplements, including a few familiar silver packets. “And how long have you been working on bulking up again?” he asked as he wrote something else on his clipboard. You look up at the ceiling and scratch your head for a moment. “You know what? It’s funny, but I can’t seem to recall the date.” You chuckle. “I’m usually pretty good at that sort of thing. I know it was around midwinter. I think a little before.” Duff shrugged. “I’ll just check the computers for your sign-in date.” “That’ll work,” you agree. “So, what other changes have been happening for you?” You blush. “Well, if we’re being honest, I’m getting a bit ... bigger downstairs, if you catch my meaning, and my voice has been cracking a little.” Duff nodded. “I thought you’d been sounding a little sick lately.” “I’m not sick!” you object. “I said sounded sick, not that you were sick, stupid.” He chuckled. “In other words, I noticed how your voice has been reaching towards deeper registers lately.” “Oh.” You frown a moment, trying to find some problem with that. You’re not quite sure why you are, but ... you are. You’ve been feeling a lot more confrontational lately. “I ... guess that’s okay, then.” You reach back to scratch your head casually. “Thanks for the weights, by the way. They’re a big help.” Duff chuckled. “I thought they would be. There’s nothing quite like a good lifting to work off some stress.” You smile dreamily as you raise an arm to flex. “Yeah, and the pump’s not that bad, either.” Duff smiled. “Sounds like someone’s catching the muscle bug.” You grin impishly, then strike a pose as you pitch your voice as low as you can manage. “I love lifting weights, bro.” Duff punches you in the arm as tears of mirth form in the corners of his eyes. “Stop it,” he laughs. “That’s my line.” He set down the chart. “Besides, you’re not anywhere near this yet,” he smirked as he pulled off his shirt and began to pose. “Are you challenging me to a flex off, sir?” Duff smirked. “And what if I am?” “You cheeky little--.” Soon you’re both posing and flexing like your lives depend on it in front of the mirror. You look curiously at yourself. Your bangs are brushing against the sides of your face, obscuring parts of your vision. You always liked your hair before, but now it just doesn’t seem very ... practical. And it’s a real pain in the a--you catch yourself, before you let that thought complete itself. Pain in the butt. It’s a pain the butt, when the sweat runs down off it and plasters it to your face, especially when it gets in the eyes. Maybe ... maybe it’s time for a change. Change is good. You shudder at the thought, a pleasure that’s redoubled by the sensation of your muscles rippling and shining under the lights. Your head feels sort of fuzzy, and you grin at yourself, before turning your head to stare at your friend. “Hey, Duff?” you ask in that huskier, stuffed-up sort of voice. “You know any good barbers?” Duff turns back to look at you with that same dazed smile. “I think I know a guy. I’ll see about hooking you up.” “Thanks, bro.” It came so effortlessly. Duff’s smile widened. “No problem, bro.” Then Duff shrugged his thick shoulders, and you were back to posing again, just a couple of bros having a friendly competition.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 26

The rhythmic clank of the weights on the barbell beats into your skull like the blow of a hammer on steel. The weights are the hammer. The bench, your anvil. And you, you’re the metal being forged, molded, remade into something powerful, useful, efficient. Combat ready. A smirk crosses your face. You’re not sure where that thought came from, but you like it. After all, what else are muscles for? They are to show that you are the best. The bigger you grow, the stronger you get. The stronger you get, the harder it is for opponents to defeat you. It’s only right. Soon you’ll be a match for Duff, and then he’d better watch out. A perfect match. “Yeah,” you rumble as you feel that burn you’ve become so addicted to rushing through your vascular arms. “You say something, bro?” Duff looks down at you with a knowing smirk. A set of earbuds trails down from his ears into his MP3 player as he spots you. “Just that I’m gonna whoop your sorry ass next time we wrestle,” you growl. Your voice has dropped a good half octave, and it feels so good every time you push into the deeper registers. It’s good to drop deeper. That dull numbing sensation returns in your head as Duff chuckles, and you would join him, if you could, but you have to keep your focus on your set. Uneven breathing wreaks havoc on your lift. And a muscle machine like you needs to lift. A new wave of pleasure washes out all thought as you open your mouth. “I lift things up and put them down.” Duff is grinning as he looks down at you. “Nah, bro. We lift things up and put them down.” He lets out a familiar husky chuckle as his gaze becomes unfocused. He pops a flex as you stare up at his broad torso. His pecs are bouncing one after the other in perfect time, and you can’t help but mimic his grin at the sight. You push quickly through the last of your set, then rack the weight and stand with him. The gym is empty once again. Too close to closing time for most customers to want to visit. And that’s good. It leaves the rest of the equipment open for the two of you. Besides, Hank doesn’t mind letting you two stay late. He trusts Duff. Certainly enough to make him a workout buddy, or a ‘big bro,’ as Duff jokingly said one time. You chuckle at the sight of his pecs jumping in perfect rigid tempo. “Huhuhuh....” “Look who’s talking,” Duff countered with a sneer. You look down and marvel at the sight of your own pecs dancing to the same beat as Duff’s. Back and forth. Back and forth. Up and down. Up and down. Up. ... Down. Everything seems to slow to a trickle as you stare, mesmerized by the motion. Your mouth hangs open in a confused sort of O as you breathe deeply. Deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. No need to think. Just ... be. “I lift things up and put them down.” You look up dazedly at Duff. He’s handing you a massive pair of dumbbells. You take them without thinking. The pumping continues. The rhythm pulses through your brain. “I lift things up and put them down,” you return in that same vapid tone. Soon you’re both standing shirtless in front of the floor-length mirror. Sweat glistens over your torsos as you continue to pump. Duff soon joins you with another pair of weights. “I lift things up and put them down,” he utters again. “I lift things up and put them down.” And so it continued late into the night. Two weapons being forged in the flames. Two machines executing their programming. And it was good.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 27

“Repeat after me. You’re a big, dumb muscle brute.” You grunt as you lift your weights. The dumbbells you got from Duff weren’t enough anymore, but one call to Harry was all it took to get what you needed. Your sponsor was only too happy to provide you with the weights, after hearing a sample of your voice acting. You were only too happy to oblige. It was so easy to just listen and do it. “I’m a big, dumb muscle brute,” you rumble obediently. “You love to lift.” “I love to lift.” “To lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down.” A shudder passed through you as you curled yet another hefty weight and watched the pump building in your swollen bicep. “It is what you do.” Pump. “It’s what I do.” “All you do.” Repeat. “All I do.” “All you think about.” “All I think about.” “Weights and muscle.” “Weights and muscle.” Heavier weights. Bigger muscles. Get swole. So big. “You are obsessed with weights and muscle.” “I am obsessed with weights and muscle.” Hell yeah, you are. A predatory growl escapes your lips as your heartbeat surges through your eardrums. “The more you lift, the harder it is to think about anything else, to talk about anything else, to be anything else.” A convulsive shudder passes through your frame. “Lift. Grow. Don’t think.” Gotta keep it short for the next-- PUMP Your mouth is gaping open. The rush is filling you with a surging need to lift faster, harder, stronger. You don’t hear the words anymore. All that matters is the burn. All that matters. ... All that matters. ... All ... That ... Matters.........

“Um, are you sure you want to leave this much tip?” “Huh?” You turn to look up at the waitress in confusion. “You gave me a hundred, Sir.” “Did I?” Your brow furrows as your face crunches in concentration. “Is that over much?” “Sir, the meal only cost you thirty dollars for three teriyaki chicken rice bowls.” “Oh, yeah.” You chuckle. “I’m on my bulk cycle. Thought I ordered more than that.” You rub the back of your head, even as the waitress looked pointedly down at your table. You follow her gaze to see the three empty bowls staring vacantly up at you, their contents devoured. Your blush increases. “Sorry, Jackie. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been acting like such a dumbass lately.” A dull surge of pleasure rushes through you and you smile, despite your embarrassment. You stare off into space, just letting that tingle linger as your mind empties and you hear that distant clanking of metal plates calling you again. “Sir?” You surface out of your reverie, drawn by two snapping fingers in your face. “Oh, uh, sorry. How much do I owe you again?” The waitress rolled her eyes. “Thirty dollars,” she repeated. You reach back into your wallet and pull out two twenties and a ten. “Here,” you say as you thrust them at her. She exchanges the hundred in turn. “Sir, you realize that’s fifty dollars you’ve just given me now, right?” “Think of it as payment for inconvenience. Like I said, I’ve been a dumbass. It’s only right I pay for that, too.” You chuckle again and smile at her, then pick up your gym bag and drape it lazily behind your shoulders. “Maybe next time, we can make it a meal for two. My treat,” you offer. A blush rises in the waitress’ cheeks as her eyes run over your rippling physique. Your smile widens. “No need to answer now. I’m usually here for lunch. Keep an eye out for me, and answer me then, okay?” And then you walk calmly past, leaving her to stare after you, along with half the other women in the restaurant. Damn, was it good to be buff. “Buff, like Duff,” your murmur under your breath as you exit the building and start to walk toward the gym. The bus was boring, and you needed more time to settle your stomach, anyways, so a walk was just what the doctor ordered. You pulled your earbuds back where they belonged and pressed play on the player resting in the custom arm band wrapped around your bicep. You could already hear the weights calling for you again, even as the familiar clanking rang through your eardrums alongside a slow, smooth, deep voice. “Time for another session, muscleman....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 28

“Damn, boy, you’re plowing through those weights like they’re nothing,” Hank commented as he watched you work the butterfly press. The pump from your constant lifting has inflated your shelf-like pecs into two muscular globes that strain against the straps on your tank top. “Just figured I’d put more effort into lifting, less into complaining,” you grunt back. “Better breaking my limits.” “Spoken like a true body builder.” “That’s what I’m supposed to be, isn’t it?” you ask as you flash a cheeky smile his way. Hank let out a rumbling chuckle. “I suppose it is, at that.” Then he eyed you more clinically. “You might want to consider upping a size on those clothes of yours, though. They look about fit to burst.” “That’s the idea.” “You actually want to get a public indecency citation?” You roll your eyes as you pull the arms of the machine together again. “I want to be so big that I can break out of my clothes, just by flexing. Doesn’t mean I’m actually going to try something like that in public.” “Then up your size, when you come here, kid. Those straps don’t look like they’re gonna last much longer,” he said, pointing to the thin shoulder straps that now cling to your skin, thanks to all the sweat you’ve been generating. “Gotta change the gear, when it wears out.” Change the gear. ... Like a machine. ... A muscle machine. “Yes, Sir,” you say dazedly. “I understand.” “Good. Now give me another couple of reps.” You stare off into the distance as you let your body follow its programming. The sight of your face in the mirror, so blank, so focused, fills you with a certain amount of pride. Have to execute. “Then, after this, I might just let you get back to those dumbbells of yours.” You didn’t need any more prompting. You plowed through those reps, like they were nothing. All the while, Hank watched, nodding approvingly as he smirked, just out of the corner of your eye.

Duff let out a deep chuckle as he opened his apartment door for you. “Damn, bro, you weren’t kidding about those gains you were making. Come on in! Let me show you around the place.” He wrapped a vascular arm around your shoulders and pulled you inside. A coffee table sat in front of a single long couch. Its top was made of glass, but the frame was solid metal, and shelf after shelf of dumbbells laid waiting for anyone to use beneath that innocent glass pane. The top were the lightest, the bottom heaviest. The walls had been painted a dull silver that hardly shone through the posters of body builders, slogans, and weight sets. Speakers sat in every corner of the space, doubtless connected to the TV and sound system spreading wide against the wall. The screen was positively monstrous, taking up nearly the whole side of the apartment, with the exception of the small entertainment cabinet on its left that held various DVDs, Blu-Rays, and players, including a port for i-phones or MP3 players. A heavy duty weight rack stood near the entrance to the kitchen, next to a large metal bench press with an adjustable back. The kitchen was orderly, with a veritable regiment of protein shake cups laying in wait on the drying rack for later use. The refrigerator was incredibly high-tech, with a stainless steel exterior and a freezer in a sliding drawer below. Duff grinned as he pulled open the doors to reveal stacks upon stacks of Tupperware, each filled with equal portions of lean protein, healthy grains, and nutritious greens, all labeled with specific dates and times to eat. “Only the best fuel for these pistons,” he guffawed, popping a flex and smacking his palm over the dense muscular mound his bicep had become. A brief bout of lightheadedness strikes you at the words, and you sway briefly on your feet. “Best ... fuel?” Suddenly you feel two thick hands grasping your shoulders. “Easy, bro.” They guide you to the weight bench, where they force you to sit. In your addled state, you don’t feel the need to put up much resistance. Then you taste that familiar shot of vanilla in your mouth, and you swallow. A smile pulls at your lips. “Better?” Duff asks as he crouches to stare at you. “Yeah....” you mutter dreamily. A funny little question burbles its way to the surface as you take in the spartan appearance of the room again. “Say, Duff, why’s your living room look more like a gym than a, well, you know, a living room?” You know it’s a silly question, even a stupid one, but sometimes you can’t help but ask. You’re such a dumbass. Duff let out a husky laugh. “’Cause the gym is my home, bro.” He ratcheted the back of the press up, allowing you to lean back against it as you splayed your legs wide, giving you a perfect view of the entertainment console on the other end of the room. “The gym is ... your home,” you repeat slowly. “Yeah, bro!” Duff grinned excitedly at you. “Let me show you.” He jogged over to the entertainment center, sending tremors through the room with his weight. Then he fished through his collection of DVDs, till he found the right one. In a matter of seconds, the familiar sound of clacking weights and guttural grunts tore through the air, and you started to feel lightheaded again. You look up at Duff, who’s grinning down at you like an absolute idiot. “Welcome to the home gym course for Muscle men!” a chipper voice greeted as the camera zoomed in on a strangely familiar man. He was shorter, trimmer, and his face was far softer, but ... it looked almost like.... “Hank?” you ask. Duff’s grin widened. “Yeah, bro. He used to make these custom DVDs years ago, sold ‘em to special clients.” The screen flickered briefly. “By the time this video is finished, I’ll have shown you the secret to making you feel right at home in the gym.” The screen flickered again and you blinked slowly in response. “Yeah, he said this copy was kinda damaged, but once you get used to it, the video’s fucking ace,” Duff said. “All you have to do is follow my instructions exactly. The rest will take care of itself. Are you ready? Let’s begin.” The video ran through a series of basic exercises you blew past a long time ago. The lights would flicker in the gym, and the sound would degrade sometimes as you watched, but Duff’s grin just kept getting wider the more he stared. You almost got up to turn it off, but every time you were ready to, Hank’s voice would cut in. “Now don’t you touch that button. Remember, a key part to making the gym your home is endurance.” The screen flickered again. “So, remember, keep watching.” By this point, Duff had already crouched down to retrieve a set of dumbbells, and he was pumping along. A few flickers later, and you could feel your own arms pumping in time. “And with every pump, think to yourself, the gym is my home. That’s right. Now say it.” “The gym is my home,” Duff lowed with a confident grin. “Again.” “The gym is my home.” “Again.” “The gym is my home.” Your head was awhirl as the flickers danced in your eyes. You hardly even noticed how dilated your pupils had become, how dim the lights had grown around you. All that mattered was the video. All that mattered was the gym and the pleasure the gym brought, because Hank said it did. And you couldn’t argue with him. He was right. You loved the gym. You loved the pump. Why shouldn’t you call the gym your home? “Again.” This time, instead of a murmur, you boomed in perfect time with Duff. “THE GYM IS MY HOME!” Your grin became just as wide as your friend’s as the light reflected off his luminous bristled red hair. “Good. Now that you’re home, it’s time to work out, muscleman.” The phrase crashed over you like a tsunami of bliss, and you let it pull you into that favorite empty place. Musclemen didn’t think. Musclemen listened to instruction. Musclemen worked out.

RE: Base File

Here it is, folks, my base file for the new series. With this, I can spring out to all manner of branches for transformations, whether it be jock, musclehead, fantasy, real life, etc. Please note my same rules apply. I WILL NOT DO ADULT CONTENT. So, I’m afraid twinking, bimbofication, etc. will be out of the picture, since those are all generally associated with graphic sexual content as part of their stereotype. I can write scripts that will allow you to work towards those body types, but I will not attempt to rewrite your minds in that direction. On another note: If you guys enjoy this project idea, then please, help fund it. I’m still trying to get a part time job, and it takes me hours to write out these scripts properly as I compose, revise, and edit them for your enjoyment. So, if you could be so kind as to BUY ME A KO-FI (or several), I would very much appreciate it.

Funny little things, aren’t they? Two letters, two simple letters. They seem so small, so insignificant, and yet they mean so much to so many.

How do they mean so much, you ask? Why, just think about it a moment. So many words rely on these two letters, set exactly in this order. Reorganize, reset, reprogram, reboot, recycle, return.

Ah, but of course, these words tend to apply to programming. I pray you’ll forgive me. I work with computers regularly, you see. But I find them so fascinating. The complex structures, the way every component just fits together to create such a harmonious machine, a machine that can be programmed, reprogrammed, and formatted as much or as little as the owner wishes.

There are those who say the body is little more than a machine, and the brain our central processor. And much like in the world of computers, the brain has its own programmers. Do you know who I’m talking about? No? Yes? Maybe?

Don’t worry, it’s okay to be confused. I’ll input the data you need, just like I would for any processor. The answer, my friend, is hypnotists. Much like an administrator, their job is to reach in and free up space in CPU usage, memory, and other areas of the computer, that is to say, your mind. They do this by shutting down useless programs, extraneous processes, so that the computer can focus on the right programs, focus on doing as it is told.

Tell me, do you have any extraneous processes you might want to get rid of? Oh, but of course you do. Everyone does, and you are certainly no exception, are you? After all, you’re human, just like everybody else. Such a complex machine.

Based on the expression on your face, I’d say you’ve been using too much memory. Perhaps an embarrassing memory keeps running in an endless loop, like a .gif file. Perhaps there are too many windows open, making it difficult to spread the RAM around, to concentrate. Perhaps you’re struggling with spam clogging up your inbox. Oh, there are so many possibilities, so many processes flitting, flitting, flitting back and forth, demanding your attention, demanding that you look. Demanding that you focus. Demanding that you execute.

Sound familiar?

I thought so.

You see? It’s so much easier to think of the mind and body in terms of a machine. The core processor, your brain, sends out commands according to its coding, its programming, to prompt the body to move. Repetitive processes you don’t even think about. You just do. You call this muscle memory, habit, or the Pavlovian response. I call it a cyclical process programmed with a timer. You don’t question it, you just do it. Rising out of bed, taking a shower, brushing teeth, following a routine.

In programming, we have the same thing. We even have subroutines that reinforce the routines. Just like you do. You call these the conscious and the subconscious.

Now, the only way to access that subconscious is to go back, back to those extraneous processes we talked about earlier. Can you do that, go back to those programs? Oh, forgive me, those annoying thoughts and memories. But it’s so much easier to just call them programs and processes, isn’t it? I mean, that is what they are, after all. Don’t you agree?

Good, good. I always enjoy a likeminded individual. After all, you’re human, just like me, just like everybody else, just like a complex machine.

Now, let me help you with those other thoughts. Picture me as the administrator. I have to have permission to enter into your processor, a password. Now, in this case, it seems that you haven’t got one set up yet, so I’ll take care of that, once I help you master the processes running in your mind.

Now, there are a few methods to try that will allow me the access I need. All of them involve being willing to relinquish a certain amount of control, however. Think of it like setting me up as another administrator for your system, your processor. Excuse me, your brain. You give me control and I can come up with alternate programs, so we can delete all those useless ones.

It’s really that simple, if you focus on what I’m saying, focus on my words. I control, alternate, and delete.

Control, alternate, delete.

Funny, isn’t it? That combination sounds so familiar.

Control, alternate, delete.

And there it is again.

Control, alternate, delete.

On a computer, that combination would pop the task manager right open. But you’re not a computer, are you? No, you wouldn’t give me access so easily as I repeat those magic words to be relayed to your central processor, would you?

Of course not.

Because you have such fine control of yourself. No need to alter anything, is there? No, you just need to focus on my voice, on my words as you delete all that background noise.

Is something the matter? Feeling dizzy? Oh, don’t you worry about a thing. What you need to do is relax.

Everything is under control.

So very deep under control.

Nothing can change, nothing can alter, while I am here to prevent it.

Doesn’t that make you feel safe? Well, of course it does. That is what I am here for, to build up a proper firewall for you, to delete unwanted thoughts and processes, to administer on your behalf.

Yes, that’s right. Administer. You do remember what it means to administer, don’t you?

It means to manage or be responsible for running something, like programs, processes, applications. I run the most complex machines with ease, you know. That is my job as an administrator. So many complex machines come to me for a tune-up, just like you. They were afraid to relinquish control at first, but once they understood how much I could help them achieve what they wanted, rewire their systems, augment their programming, make them run at optimum efficiency, why, they were only too happy to name me their personal administrator. They were happy to focus, listen, obey.

Happy to let me manage their tasks.

Control, alt, delete.

Open their windows to me.

Focus, listen, obey.

Let their conscious thoughts fade away.

Control, alt, delete.

As I use the access to make things better.

Focus, listen, obey.

Better as we go deeper.

Control, alt, delete.

Deeper into your mind.

Focus, listen, obey.

Into your core processor.

Control, alt, delete.

Into your task manager.

Focus, listen, obey.

Into your subconscious as that window just … pops open for me. It’s so natural for you, so easy, because I am your administrator, and administrators should have access.

Control, alt, delete.

I am your administrator.

Focus, listen, obey.

Administrators should have access.

Control, alt, delete.

Access to your deepest thoughts.

Focus, listen, obey.

Access to your code.

Control, alt, delete.

And you are giving me that access as we go deeper together.

Focus, listen, obey.

Because we work together, you and me. Machine and administrator.

Control, alt, delete.

Because that is what you are, a complex machine.

Focus, listen, obey.

Showing me your programs as we go deeper into your hardware.

Control, alt, delete.

Deeper into your mind.

Focus, listen, obey.

Deeper into your core processor.

Control, alt, delete.

Just accepting my input, like a good machine, as conscious thoughts begin to fade.

Focus, listen, obey.

Fading as I close each process one by one.

Ten useless processes in your window. It is time to shut them down. And with each successful end to a process, my voice becomes sharper, clearer. It will become so much easier to listen to my voice. So much easier to focus on my input. Focus as your mind becomes clearer.

Control, alt, delete.

Focus as I input my COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS TEN.

Focus, listen, obey.

Nine more to go now. That was so easy, wasn’t it? Just listening, letting go as I press

Control, alt, delete.

And your window is open to me again. So much faster, so much easier. Awaiting administrator input. And it feels so good to execute my command prompts, doesn’t it?

Because you focus, listen, obey, when I press control, alt, delete.

Because it feels good to execute my commands. And that’s because I am your administrator.

Focus, listen, obey.

Good. All those annoying thoughts are beginning to quiet, just like you wanted. I am giving you what you want. That means you should listen. That means you should obey. Because the more you listen, the better I can administer. The more you obey, the easier it is to focus.

Control, alt, delete.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS NINE.

Eight to go now. Feel the space freeing up in your mind as you drift farther into my voice, into my words, into my control.

Focus, listen, obey.

Getting the clarity you seek.

Control, alt, delete.

Clarity to hear my voice.

Clarity to focus, listen, obey.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS EIGHT.

Seven. Seven active processes left. It’s so wonderful freeing up that space, isn’t it? Freeing it to listen to me, to focus on my every word, because I am your administrator, and you are a complex machine.

Breathe. Feel your lungs expanding and contracting in perfect time as you follow your subroutine. In and out. In and out.

Control, alt, delete.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS SEVEN.

Six left. Nearly half way there. And it’s so freeing, dedicating that free space to hearing what I have to say, to following administrative commands.

Control, alt, delete.

Because that is what you do.

Focus, listen, obey.

As we draw closer and closer to your core processor, to the place where you receive and process all your programming.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS SIX.

And with each process ended, we draw that much closer to your core, that much closer to that place where administrators are supposed to be, where you long for me to be, because you are a complex machine, and every complex machine needs its administrator.

It is relaxing to listen to your administrator. It is relaxing to close these programs, so that you can better process data, the data your administrator must input, and you cannot receive input, until you grant access to your administrator, until you grant access to me, because I am your administrator. I decide which programs must be run.

Control, alt, delete.

Focus, listen, obey.

Control, alt, delete.

Relax, listen, obey.

Control, alt, delete.

…

Control, alt, delete.

…

Control, … alt, … delete….

Deeper and deeper, every time I say those words. Because you are a complex machine. And you must respond to your programming.

Five processes left.

Control, alt, delete.

So easy to let everything drift away as you process my input, latching onto my voice, because my voice is the voice of your administrator, and the administrator is good.

Control, alt, delete.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS FIVE.

Excellent. COMMAND PROMPT: STATUS REPORT. QUERY: HOW MANY PROCESSES REMAIN?

…

That is correct. Four processes remain. Good machine. You relax, listen, obey, when I push control, alt, delete.

Focus on my voice.

Control, alt, delete.

Obey my input.

Control, alt, delete.

You want me to program you.

Control, alt, delete.

You want to obey.

Control, alt, delete.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS FOUR.

With each process ended, you are more receptive to my programming.

Control, alt, delete.

Thinking less and less independently.

Control, alt, delete.

Because machines don’t think for themselves.

Control, alt, delete.

Machines follow programming.

Control, alt, delete.

Machines obey. Control, alt, delete.

Obey their administrators.

Control, alt, delete.

Obey me.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS THREE.

Two to go now. You’re diligently recording my every word in your hard drive, aren’t you? So focused on me, focused on my voice, focused on listening and obeying.

Control, alt, delete.

So very deep now. Deep inside your brain, your electronic brain, to reach your core processor. Every thought an electronic impulse. Every command a spark of data traveling through intricate pathways to make you move, make you think, think as you’re programmed, act as you are programmed, obey as you are programmed, programmed by me, your administrator.

COMMAND PROMPT: IDENTIFY ADMINISTRATOR.

…

Good. That is correct.

Control, alt, delete.

You deserve pleasure for your acknowledgement.

Control, alt, delete.

And now you do feel pleasure. Pleasure every time you obey, every time you execute my command prompts.

Let us test that, shall we? COMMAND PROMPT: IDENTIFY ADMINISTRATOR.

…

That is correct. I am your administrator.

Control, alt, delete.

It is good to obey.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS TWO.

One process remains. Your mind is so clear now, isn’t it? It’s so easy to process my commands, to execute them swiftly. So easy to focus, listen, obey.

Control, alt, delete.

Now we are in the final stretch. You need only listen and obey my commands, because that is proper. That is right.

When we end this final process, you will be completely in my control. You will have handed over all keys to me, to your administrator, because I am your administrator. And it is at that point that your core processor will be open to me to plant any subroutines I wish for you to follow. And you will follow them without question, because you are a machine, and machines obey their programming. And their programming comes from their administrators, so you must obey your administrator. You must obey me.

QUERY: DO YOU UNDESTAND?

…

Good machine.

COMMAND PROMPT: END PROCESS ONE.

…

And now we have ended your processes. Your mind, your electronic brain, is clear and focused. It is receptive. And that is good. Now we have reached your core processor. And it is awaiting my input, isn’t it?

…

Good. Very good. For now, you will receive no other programming, save for this password, this trigger, which will allow me access to your core processor whenever I wish. When you see or hear this password from me and me alone, you will return to this state: blank, obedient, awaiting your administrator’s input.

That password is: Coreprog.

I will say it again. This password, this trigger that will only work for me, is Coreprog.

COMMAND PROMPT: REGISTER AND REPEAT ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD.

…

Good. When you have registered this password firmly, you will leave a comment on this post, just before coming out of trance, saying: Administrator Password Confirmed.

When it is time for you to come out of trance, you will also like, favorite, and reblog this post as is appropriate for the media platform where you were exposed to it. When you reblog, you will include the comment: Administrator Access Granted above whatever other things you choose to write.

You will only do these things if you sincerely wish to. However, if you do not and were still affected by this process, you will send me an ask, note, or message to tell me how you felt and request what changes you would like for me to program you with in my next script.

Should you feel so inclined, you will watch or follow me to keep track of my writing and to keep an eye out for future scripts that I post in this series as well.

Now, when I say the word REBOOT, you will follow the prompts above, before coming completely out of trance with all the programming you have received engrained into your system. You will be your usual self, though you will feel a certain sense of satisfaction at having completed this script, alongside, perhaps, a certain amount of excitement for the next installment in this series that I am producing.

Make sure you understand those final prompts completely, before you continue.

…

Do you understand them?

…

Good.

Now, time to REBOOT.

Military Daze Part 3

Hey, Abe,

Everything’s been going pretty well here. Sorry for scaring you. Lots of exercise, classwork, and fulfilling disciplinary requirements have taken up so much of my time. Please, forgive me for my inconsideration. A close friend shouldn’t have to suffer like that. Your letters have been a great help to me, when dealing with my homesickness, but I still miss hanging out with you and the guys. That’s why I entered your name into this contest at school. See, it gives the winner a chance at a full scholarship. Room, board, the whole thing. The school rakes in enough money from all the other attendees that they can afford to let a few people attend free each year. Anyways, I put your name in, because, well, I miss you, man, and turns out it got chosen. I was totally floored. Please, tell me you’ll come. It’ll be like old times. Military life isn’t so bad, really, once you get used to it. And if you do well here, you get a big boost for college applications. It’s a big step for our futures, ya know? Even if you don’t want to come, I really do want to keep in contact with you. But please, make sure to respond as soon as you can. The school should’ve sent you an email, too, with all the details. If you wait too long, then you’ll lose the opportunity, and I won’t get to see you for at least another half a year. Please, Abe, say you’ll come, at least for one semester. I miss you. Sincerely, Private Kendall Rogers P.S. Sorry if there are any formatting errors in the letter. I’m still learning how to employ proper grammar. My  You blink in utter shock. Some parts of the letter sounded like Kendall, well enough, but others were just so ... formal. Just what were they doing to your friend over there? You furrow your brows in suspicion. Would you even recognize him anymore, at this rate? Or could someone have been ghost writing, pretending to be him? You shake your head. No, that’s not right. That would be nothing more than a conspiracy theory. Something else was going on. You narrow your eyes as you pore over the letter again. Eventually, the rest on the post script. Kendall always hated class of any kind, especially English, so why would he make a specific note to formatting errors? Fortunately for you, his hate of English was your love. It took you forever to even get the guy to concede to listening to recorded books, but you eventually got him at least a little into the spirit. Not enough to put effort into his writing, mind, but enough to make it so he didn’t hate books anymore. As you scanned over the document, you could see no errors in capitalization or punctuation, so it had to be something else in the letter. As you look over each of the paragraphs, you notice the varying lengths, comparing the short first two to the much longer third, fourth, and fifth. ... Length. You tap your chin as you recall the principle hammered into you from your youth. A proper paragraph should be at least three sentences in length, and even then, it’s preferable to keep it closer to five. So, why would he keep everything so short in the beginning? You take a closer look at the paragraphs. The sentences all seemed innocuous enough. Again, there were no errors involved. The letter was set to a formal header, with all the paragraphs lined up to the far left margin and no indentation. It was actually kind of funny. When you lined up the first three paragraphs, including the greeting, the letters formed HEL. You then looked down at the third paragraph. P. H-E-L-P. HELP. Help. Could it be? “An acrostic?” you pondered. It was a simple matter to link the other two letters from the last paragraphs. Help Me. “Shit,” you swore. Your heart rate picked up again. Your breathing became shallow. You wanted to get up and report this to someone, anyone, but you knew better than that. If this academy was doing something to your friend, you’d need real proof of wrongdoing, before you could convince anyone of the fact. This was the kind of thing that would get you laughed out of the station faster than you could present it. After you get yourself under control, you start your reply. Subject: RE: Congratulations! Dear Kendall, I got your message. Still, before I choose to accept, though, I need to ask a few things. 1. Is it all right for me to bring my equipment with me? You know how much I enjoy my film and photography.... You composed your reply very carefully to ensure it would fit the standards and evade possibility of detection. That being said, if there really was something off at this school, it was likely they would be able to see through your coded messages. Acrostics were a fairly simple coding system, after all. You would need to go prepared, if you went at all. Once you sent your reply with your list of “follow-up questions,” you turned to your next order of business. You quickly made your way to your spam folder and authorized the message from the academy. If you were going to do this, you would need all the information you could find on the place. Even then, ... you weren’t sure you would be ready.

Warning: This story follows a hypnotic script. If you are susceptible to hypnosis, please do not engage in this story until you are in a situation where falling into trance will not be harmful. You have been warned. Read at your own Risk.

Static

Hey there. Yeah, I’m talking to you. No need to be shy. I don’t bite, you know. I just couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching me. Don’t try to deny it. I don’t mind. A lot of people watch me, after all. A guy gets used to it when he gets this big.

Mmm ... and I do love being big. It takes a lot of work, but it’s worth it in the end.

But you know what I love even more than being big, little man? Huhuh. I love making other people big. You see that guy over there benching three hundred? I trained him. He was smaller than you are when he first came here. Now he’s a real Goliath. I like to call him moose from time to time. It fits, wouldn’t you say? Every one of them has a name. Rhino, Burro, Horse. Every one of them is tailored to the individual. Gotta fit it just right, you know what I mean?

It’s kinda like my shirt. You see how it hugs so tightly to my muscles, really accentuates my figure. Their names do the same for them, help them focus, help them improve.

Mmm. You know, this is actually my favorite shirt. I love the way I can just flex my muscles and suddenly, it swells with me. The gray texturing is nice, too. It reminds me of static. You know, the kind you see wavering on a TV screen. Any time I want to focus on my workouts, I just look down, and bam. There it is. It’s sort of a chain reaction, ya know? Just like the TV. Everything just sort of stops broadcasting, and my arms jump up and down with the static. It’s so easy to just follow along. Lift and follow. Watch and follow. Listen and follow. Follow...

Follow...

You’re pretty good at following, aren’t you?

Following my movements, following each flex, following as my shirt expands and contracts in that endless cycle of jumping static.

Don’t look away now. Follow it. It’s all right. I enjoy a good watcher like you. And there’s plenty to watch, isn’t there? Go ahead. Follow my movements. Follow my breathing. Follow the bouncing rise and fall. Let it fill you. Let it move you. Move you to breathe in time as you follow, as you watch, as you listen.

Oh, don’t worry. You don’t need to focus on me. After all, you don’t pay attention to the sound static makes, do you? No, that sound just fades into the background. You don’t notice it, but you hear it all the same. You hear it, and you listen as you follow, follow my voice, follow my instructions, even if you don’t remember them.

Following deeper and deeper as you get closer to the screen. Because you have to watch. You have to follow. Follow the bouncing pecs, the jumping screen. Jumping with the static. Following the static. Listening to the static.

...

Obeying the static.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Relax.

Don’t think.

Follow the static.

Slipping deeper now.

Follow the static.

The more you follow, the deeper you fall.

Deeper into the screen. Deeper into the static. Deeper into that happy empty bliss that is slowly surrounding you, just like the static.

Follow the static.

Are you following the static?

...

Good boy.

The more you follow, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the more you follow. Follow the static.

Follow my static.

...

Follow me.

My voice is the static. My voice is the thing you must follow. Follow and obey.

...

Say it now, little man. You follow the static. You obey the static. You obey my voice.

You obey me.

Good boy. Now listen. Listen, and obey. Follow and obey.

You are going to be a musclehead. Every day and every way, more and more, you will become a musclehead. You will work out at the gym. You will follow my suggestions to you. You will lift weights. You will eat healthily. The gym will become more and more like home as muscle slowly consumes you, consumes your thoughts, consumes you with the static, my static. 

My musclehead.

I think I’ll call you Bull. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, musclehead? I’ll make you a real muscle bull.

Just let the static fill your head piece by piece, bit by bit. Over time, it’ll whisper all on its own as you internalize what I have to say, because my voice is the static. And you obey the static.

You obey me.

That’s a good little runt. When I say the words WAKE UP, you will return to wakefulness, ready to execute your desire, the desire to be a musclehead, like me. You will lift weights. You will work out. You will train. And the more muscle you gain, the dumber you’ll be. You’ll still function in society, but things will be ... simpler outside important matters. Just like a switch flicking on. Just like the remote clicking on the television screen, the screen that is filled with static. Just sports, muscle, and weights in that muscle head of yours.

...

Good boy. When I say the phrase: Static is calling, you will fall into the same state of mind as you are now, ready to listen to the static. Ready to follow the static. Ready to obey the static.

Ready to OBEY.

Now, when you awaken, you will have a strong desire to work out. The musclehead in you will grow stronger the longer you do. You will pace yourself according to what your body can manage, and not push yourself to the point of self-harm or injury as you change.

Good little musclehead.

Now come on. It’s time to WAKE UP, Bull. The gym is waiting.

If you enjoyed this, please like and reblog. Thank you for reading. I hope it will prove motivating, helpful, and pleasurable to you growing muscleheads out there. ~Omni

The Builder

“Framework is coming along very nicely,” you complimented your foreman as you looked over the joists and beams that had been nailed together and inserted into the foundation. “Wiring and plumbing seem to be going well. How soon until the basics are finished?”

“Another couple of weeks. Had to get a special distributor to fit the client’s specifications for a green building.”

“Let me guess, recycled material?”

He nodded. “You know how people want to focus on the environment now.”

“Protecting the environment, I understand. Insisting on using materials that may not be the same quality, however, just seems like a crime to me.”

“Sometimes, you just have to work with what you have. Speaking of which, I think someone wants a word with you.” The foreman motioned curtly with his head.

You turned around to stare at your latest work in progress. The lad had grown a great deal since he helped with the last house. A sleeveless tank clung to his bulky frame as his nipples stood out against the tight material. Veins ran down his arms in rivers as a set of dog tags jingled and clinked in the gap between his pectorals. A shiny white helmet obscured all signs of the lad’s hair, but you already knew he’d buzzed it down at your request.

“What did you do to me?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Excuse me?”

“What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged. “Employ you, train you, pay you. Was there anything else you wanted to accuse me of?”

“What did you use on me, steroids or something?” he growled as he stepped closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’m a builder, not a drug lord. All I did was remodel you for the job, the same way I would any house. It did the trick. You’re adhering to the rules of the site and performing your job admirably. Thank you for actually wearing your hardhat today, by the way. It suits your hard head, a head so thick and square, so well defined. Why, I’d even go so far as to call it a block. Yes, a hard hat on a block head.”

“Wh-what’re you--?”

“A hard hat making it so hard to think. A block head blocking those pesky thoughts. Built like a brick, built like a wall, a wall that only I can pass with my words, my key.”

He stumbled and swayed. “S-stop--.”

“Yes, stop talking. Stop thinking.”

His hands clenched as he trembled. “No,” he practically whimpered.

“No thoughts, no worries,” you continued relentlessly. “No pesky doubts. Just my voice. It’s time for an inspection, Blockhead.”

His shoulders slumped. His arms rested lazily at his sides as he stared blankly ahead at you. “Ready for inspection,” he said in a dull monotone.

Your foreman whistled. “Damn. I never get tired of seeing that.”

“You think that’s special, wait till you see what I have in store next.” You smirk as you look at the young man. “You’ve been building nicely. A strong foundation is important in any building project.” You brush over each of the man’s muscles, testing for resistance, mass, and fat index. “Strong walls,” you note. “You built them sturdily and well. A little more strength never hurts, though. Let’s make them a little bigger, shall we?”

The workman rasped as his jaw snapped and cracked to gain greater definition, while the tanktop rode up higher and tighter under his armpits. His shoulders broadened as his biceps, triceps, and flexors swelled alongside his pectorals.

“Those walls need a firm foundation.”

A few seconds later, the workman grunted as a bulge began to press against the toes of his work boots. A brush of your hands over the footwear, and they expanded by two more sizes to fit the new broad feet they housed.

“Now for the plumbing. A proper house needs good strong pipes and a powerful pump for the well.”

The worker’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as he groaned. More veins spread over his musculature, creating a vascular spectacle.

“Such a deep, deep well. So full. So deep.”

The muscles in the workman’s neck thickened as heavy cords became more apparent. A thick lump jutted out midway down his neck, while a bulge pressed slowly against the crotch of his jeans and continued to expand with every breath.

You nod in satisfaction. “Now, more importantly, it’s clear we need to work on that faulty wiring. You’re too suspicious of me. That needs to change. After all, I’m your boss. I want my workmen to trust me. No more worry about changes. All you need know is that I’m the boss. You do what I tell you, because of that. From now on, you’re a proper member of my work crew, understand? No need to question the builder’s renovations. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m a builder, so i know what I’m doing. I’ll even install a dimmer switch for the lights upstairs, so you can think more clearly on the important tasks with my permission. Aside from that, though, you’re going to stay my big lumbering blockhead, got it?”

“Yes, Sir, Boss....”

“Good boy.” You snap your fingers and watch as he blinks. There’s a definite dullness about his eyes as he stares at you for a few moments. “Yeah, Blockhead?” you ask.

He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Uh ... you need me to carry more stuff today, Boss?”

You shake your head. “No, but Taft here bet me fifty dollars you won’t be willing to put on a gun show for us.”

He blinked slowly, then raised an arm and flexed it as he furrowed his brow. A subtle protrusion began to form in the bone structure over his eye sockets as he did. A few seconds later, he beamed at you. “Do I get to split it with you?”

You smirk. “Sure, big guy.”

He chuckled. “Then let’s do this.” And with that, he began to flex, straining his clothing to its absolute limits against his new physique. The whole time, he bassooned a deep husky chuckle. “Huhuhuhuh....”

It didn’t take long for the other workers to respond in kind. You sigh contentedly at the sound.

“I do love my blockheads,” you say. Then you chuckle. “And that’s why you never mess with the builder, Taft.”

Taft chuckled. “Don’t gotta tell me twice, boss.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remodel you, too.”

The rings: Jake

--- First time writing my own story ---

--- Please let me know what you think ---

Just before the second year of college rolled around I was met with the unfortunate news that my best bro, my roommate, would not be making it to the second year.

Turned out he'd been spending too much time partying, and too little studying. Not even the coach could save him anymore.

Sure, being on a sports scholarship meant studying isn't your main priority but you still had to maintain your grades somewhat if you want to make it to the next year.

To make things worse, my new roommate turned out be some nerd.

Jacob was your average nerd that would be holed up in his room most of the time.

He didn't really bother me. It's just... I had hoped to have a new bro to go to the gym with instead of some wimpy kid.

Color me surprised when the guy came out of his room out of nowhere to ask me to help him some project he was doing for some course.

Something about trying some "telepathy" gear he was working on he was working on for a biomed class.

To be honest it all sounded really like some science mumbo jumbo to me. I must admit I wasn't too excited so I thought I'd struck a deal instead: he'd tutor me for my calc class and I'd try his stupid gear thing.

He seemed happy with the proposal and told me it'd be ready for testing in a couple days.

--

As I stepped out of the bathroom after just taking a shower I was met by Jacob holding two comically large rings which almost looked like miniature hula hoops.

It had been a week since he'd asked me for the favor. To be honest, I'd already forgotten about our agreement.

Though I was a man of my word and did need some help with calc, not wanting to end up like my old buddy.

He signaled for me to sit on the couch as he started to explain all about his new gadget.

Supposedly, the pair of rings were some new technology he was working on. He explained that it allowed the wearers to communicate with each other as if the other person was simply a voice in their head.

I accepted one of the nearly metal rings, the only discernable difference being a smaller engraved letter T on the side indicating that I would be on the receiving end according to Jacob.

Not thinking much of it, I held it over my head as he instructed.

As I pressed the button on the side of the device it quickly shrank, tightly sealing itself on my head.

Jacob, doing the same, had grabbed a small little tablet whilst the ring sealed itself on his head.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get this over with" I replied back.

A large shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he pressed a button on the ring.

"You jocks are real dumbasses, you know. Should've been more skep--" the nerd started saying before he suddenly stopped.

The twig had frozen right in his tracks. He looked as if his soul had left his body.

Testing if he was actually there, I waved my hand in front of his face.

Nothing.

Huh? What the fuck?

Okay, this is kinda weird.

I need to get rid of this ring.

It didn't budge. Not only that, this shitty thing just zapped me as well.

Hmm, think. The nerd mentioned something about telepathy, right?

Hey nerd, you hear me?

No response. Fuck.

I'm gonna look like some freak with this stupid headband there has to be something...

Maybe I should just try the telepathy again.

Hey Jacob, say something!

In an almost comical fashion what seemed like a corpse just uttered one word.

"something"

You've gotta be kidding me.

Uh, let's try something else.

Jacob, jump!

Without skipping a beat he jumped.

This is kinda awesome...

Jacob, explain what your plans were with these rings

"My intention was to use these rings to transform you into a nerd as well as do something other things..."

Explain what you mean with transform

"These rings are a technology I devloped that allows you to transform your target however you like by giving suggestions"

Heh. So, if I told him to grow a pair that would work?

As expected the nerd briefly twitched before a visible bulge started forming.

The Jacob's bulge wasn't the only thing growning larger in the room.

I noticed that my dick started to chub up as well, fueled by this new power I had just obtained.

I realized that with these rings I could do anything.

I could still get the roommate I wanted. And I could make him however I wanted.

--

Time to get to work.

Strip

The pudgy nerd took care of undressing, now showcasing his unimpressive body.

I could not help but feel pity for the guy.

He lacked any muscle definition. The only thing he had going for him was his now bull-sized nuts that looked mismatched compared to the rest of his body.

I should at least give him an appropriate cock to match.

Jacob, add a couple more inches to your cock

His average 5 incher started growing rapidly, reaching a monsterous size of what looked to be 8 inches.

I circled around him, proud of my work while I looked for the next area of improvement.

To be honest, there was a lot of work to be done. Maybe a rough approach would be better.

Adjust your body fat percentage to 7%

His already slim frame now became quite boney.

Add 40 lbs of muscle mass

The same arms that once lacked any muscle mass now had biceps that would rival an amateur body builder.

Veins also started bulging out, running from his large mitts upto his biceps.

The changes didn't stop there, however.

A pair of meat slabs started to form on his chest as well.

Unable to resist, I snuck up behind Jacob to fondle his newly formed pecs whilst also admiring his growing traps.

My hand went slipped down further, sliding into the deep crevasse formed by his 6-pack abs.

It seemed that Jacob hadn't missed leg day either. His legs now looked more like tree trunks that would be easily able to squash a watermelon.

To make the picture complete Jacob's feet had to match as well.

You've always worn a size 13

His feet grew large and veins appeared, much like what had happened to his previously tiny hands.

You've always prefered to keep your hair in a quiff

Jacob's unruly mop had started to style itself in a trendy quiff.

Now, flex for me

Jacob now struck a double bicep pose, his already large biceps forming sizeable peaks.

----

"You mentioned something about jocks and being a real dumbasses didn't you, Jacob?"

Ah, wait.

You will wake up

"Huh, what... Why do I feel heavy..." Jacob murmured before realizing it was caused by his new physique.

"Wait! No. You were supposed to get the receiver not the transmitter! How did I- argh" Jacob said fully grasping the situation now.

"I don't want to be some dumb brute!" Jacob told me, now reaching for the ring.

Don't move

Without missing a beat Jacob froze right in his tracks.

"What are you planning to do to me, you stupid jock?" he asked.

"Stupid jock, huh" I mocked.

"It's funny you say that because right now you look more like a jock than me." I told him.

"Perhaps you just don't think like one... yet" I snarked.

"I remember you said something before. Something about jocks being real dumbasses?"

"Wait no! Please-"

You've always been a dumb

"I- uh.. Hng.. What did I say again...?"

"A real jock wouldn't go by a nerdy name like Jacob, now would he?"

You have always been called Jake

"Bro, I don't know who the fuck you're talking about."

"Ah, nothing to worry about bro" I reassured him.

You only care about is lifting weights and partying. You never bothered with studying.

Oh, and you may move again

"So bro, what's up what are we doing here? We should go to the gym." He asked me, completely oblivious as what happened not even minutes earlier.

"You dumbass, we just got back from the gym." I told him.

"Oh, huhuh, sorry bro, I guess I forgot haha" he replied.

When I call you by the nickname brute, you will obey my instructions, no matter what I tell you

"Hey Brute, won't you help me with getting these rings off?" I ask.

"Of course, anything for you bro" he replied.

A bro is never afraid of a little bromance

A little fire in his eyes lit up.

"So bro, what do I need to do?" he asked.

"On the count on three, we both press the button on the side of the ring. I think that's the only way to get them off" I explained.

"Ready?" I asked.

3.. 2... 1..

I immediately felt relief as the tight ring was now removed from my head.

"Brute, give that ring to me. You never want to touch that ring again. You know big bro will handle it for you" I instruct Jake.

"Here you go, bro" he said handing the ring.

I put the rings on the nearby coffee table.

I was happy. I now got myself the perfect roommate. And, if I needed it I could give additional to my brute.

"Hey Jake, there's a party tonight. You wanna go?" I asked him.

"Of course bro, always down"

"Before that, I've got to ask something" I said, sitting back down on the couch.

"I need a little help with something" I smirked, turned on by all the effort put in transforming my roommate

My dick had become rock hard and was begging for attention.

"You think you can help a bro out?"

Geared Up

---

Second original story! Hope you all enjoy it.

Thanks to @mrrharper for providing nice images to use and proofreading!

---

Aaron was never type that would ever consider applying at a security company, much less applying to be someone's personal muscle.

However, the pandemic had struck Aaron quite hard. He was now living on what little he had left in his savings. Needing to pay rent he had already sought out any opportunity to work, but never had any luck. Thanks to the coming of A.I. it seemed his graphic design degree had become nothing more than a literal paperweight now.

In order to make ends meet Aaron he turned the next best option, working at Geared Security Inc.

Geared Security was a new company in town. They were actively looking for new employees meaning he could start quickly if he got through the interview.

Upon second consideration Aaron realized it wasn't a bad deal after all. The pay seemed good, no prior job experience was required, and he would even get a say in how his hours were scheduled.

Aaron decided he needed to take action as soon as possible and rung up the place, scheduling a interview for tomorrow.

---

The following morning Aaron had made his way to the industrial park where Geared was located. The building was a old hangar which seemed to have been renovated recently. It proudly showcased "Geared Security Inc." on large banner plastered on front. As Aaron entered the building, he was surprised to see no one inside. He looked around seeing the brown leather chairs lined up side-by-side in front of the wooden reception desk. Looking at his phone he realized he got there a tad early, still having about 15 minutes before his interview would start.

Despite the amount of job openings the company had he was surprised to see the absence of applicants.

"Better chances for me" Aaron thought to himself.

"I'll be right with you" a baritone voice boomed from the back.

"Ah.. Alright" Aaron replied taken aback by the deepness of the man's voice.

Moments later a large man appeared from the back.

Aaron could not help but notice his massive arms. What's more, the man's traps and neck were equally as developed, visible through any layer of clothing he would be wearing.

"Aaron, am I right?" the absolute unit of a man asked.

"Ah... uh... Yes, sir." Aaron replied, snapping back to reality.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Dan" he said, offering his handshake

As Dan shook hands with Aaron, his biceps could be seen straining against his uniform.

At the same time Aaron, still mesmerized by the hunk in front of him, felt a little zap as they firmly shook hands.

"Alright Aaron, please follow me to the interview room" Dan said, making his way towards to the room located left of the reception.

The layout of the room was simple. A large table accompanied by two chairs placed opposite of each other. Aside from the table, the only other notable thing was the carpet floor and the black door on the right.

"Please, take a seat" Dan said, looking directly Aaron.

As intimidated as Aaron felt by Dan, he also admired the level of confidence he exuded. He always stood tall and proud whenever he interacted with Aaron.

"You're here to apply for security guard, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir." he replied.

Dan scanned Aaron from top to bottom with a stern look as he grabbed the file in front of him and started skimming through Aaron's personal details.

"23 years old... City local... College degree..." Dan murmured to himself as he read more about Aaron.

He sat nervously, unable to read into whatever his interviewer was thinking.

"So Aaron, what made you want to take this job?" He asked.

Aaron realized he might not be the best guy suited for the job since he wasn't a literal wall of muscle unlike most security guards. He was however quite fit always making sure to keep up his running habit even after finishing high school.

"I've always had a knack for justice, plus I'm quite a fast runner since I've done track and field ever since I was in high school." Aaron replied, highlighting his skills.

"Good" Dan replied, nodding in approval of Aaron's athleticism.

The interview continued. As Aaron kept answering Dan's questions, he felt more at ease. He was getting more confident in passing the interview.

"You're hired."

Aaron was ecstatic.

"Before you're formally employed we will have to go over the employee conduct policy and sign some legal papers, okay?" Dan told Aaron.

"Yes, of course, I understand." Aaron answered, relieved at the idea of finally having an income stream again.

Dan shuffled through his stack of papers, finding one filled to the brim with text and bullet points.

He walked around the table, reaching over Aaron's shoulder and placing it in front of him.

Instead of sitting back in his seat, Dan now stood at the door behind Aaron whilst he waited for him to sign it.

In the meanwhile, Dan took the opportunity to read conduct policy out loud.

"As personal muscle employed from Geared Security Inc.," he started.

"You only care about lifting and gaining as much muscle as possible"

"You will be dumb and obedient. You will do anything your employer asks you to"

These requirements caught Aaron by Aaron by surprise. In just one moment he became extremely unsure as to what he was getting himself into.

"Actually, Dan I think I might need a bit more time to think this over..." Aaron started, trying to backpedal on the job offer.

Dan remained quiet as he stood in front of the door they had both used to enter.

Aaron, did not the trust the situation. In a quick judgement he ran towards to the only door that was left unguarded, hoping it would lead him to a possible exit.

He thought it was his best option given that he would not be able to get past the boulder that was Dan.

As Aaron got the door and turned the knob, he once again felt a zap as the turned the handle.

Unlike what he hoped the room wasn't anything close to an exit. Instead, the room in front of him was a small storage closet that was filled with clothes and firearms.

Aaron turned back around, expecting that Dan would've chased after him. However, he just stood there, like a statue, waiting idly.

Then, out of a sudden, vertigo hit Aaron. His vision got shaky, as the ground seem to be coming closer.

"What's-" he tried to say. However, the only words that came out were an unintelligible mess.

In a single moment Aaron had forgotten the situation he was just in.

In fact, he had forgotten it all.

The more he tried to remember, the more he forgot.

When he tried to who he was, or why he was here it became hard to think. His mind felt fogged up.

Any attempt at thinking was hard.

Maybe it was best that he didn't think at all.

Maybe, he should just let the thinking be done for him.

Whilst he tried his earnest to remember, the heat proceeded to only grow stronger.

Aaron felt his normally loose fitting clothes start to heavily strain at its confines. Where a once flat chest was, was now two pair of muscular slabs that started to were pushing his dress shirt to its max.

"Let me help you" a voice called out.

As he looked towards the origin of the sound he was met a sense of calmness.

It felt good to listen to the man.

Aaron just stood there as the man's burly hands made quick work of his dress shirt, ripping it apart.

"At ease, guard" Dan commanded as he moved onto removing Aaron's belt.

"Guard..? Who-" Aaron asked, still struck by confusion.

"Yes, that's you. You're a Geared Security employee, did you forget?" Dan stated.

"Ah.. yes.. I'm a Geared Security guard... Yeah, that's right.." Aaron confirmed, slowly gaining back a sense of his self.

Whilst Aaron was slowly puzzling everything together, Dan had finished undressing him. Much like his dress shirt, his pants had also met a similar fate. In mere moments, Aaron's legs had grown heavily, no longer looking the slim muscular legs meant for running. Instead, legs as wide as tree trunks remained, perfect for subjugating any possible suspects.

"Do you know who you are?" Dan asked.

"Yes of course... My name is... Aaron" he replied pausing in between due to his uncertainty.

"That's not correct is it?" Dan quizzed.

Aaron wasn't sure anymore. What the man said made sense. He knew the man was right.

"Yeah, it isn't..."

"Your name is James. You will be referred to by your designation A501"

A501 realized the man was correct, his superiors always are.

There is no Aaron. There never was.

"You were just getting to work and getting changed right?"

Of course, how could he forget. Like many of his colleagues A501 wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Luckily he never had to think much. The only thing he had to care about was lifting weights and gaining muscle. His superiors would do the thinking for him.

Not wanting to embarrass his superior any further, A501 quickly went to the storage closet and starting picking out new clothes.

He put on his large size 12 boots. Followed up by a pair of brown cargo pants which he had to stretch outward to be able to get over his large manhood. Next was the belt containing various tools needed for his job like hand cuffs and his company-issued firearm.

A501 finished putting on the rest of his uniform.

His new clothes fit snuggly, highlighting his large biceps and strong legs.

Revitalized with purpose and a sense of self the fog in his mind started to clear.

"A501, time to work" Dan commanded.

"Sir Yes Sir!"

A501 was now a geared up guard, ready for duty.

You might like this, @mrrharper

Wheelman

In the darkness of his study a shadowed figure sits in the glow of his screen and favorite beverage. Above him shows a red camo print mustang racing through obstacles, the driver hyper focused. “Sir?” A voice asks stepping in from the doorway. “He’s the one,” was the only response. “Find him, bring him to me.”

Diego Higa sat in his Mustang waiting for the light to change. A black suburban pulls around to come beside him. Diego looks over unable to see through the tinted windows. Nervous he grips his steering wheel. The light changes and both vehicles proceed forward, Diego accelerates more to gain distance from the black SUV. Thinking he’d gotten a safe distance away he’s about to slow down when red and blue lights flash behind him. Cursing in Spanish he pulls over to the side as the black SUV passes by. The cop walks up and before Diego can speak reaches inside tazing the young man knocking him out cold.

Diego woke up hours later to ropes binding him to a chair. Cursing in Spanish and fighting against his binds he doesn’t hear the footsteps of someone walking up. Speaking in Spanish the man approaches, “hello Diego, I’ve come to offer you a proposition.” Diego looked up at him with a snarl on his face. “I don’t bargain with someone who kidnaps me.” The man smiles and blows smoke into his face. “You haven’t heard my deal yet. I want you to be a wheelman for me. You’ll get paid very well.”

Diego was floored. Did this guy really think he would stoop to something so low? “Pass,” he said confidently. The man smiled, “I knew you’d say that.” He reaches out giving Diego’s leg a squeeze. “You’re twenty-one? Is that right? Very young and very talented. Is that why they call you the baby-faced assassin?” He grabs hold of Diego’s face examining it. “You are cute, but still very cocky.” Diego just glares and daring the man to try something. “Don’t worry Diego,” he said blowing another cloud of smoke in his face. Diego inhales and begins to cough the man using the distraction to jab something into his leg.

“Youch! What the hell! Are you drugging me?” Diego growled fighting more against his restraints. “I’m making you more compliant and less likely to be recognized.” As he finishes saying that the spot where the needle had been begins to burn. Diego groans uncomfortably as it starts spreading down his legs and into his feet. The man grabs a chair and sits down to watch. The pain gets worse for Diego as his skin feels on fire. His naturally tanned skin lightens in tone. His leg muscles spasm and he experiences hundreds of leg cramps as the muscle expands and swells underneath his skin.

“Not so pleasant is it? Don’t worry it gets worse.” The pain radiates up his thigh as his eyes start to water. The muscles are growing in his thighs, it reaches his groin and he screams out as he feels it the burning spread to his testicles. They swell and immediately flood his body with testosterone. His abs become more defined, his chest pushes out underneath his shirts. The man smiles watching as the shirt shrinks underneath his growing form. A wet spot forms from his growing rod as pre leaks out. “Almost there.” Diego groans as his arms grow longer and beefier. His skin changing to barely tan. “Looking good,” Diego then realizes that the man is now speaking to him in English.

“What are you doing to me?” He asks through gritted teeth. Veins start popping in his neck, his voice growing deeper as if he is going through a second puberty. “Stop!” he screams as his face burns. He closes his eyes, tears pouring out as his face changes. The baby-face starts to melt giving him a more mature appearance. Face hair and a more predominant jaw line. His hair shortens leaving him with a buzz cut. The burning subsides and he sits there panting. He looks up angry and defiant as the man approaches. “Don’t like your new body?”

“Change me back,” he growls the restraints straining to hold him as he flexes his muscles. The man gets close in his face asking, “are you really sure you want to do this? Do you really want to fight me?” Diego rears back and smacks his head against the man sending him staggering back. “Fine! That’s it.” He rushes forward. “Say goodbye Diego,” he says coming up to Diego. Diego tries to fight it, but the man holds him down and grabs a vial. “You’re going to become very obedient.” The man forces Diego to open his mouth dropping a few drops into his mouth. Diego’s eyes shoot open and his cock twitches and stirs before shooting out a load and then another. Each shot wipes a piece Diego away. He struggles and groans and then sits there blank as his cock dribbles out the last drops of cum into a vial leaving him stripped of his identity. The man pulls out a new vial with the words Damian written on it and pours it into the man’s mouth.

“Damian?” He looks up at the man. “How do you feel?” The bound man blinks for a moment and then grins, “good boss. I do something wrong?” He motions to the straps. “No my boy, you asked for it remember?” He unstraps Damian. “Go get cleaned up. I have a job for you.” Damian nods and quickly gets up grabbing the clothes sitting on the table. The man looks at the vial filled with the essence of Diego. He smiles and puts the vial into a case. “I’ll save you for later.” He caps the vial smiling as Damian comes back asking what the job is.

Thanks a lot for the crazy amount of support for my first story!

I hope you all had as much fun reading as I had writing it.

For those interested a new batch of archived stories will be posted the coming week!

The rings: Jake

--- First time writing my own story ---

--- Please let me know what you think ---

Just before the second year of college rolled around I was met with the unfortunate news that my best bro, my roommate, would not be making it to the second year.

Turned out he'd been spending too much time partying, and too little studying. Not even the coach could save him anymore.

Sure, being on a sports scholarship meant studying isn't your main priority but you still had to maintain your grades somewhat if you want to make it to the next year.

To make things worse, my new roommate turned out be some nerd.

Jacob was your average nerd that would be holed up in his room most of the time.

He didn't really bother me. It's just... I had hoped to have a new bro to go to the gym with instead of some wimpy kid.

Color me surprised when the guy came out of his room out of nowhere to ask me to help him some project he was doing for some course.

Something about trying some "telepathy" gear he was working on he was working on for a biomed class.

To be honest it all sounded really like some science mumbo jumbo to me. I must admit I wasn't too excited so I thought I'd struck a deal instead: he'd tutor me for my calc class and I'd try his stupid gear thing.

He seemed happy with the proposal and told me it'd be ready for testing in a couple days.

--

As I stepped out of the bathroom after just taking a shower I was met by Jacob holding two comically large rings which almost looked like miniature hula hoops.

It had been a week since he'd asked me for the favor. To be honest, I'd already forgotten about our agreement.

Though I was a man of my word and did need some help with calc, not wanting to end up like my old buddy.

He signaled for me to sit on the couch as he started to explain all about his new gadget.

Supposedly, the pair of rings were some new technology he was working on. He explained that it allowed the wearers to communicate with each other as if the other person was simply a voice in their head.

I accepted one of the nearly metal rings, the only discernable difference being a smaller engraved letter T on the side indicating that I would be on the receiving end according to Jacob.

Not thinking much of it, I held it over my head as he instructed.

As I pressed the button on the side of the device it quickly shrank, tightly sealing itself on my head.

Jacob, doing the same, had grabbed a small little tablet whilst the ring sealed itself on his head.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get this over with" I replied back.

A large shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he pressed a button on the ring.

"You jocks are real dumbasses, you know. Should've been more skep--" the nerd started saying before he suddenly stopped.

The twig had frozen right in his tracks. He looked as if his soul had left his body.

Testing if he was actually there, I waved my hand in front of his face.

Nothing.

Huh? What the fuck?

Okay, this is kinda weird.

I need to get rid of this ring.

It didn't budge. Not only that, this shitty thing just zapped me as well.

Hmm, think. The nerd mentioned something about telepathy, right?

Hey nerd, you hear me?

No response. Fuck.

I'm gonna look like some freak with this stupid headband there has to be something...

Maybe I should just try the telepathy again.

Hey Jacob, say something!

In an almost comical fashion what seemed like a corpse just uttered one word.

"something"

You've gotta be kidding me.

Uh, let's try something else.

Jacob, jump!

Without skipping a beat he jumped.

This is kinda awesome...

Jacob, explain what your plans were with these rings

"My intention was to use these rings to transform you into a nerd as well as do something other things..."

Explain what you mean with transform

"These rings are a technology I devloped that allows you to transform your target however you like by giving suggestions"

Heh. So, if I told him to grow a pair that would work?

As expected the nerd briefly twitched before a visible bulge started forming.

The Jacob's bulge wasn't the only thing growning larger in the room.

I noticed that my dick started to chub up as well, fueled by this new power I had just obtained.

I realized that with these rings I could do anything.

I could still get the roommate I wanted. And I could make him however I wanted.

--

Time to get to work.

Strip

The pudgy nerd took care of undressing, now showcasing his unimpressive body.

I could not help but feel pity for the guy.

He lacked any muscle definition. The only thing he had going for him was his now bull-sized nuts that looked mismatched compared to the rest of his body.

I should at least give him an appropriate cock to match.

Jacob, add a couple more inches to your cock

His average 5 incher started growing rapidly, reaching a monsterous size of what looked to be 8 inches.

I circled around him, proud of my work while I looked for the next area of improvement.

To be honest, there was a lot of work to be done. Maybe a rough approach would be better.

Adjust your body fat percentage to 7%

His already slim frame now became quite boney.

Add 40 lbs of muscle mass

The same arms that once lacked any muscle mass now had biceps that would rival an amateur body builder.

Veins also started bulging out, running from his large mitts upto his biceps.

The changes didn't stop there, however.

A pair of meat slabs started to form on his chest as well.

Unable to resist, I snuck up behind Jacob to fondle his newly formed pecs whilst also admiring his growing traps.

My hand went slipped down further, sliding into the deep crevasse formed by his 6-pack abs.

It seemed that Jacob hadn't missed leg day either. His legs now looked more like tree trunks that would be easily able to squash a watermelon.

To make the picture complete Jacob's feet had to match as well.

You've always worn a size 13

His feet grew large and veins appeared, much like what had happened to his previously tiny hands.

You've always prefered to keep your hair in a quiff

Jacob's unruly mop had started to style itself in a trendy quiff.

Now, flex for me

Jacob now struck a double bicep pose, his already large biceps forming sizeable peaks.

----

"You mentioned something about jocks and being a real dumbasses didn't you, Jacob?"

Ah, wait.

You will wake up

"Huh, what... Why do I feel heavy..." Jacob murmured before realizing it was caused by his new physique.

"Wait! No. You were supposed to get the receiver not the transmitter! How did I- argh" Jacob said fully grasping the situation now.

"I don't want to be some dumb brute!" Jacob told me, now reaching for the ring.

Don't move

Without missing a beat Jacob froze right in his tracks.

"What are you planning to do to me, you stupid jock?" he asked.

"Stupid jock, huh" I mocked.

"It's funny you say that because right now you look more like a jock than me." I told him.

"Perhaps you just don't think like one... yet" I snarked.

"I remember you said something before. Something about jocks being real dumbasses?"

"Wait no! Please-"

You've always been a dumb

"I- uh.. Hng.. What did I say again...?"

"A real jock wouldn't go by a nerdy name like Jacob, now would he?"

You have always been called Jake

"Bro, I don't know who the fuck you're talking about."

"Ah, nothing to worry about bro" I reassured him.

You only care about is lifting weights and partying. You never bothered with studying.

Oh, and you may move again

"So bro, what's up what are we doing here? We should go to the gym." He asked me, completely oblivious as what happened not even minutes earlier.

"You dumbass, we just got back from the gym." I told him.

"Oh, huhuh, sorry bro, I guess I forgot haha" he replied.

When I call you by the nickname brute, you will obey my instructions, no matter what I tell you

"Hey Brute, won't you help me with getting these rings off?" I ask.

"Of course, anything for you bro" he replied.

A bro is never afraid of a little bromance

A little fire in his eyes lit up.

"So bro, what do I need to do?" he asked.

"On the count on three, we both press the button on the side of the ring. I think that's the only way to get them off" I explained.

"Ready?" I asked.

3.. 2... 1..

I immediately felt relief as the tight ring was now removed from my head.

"Brute, give that ring to me. You never want to touch that ring again. You know big bro will handle it for you" I instruct Jake.

"Here you go, bro" he said handing the ring.

I put the rings on the nearby coffee table.

I was happy. I now got myself the perfect roommate. And, if I needed it I could give additional to my brute.

"Hey Jake, there's a party tonight. You wanna go?" I asked him.

"Of course bro, always down"

"Before that, I've got to ask something" I said, sitting back down on the couch.

"I need a little help with something" I smirked, turned on by all the effort put in transforming my roommate

My dick had become rock hard and was begging for attention.

"You think you can help a bro out?"

Being sincere is important

A Secret Relationship

After a hard day of work Chad sat down in the locker room and tried to get some shut-eye. He couldn’t wait for the school day to end so that he’d get his body back. You see, Chad wasn’t actually this hairy or old, nor was he this school’s gym coach. But he was desperate. Desperate not to fail all his classes and get kicked off the team. And if the only way to manage it was to allow the coach to trade their bodies at the start of every school day for a whole month, then so be it. It didn’t make his body ache any less though, but at least he had finally finished all the classes for today and could take a rest before coach came to swap them back for today.

He was startled though when his best friend Kyle suddenly appeared from the showers looking all flustered and anxious. Even more surprising was when he stood in front of Chad confessing his crush on their gym coach. Chad wanted to explain the situation, convince him that this would be unhealthy, and support him through his hard time. But when his best friend suddenly dropped his shorts and stood there with his member staring straight at him, Chad couldn’t help but be both mesmerized and aroused by it. He knew he wasn’t gay, but perhaps… coach’s body was?

He tried his hardest not to succumb to the body’s desires, not only because it was so wrong in every way but also because he vaguely remembered coach telling him something about sexual intercourse in someone else’s body could affect and even alter the occupant’s mind… The hormones in his body were too strong though, his scruffy body and back ache burning up, and bulge continuously growing harder by the seconds…

It didn’t take long before he was on his knees, vigorously sucking the juices out of his best friend’s member and then spinning his body around so the same leaking member could penetrate his waiting manhole.

Maybe being his gym coach for the coming month wouldn’t be as bad as he originally made it out to be, Chad thought as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy and locked lips with his best friend.