Ben had always played it safe. He was twenty, lean and bookish, with sharp cheekbones, a clean style, and an academic scholarship that kept his parents off his back. He was the type to keep his calendar color coded, to eat clean, to work out just enough to stay fit without bulking. Everything in his life was about balance. He wasnât out looking for anyone to take control of him. In fact, Ben liked to believe he was the one in charge. But some part of him, (the part he barely acknowledged) craved something heavier. He just didnât know what yet.
He downloaded a hookup app one night, not for anything serious, just to blow off steam. Thatâs where he matched with Jay. Jay was twenty-six and local, a shaved-headed gym lad with thick arms, heavy ink, and a profile full of grainy mirror selfies in Nike techs. No description, no bio, just a location and a smirk. It wasnât Benâs usual type. Still, something about the guy stuck. Maybe it was the confidence. Maybe it was the way he looked like he didnât have to try.
They agreed to meet up. Ben dressed casual clean jeans, sneakers, a neutral tee. Nothing fancy. Jay opened the door shirtless, in grey tech fleece joggers and white TNs. A thick gold chain lay across his collarbone, and even from the doorway, Ben caught the smell of him sweat, weed, something musky and raw that hit like a slap. It wasnât gross. It was magnetic. It made Benâs thoughts go slow.
Jay didnât greet him with a smile or a hug. Just jerked his head toward the living room. Ben followed, already feeling like something had shifted. They hooked up, but it was calm, not aggressive. Jay was quiet but in control, hands firm, grip confident. He kept his sneakers on the whole time white TNs, spotless, heavy. They brushed against Benâs legs while they kissed, while they moved, and something about the weight and scent of them made Ben ache deeper than he expected.
When he left later that night, his own shirt still faintly smelled of Jay. He breathed it in on the train ride home, heart pounding for no clear reason.
They met again two days later. Jay hadnât asked him to come he just texted his address and a time. Ben didnât even think about saying no.
Jay had a pair of old Adidas trackies laid out on the bed, creased and worn. âPut these on,â he said, not even looking up from his phone. Ben blinked. âWhat, like now?â Jay glanced at him. âYeah. Youâre not wearinâ your posh little jeans âere.â Ben swallowed, then nodded. The fabric was rough, slightly damp. The waistband sagged low on his hips. Jay just grinned. âLooks better on you already.â
They didnât talk much that time. They didnât have to. Jay pressed Benâs face into his armpit at one point, laughing when he moaned. The smell was stronger now thick, heavy, and intoxicating. Ben left in the trackies.
The third meetup changed everything.
Ben arrived in a hoodie and jeans, but Jay took one look and shook his head. âNah. Strip. Wear this.â This time it was a full outfit, trackies, hoodie, cap, even socks and a knockoff gold chain. âGo on,â Jay said, voice low and calm. âJust for fun.â Ben didnât argue. He changed. Jay made him sit down in front of the TV. A video loop started. Loud grime music, flashing words: Obey. Submit. Scally. Chav. Dumb. At first, Ben chuckled, thinking it was some joke. Jay sat behind him, pressed his sneakers into Benâs lap, and leaned in close.
âRelax, mate. Just breathe it in.â
The scent hit Ben hard. Weed, sweat, old cologne, and something deeper. Masculine. Animal. It crawled into his brain, melted his thoughts. Jay kept whispering things. âYou like wearinâ that gear now, donât ya?â Ben nodded, not even thinking. His heart was racing. His cock was hard. His thoughts were gone.
From that night on, the changes stuck.
Ben stopped changing back into his usual clothes. The trackies felt better. His reflection looked more natural. The sharp cheekbones softened. His skin tanned slightly. He stopped trimming his brows. A faint patch of facial hair began to form, scruffy, unkempt, chavvy. Jay noticed. âGettinâ rough round the edges, yeah?â he grinned. âGood. Gotta look the part.â
Jay gave him a cap and told him to wear it everywhere. âHelps the mindset.â And it did. Every time Ben put it on, he felt himself slouch more, talk slower. His voice began to shift, the poshness replaced by a lazy, thicker accent. His workouts stopped being about leanness. Jay had him do bodyweight stuff, bulk up his arms. âScally lads donât skip chest day, bruv.â Ben's body responded fast. Shoulders broadened. Abs thickened. His ass filled out the trackies. His face grew plainer, but in a way that felt right. More real. More local. Jayâs scent still triggered him every time. A whiff of it made his dick twitch and his head fog over. It was a shortcut. The key that unlocked whatever Jay had started in his mind.
Soon, he stopped being Ben.
Jay started calling him Kyle. âBenâs dead, mate. Youâre Kyle now. Me dumb chav pup.â Kyle nodded, grinning. Heâd started wearing Air Max 95s everywhereâJayâs old pair, still warm from his feet. They stank. Kyle loved it. He sniffed them when he was alone. Sometimes he wore them to bed.
He stopped going to uni. Said it was âlongâ and âwaste of time.â He told his tutor to piss off. He didnât even remember why he cared about grades. He started showing up to Jayâs flat early, sometimes just to sit in his gear and smoke. Jay let him. Sometimes he made Kyle worship his socks while they played FIFA. Kyle would nuzzle up against his masterâs foot, eyes half-lidded, stoned and hard.
Jay started making him repeat things. âSay it. Out loud.â
âIâm a dumb scallyboy.â
âI live for me Masterâs sneakers.â
âI donât need brains, just gear and your scent.â
The more he said it, the truer it became.
By summer, there was no sign of Ben. Kyle was unshaven, thick-accented, unemployed, dumb and happy. He wore the same trackies for days. His room smelled like weed, sweat, and his masterâs trainers. He didnât read books anymore. He didnât need to. Jay had filled his head with something better. Simplicity. Pleasure. Obedience.
One evening, Jay came home to find Kyle shirtless on the couch, playing FIFA with one hand and sniffing his Air Max with the other, a mindless grin on his face.
Jay smirked and sat beside him. âYou happy like this, bruv?â
Kyle didnât even look up. Just nodded, eyes glazed.
âYeah, bruv. Donât wanna be no one else. Love beinâ your dumb chav pup.â
Jay put a hand on his thigh, leaned in close.
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