Give In, Bro @giveinbro - Tumblr Blog

THE TF COMMUNITY IS NOT OPEN TO CHILD PREDATORS.

WRITERS: STOP WRITING STORIES INVOLVING MINORS THAT HAVE SEXUAL CONTENT IN THEM.

READERS: STOP REBLOGGING THOSE STORIES. STOP GIVING WRITERS A FREE PASS FOR WRITING THAT SHIT.

IF YOU SEE A STORY INVOLVING AN ADULT SWAPPING INTO OR POSSESSING OR BEING AGE REGRESSED INTO THE BODY OF A TEEN AND PERFORMING SEXUAL ACTS EITHER TO THEMSELVES OR WITH OTHERS, THAT CONTENT IS INAPPROPRIATE AND SHOULD BE REPORTED.

GET CHILD PREDATORS OUT OF OUR GODDAMN COMMUNITY, OFF OF TUMBLR AND INTO JAIL. FUCK OFF.

Sights like this are commonplace on campus:

Every semester, more and more male students show up to their classes dazed and scantily-clad.

When asked to put clothes on, these students reply with some variation of “but it feels so good to dress like this!” and respond violently if clothes are forced onto them. Checks on affected student dorm rooms find the only clothes they own are skimpy undergarments.

There appears, at this time, to be no specific pattern in target—a lit major is just as likely to change as a member of the football team. And “change” is really the only way to put it. Seemingly overnight, these men become empty-headed, slutty versions of themselves, recognizable only through the cross-referencing of attendance checks. Few respond to their old names, and they seem to disappear completely after the semester closes out.

If anyone has any information on why these transformations are occurring or who may be responsible, please contact the dean immediately.

#hypno #hypnosis #himboification #himbofication #college tf #Himbo tf #slvt tf #trophy boy #trophy boy tf #mind control #brainwashing #nsft

Never underestimate the therapeutic power of getting a beautiful meathead to drool, hypnotized, mindlessly playing with his sexy body and cumming over and over via a series of tumblr asks

#AND IM NOT EVEN A DOM REALLY #that’s how good it is #jock hypno #hypno #hypnosis #jockification #himbofication #himboification #broification #forcemasc #nsft

Bought a football helmet for kink reasons but it’s too small for my head. fuck! >:(

Me n bro were drivin down the freeway. Not too fast, not too slow. Just cruisin. The summer sun beat down on us.

Huhu, beat.

Beat can mean so many damn things, it’s crazy. My bros are always joking about beating your meat (huhu), but it can also be about beating the other team at football or basketball or something like that, or be about the beat of a song. The song we were listenin to on the highway had a good beat to it. I think I’d listened to it before. Couldn’t name it, though.

“Dude, got somethin’ on your mind? You’re spacin’ out.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Beat’s a funny word.” He still didn’t take his eyes off the road. My bro’s real responsible like that.

“Really? Why d’you say that, bro?” He readjusted his grip and put a bit more weight on the gas pedal. It was a small movement, but I noticed it. Wind started whipping and it was hard to think with the wind

“I dunno… it can just, like, mean… just so much, y’know?” The wind had my tank pressed up all snug against my body and bro’s too. My pecs were fuckin huge dude they looked like watermelons holy shit

“You’re overthinking it, bro. It’s just a word.” Bro’s forearm rested on my shoulders fuck he’s so big

“Yeah, probably. Huhu.” his pecs are even bigger than mine

“You wanna turn up the music, bro?” the wind was even faster now my tank more snug bro’s tank bro’s forear

“Uhhhhhh…..” forearm pecs pit thoughts leak tank out wind muscle tits bigger pecs bigger arms bigger muscle bigger muscle bigger muscle bigger leak bigger

The beat was louder now. It was such a nice beat. My hand was on my pec now.

“That’s it, bro. Just listen.” His eyes were still on the road. His eyes were still on the road when his hand was on my shorts

“Huhuhu……..” Rubbed my nipple through my tank the wind got faster pushed all my hair out of my face bro’s hand pressed on my mhm fuck faster louder beat louder bigger beat rubbed incisive hand from somewhere groped my bis and traced my pecs and louder beat louder beat through it all beating

Don’t think about it bro

Everything pressed touched felt groped good beat beating shorts tank uniform bigger grow tighter top sweating beating louder faster sweating

Let everything just blow away

Sweating blowing beat beating bigger more it all goes away so fuckin good bro fuuuuuck fuuuuuuuuuuck huhuhu flexin in the wind arms side outs suns out guns out huhuhu tank stretched beating beaten beat fuck

“Bro……..” The words just fell out from my mouth. Would’ve hit the ground with a clunk.

Bro gave me a quick glance, but fixed his eyes back on the road again quick. He’s real responsible like that.

He smirked.

“You wanna work your pecs when we get back, don’t you?” He chuckled. Bro knows me so well lol

“Huhu….. yeah…. How’d ya know?” I kept flexin. Sun on my gains make em look extra good. Can’t let bro think he’s the only hot one here

“Beats me, bro.”

#hypno #jock hypno #jockification #hypnosis #mind control #jock tf #nsft #broification

Sink is such a nice word, isn’t it, boy? You agree, don’t you?

…Do you need me to explain it to you?

To sink means to go deeper, most often into water.

Imagine a big, warm pool for me. Imagine the water—it’s nice, yeah? Soothing, isn’t it? You could happily sink into it. Just let the warm water seep into you.

And the funny thing about sinking?

When you sink, you get wet.

And you like being wet, don’t you, boy? Being wet means you’re horny. And being horny feels so fucking good.

So when you’re wet, you feel good.

And to get wet—more wet—you just have to sink. To stay wet and warm, all you need to do is sink and go deeper. And of course you want to be wet and warm—it feels so good.

Sinking isn’t the only thing people do in water, though. Swimmers often do this motion called stroking. While sinking will have a boy go from up to down, stroking will have you go up and down. Up and down on your warm and wet dick.

Stroke.

Sink.

Stroke.

Sink.

Stroke.

Such a good boy.

#hypno #hypnosis #forcemasc #forced masculinity #nsft #ftm nsft #ftm sub #sub hypno #submissive

Something had gotten the gears in Coach’s mind turning. A remark made by one of the students—Ben was his name—in his pass-fail yoga class.

“I’m not a big guy, but I’d like to be.”

One might hear that and assume it an innocuous wish. Coach wouldn’t fault anyone for thinking that way.

But he knew better. Coach had heard plenty of guys make offhand comments like Ben’s in his time, and there was always, always something more to it. There was a voraciousness bubbling just beneath Ben’s words, Coach knew, starved and desperate to be indulged in.

Though Ben hadn’t started T, nor had he ever played American football, Coach had an idea. Coach sent Ben an email, and the two had met in the man’s office before the week was out.

“You wanted to talk to me, Coach? What about?”

“I’d like you to watch a little video for me, Ben. It’s something I had my boys help me put together, for an extracurricular I’m wanting to teach in the coming semesters. It’s something I think you’d be interested in, boy.”

Ben made a movement at the word “boy.”

Coach, acting quickly, handed Ben a set of wired headphones, already connected to a laptop, and pulled up his video. Once Coach’s boy-to-be had slipped the headphones on, Coach set the video playing.

The video started out mundane enough. It featured Coach, flanked by two guys from the football team—both in full gear—explaining trends about the college’s sports programs. How the good win-loss ratio of the football team had become since Coach took over; how high-quality the uniform pieces were; stuff like that. Ben thought he heard… something in the stock music playing over everything, but he didn’t think about it too hard. Why should he?

The video continued in this way for a few more minutes. Ben was surprisingly engaged. Passionate. Swelling with a sense of pride for his school that he had not really felt before.

Coach smirked. The moment of truth.

A brilliant spiral flared into being and devoured the screen in moments. The whispering overtook the music, and Ben was blasted with picture after picture of shirtless, sweating jocks.

Jocks get touchdowns.

Jocks live in the gym.

Jocks lift weights.

Jocks get big.

Ben jerked back, but he failed to rip his eyes away from the flashing screen. Even still, he tried to get up, but he was held in his chair. The two jocks who’d appeared in the video were at his side—Ben hadn’t even noticed them come in.

Ben, struggling and straining, kept watching the video. Watching the jocks. The big…sweaty…muscled jocks.

Jocks get touchdowns.

Jocks live in the gym.

Jocks lift weights.

Jocks get big.

Ben kept fighting.

Jocks live in the gym.

Jocks lift weights.

Jocks get big.

Ben kept trying.

Jocks lift weights.

Jocks get big.

He stopped trying.

Jocks get big.

He was wet now.

So wet.

Ben felt the jock on his left move his arm. Ben let his arm be moved.

Jocks get big.

“Hold still, son.”

So wet.

There was a prick. A plunging.

Jocks get big.

Something was wrapped tight where the prick was.

So wet.

He liked it tight.

Jocks get so big.

It felt good.

Jocks get so wet.

It all felt so good.

Jocks get so wet.

Jocks get so wet and get so big and so tight. Being wet and tight meant that Ben was a good jock. Coach wanted him to be a good jock. A big good jock. Coach wanted him to be wet.

The video ended.

“What d’you think?”

Ben didn’t think anything. But he felt something.

“…I… loved it…”

“Good boy.”

There was more to be done, to be sure, but Ben was already doing so well. Coach would savor this one.

#original story #forced t shot #jock hypno #forcemasc #hypno #jock tf #jockification #mind control #football jock tf #forced masculinity #trans ftm #nsft #ftm nsft #dumbing down #dumbing #dumbing hypno #androphilia

Coach had his boys report in regularly—not because he needs proof of them working out, no. Of course not. All his boys can think about is how much they love growing their muscles and keeping their bodies in shape for their Coach. Coach knew they wouldn’t skip a workout if they could avoid it. That wasn’t a concern.

No, Coach’s required reporting was for something different. These pictures were for a passion project of his. See, Coach kept this big binder in his office on campus, full of these reporting pictures, all in chronological order. Coach would often look over this binder and just… smile about how proud he was of his boys. So proud of how well they took to his conditioning. How their eyes would cloud over.

He would sometimes find an early picture of one of his boys, from when he’d first come under Coach’s tutelage—it always seemed like a lifetime ago—and then flip to a more recent one without any in-between pictures. The contrast always gave Coach such a rush of pride. Their smirks had always become so wide, so dumb. He was so proud of them.