Me getting more than I bargained for when I pledged to the fraternity.
Drawing by @spacepupx although you probably know him as @SpacePupSilver on twitter.
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@hyp-fet
Me getting more than I bargained for when I pledged to the fraternity.
Drawing by @spacepupx although you probably know him as @SpacePupSilver on twitter.
The Bulldawg Strength
In a quiet suburban neighborhood, a young man named Jake stepped off the bus and onto the cracked sidewalk leading to his childhood home. The sun hovered above the horizon, casting a warm glow that bathed the houses in a soft, orange light. His backpack, filled with college textbooks, hung heavily on his shoulders as he took a deep breath and trudged up the walkway. It had been six months since he had last seen his family, and the anticipation of their reunion grew with every step he took.
But the call from his younger brother, Tim, had planted a seed of unease in the pit of his stomach. Tim's voice had been tinged with something Jake couldn't quite place—fear, perhaps?—as he spoke of their father's dramatic transformation since joining a new gym, the Bulldawg Strength. Tim had said their dad was more muscular than ever, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling enthusiasm that seemed almost otherworldly. The once gentle and slightly overweight man was now a towering, chiseled figure, his skin stretched taut over bulging biceps. The mere thought of it made Jake's stomach turn.
As they talked on the phone, Tim had described the bizarre attire their father now donned daily—black and shiny compression gear that clung to his new form like a second skin, a military-style cap that sat proudly atop his shaved head, and a pair of boots that clicked ominously on the linoleum floor. The gear looked almost like rubber, Tim had said, and it was adorned with strange symbols that neither of them recognized. It was as if their father had been absorbed into some sort of extreme fitness cult, and the more Tim spoke, the more Jake felt his excitement to be home giving way to dread.
"What's going on with Dad?" Jake had asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"I don't know, man," Tim replied, his voice barely a whisper. "It's like he's in some kind of midlife crisis on steroids. Ever since he started going to that Bulldawg gym, he's been... different. More aggressive. He's always pushing me to go with him, saying it'll make me into a 'real man'."
Jake could hear the painful sarcasm in Tim's words, and his own concern grew. "I'll talk to him," he assured his brother. "I'm coming home this weekend, anyway. Maybe I can get him to snap out of it."
"Please, Jake," Tim's voice pleaded. "It's like he's not even Dad anymore. It's scary."
Jake's hand tightened around his phone, his heart racing. "Don't worry, I'll figure it out. Just hold on, okay?"
Tim's relieved sigh washed over the line. "Thanks, Jake. I'm counting on you."
The house loomed before Jake, its once welcoming facade now seemingly hostile. The once lush lawn was now a sea of cracked earth and dead grass, the only living things a few straggly weeds poking through. The door was ajar, and the silence that greeted him was unnerving. He cautiously stepped inside, his sneakers echoing in the empty hallway. The furniture remained unchanged, but there was a faint chemical smell in the air—like the scent of a new rubber gym floor.
The living room had been transformed into a makeshift gym. Weights clanked in the corner where the TV used to stand, and a treadmill hummed quietly in the place of the old armchair. The walls were plastered with posters of bulging men, flexing and snarling, all adorned in the same black, skintight gear his father now wore. The sight of his brother's favorite comic books scattered haphazardly on the floor, pages torn and crumpled, sent a chill down his spine.
Jake ventured into the kitchen, his stomach rumbling. The once warm, inviting room now felt cold and sterile. The fridge was stocked with protein shakes—enough for an entire football team. The countertops were cluttered with Tupperware containers filled with what looked like lumpy brown rice and unidentifiable meats. The pantry held only protein bars and supplements. He reached for one of the shakes, the label proclaiming it a 'Bulldawg Strength Special Formula'. Twisting off the cap, he took a tentative sniff. The smell was bizarrely familiar, yet alien. It was a musky, salty aroma, with a faint hint of sweet vanilla. It reminded him uncomfortably of his first fumbling sexual experiences, but with a metallic edge that made his nostrils flare. He put the bottle down hastily.
He heard a door slam from the back of the house, followed by the thunderous stomping of heavy boots. His heart skipped a beat. He knew that sound—it was his father, and he was on his way in. The footsteps grew louder, the floor shaking slightly with every step. Jake braced himself, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest.
As he turned to face the entrance, the sight that greeted him was nothing short of surreal. His father, now a monolith of muscle in the black, gleaming gear, filled the doorway. The cap cast a shadow over his eyes, but Jake could see the same strange glow he'd seen in the photos. The man's jaw was square and rigid, his shoulders broader than any human's should be, and the veins in his arms pulsed like rivers of wrath.
But what truly took his breath away was Tim. His younger brother, who had once been a lanky teenager, now looked like a miniature version of their transformed father. Tim's eyes were vacant, his smile forced, and his body was a disturbing caricature of the athletic ideal. The same black gear clung to him, stretched tightly over his newfound muscles. The boots, now a smaller size, echoed the same ominous beat as their father's.
"Welcome home, son," their father's deep, altered voice boomed.
Jake's eyes darted between his father and brother, the reality of their transformation hitting him like a ton of bricks. "Dad? Tim?" he managed to croak out, his voice shaking.
"Jake, you're just in time!" Tim's voice was eerily cheerful, a stark contrast to the fear he had heard in their phone call. "Dad's been waiting to introduce you to the Bulldawg family!"
Jake took a step back, his eyes wide. "Tim, what happened to you?" The words barely left his mouth before Tim's expression morphed from forced cheer to one of absolute confidence.
"I've become stronger, Jake. So much stronger!" Tim flexed his arms, the same arms that had once been so bony they could barely hold a dumbbell. "Since I started the Bulldawg program, I've put on thirty pounds of pure muscle. Dad says I'm on the right track to becoming a man!"
Jake's confusion deepened as he stared at Tim, who continued his monologue with fervent enthusiasm. "You wouldn't believe the gains, Jake. The workouts are intense, but it's all worth it. And this gear," Tim ran his hands over his sleek, black attire, "it's like a second skin. It makes me feel... invincible." His eyes shone with a disturbing mix of admiration and fanaticism.
Their father stepped closer, his massive frame casting a shadow over Jake. "Tim's been an excellent pupil, hasn't he?" His voice was deeper than Jake remembered, a rumble that seemed to resonate through the very bones of the house. "The Bulldawg Strength program doesn't just change your body—it changes your soul, makes you understand what it truly means to be a man."
Jake looked from Tim to his father, the fear in his stomach coiling tighter. "But, Tim, you called me. You said you were scared—"
Tim's forced smile slipped, and for a brief moment, a flicker of something desperate sparked in his eyes. "Oh, that? I was just being dumb. I didn't understand the power of the Bulldawg brotherhood. Dad's muscles, they're not just for show. They're a sign of his strength, his dominance. And now, I get to be like him." He flexed his arms again, the fabric of his black compression sleeves straining against his bulging biceps.
"Since I started wearing the Bulldawg gear," Tim said, his voice rising in excitement, "I've felt a surge of energy, like I could take on the world! And the workouts, man, they're tough, but oh so worth it. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a new me. A stronger me." His eyes glazed over as he recounted the endless hours of lifting, pushing, and pulling. The transformation was more than physical; it was as if Tim had been reprogrammed.
Jake's mind raced as he tried to make sense of it all. "But what about school, Tim? What about your friends?"
Tim waved his concerns away with a beefy hand. "School's fine, and my friends... well, they're all at the gym now. Bulldawg is the new sponsor of our football team, so we all had to join. Coach said it would help us win games, make us tougher." His voice took on an edge of pride. "And boy, did it work! We're unstoppable. We're the Bulldawgs now, and nobody messes with us."
Jake's eyes narrowed. "So, you're telling me that the entire football team is... like this?"
Tim nodded vigorously. "Yeah, and it's amazing, Jake! I mean, at first, I had my doubts, too. The gear felt weird, and the other guys at the gym looked like they could crush me. But after the first week, I started noticing changes. I could lift weights that used to be impossible for me, and I didn't get tired as quickly. And the supplements," he grinned, "they're like rocket fuel for your muscles!"
Their father's booming voice called out from the kitchen, "Tim, it's time for the protein shakes!"
Tim's eyes snapped to attention, the vacant expression replaced with an obedient nod. He dashed to the fridge, his muscles rippling with every movement. He pulled out two of the oversized bottles and handed one to their father, who took it without a word and began to chug it down. The sound of liquid sloshing and the metallic clank of the cap hitting the counter was the only noise in the room for several moments.
Their father wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze never leaving Jake. "You're going to love the changes, son," he said, his voice still deep and unnaturally powerful. "We've got a place for you at the gym, too. You're just what they're looking for. You've got the potential to be the strongest of us all."
On the kitchen counter, a single piece of paper caught the light—a Bulldawg Strength trial pass. It was laid out with deliberate precision, as if waiting for the moment Jake would set eyes on it. The logo was stamped in gold, the letters embossed with an unsettling forcefulness that seemed to beckon him. The paper was thick, almost card-like, and the edges were serrated, as if torn from something greater. Jake's gaze was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, his thoughts racing.
He took a deep breath, his eyes flicking from the pass to his father's massive figure. "No," he said firmly, the word resonating through the room. "I'm not interested in joining whatever this... this cult is."
His father's smile didn't waver. "It's not a cult, Jake. It's a brotherhood. A family." He took another swig of the protein shake, his muscles bulging with every swallow. "But if you're not ready, that's okay. We'll give you some time to think it over."
Tim's expression was a mirror of their father's, an unsettling blend of excitement and something darker. "Yeah, Jake. Take your time. But remember, we're all waiting for you to join us. Your turn is coming."
Jake felt the weight of their words pressing down on him as he retreated to his room, the door clicking shut behind him. The room was unchanged, a time capsule of his high school days. The posters of rock bands and science fiction movies were a stark contrast to the stark reality outside. He slumped onto his bed, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. His thoughts spun in a tornado of confusion and fear.
He pulled out his phone, dialing his best friend, Mike. He needed someone to ground him, to reassure him that what he was seeing wasn't real. Mike answered on the first ring, his voice a welcome slice of normalcy in the madness. Jake recounted the events of the evening, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush.
"Dude, that's messed up," Mike said after a moment of stunned silence. "But, you know what? Things have been weird around town, too. Ever since that gym opened, people have been acting... different."
Jake's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Mike's voice grew serious. "It's like everyone's obsessed with the gym. They're everywhere—those guys in black uniforms, flexing and strutting around like they own the place. And they're all so... intense. Like, they've got this weird vibe, you know?
Jake nodded, even though Mike couldn't see him. "Yeah, Tim said something about a 'Bulldawg brotherhood'. It's all he talks about."
"Bro, you've gotta get out of there," Mike urged, his voice tight with tension. "Come meet me at the diner tomorrow. We'll grab some food, and you can tell me everything. Maybe we can figure this out together."
Jake nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Okay, yeah. That's a good idea. I'll be there at noon." He ended the call and leaned back against the cool wall, his mind racing. He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the framed photo of him, Tim, and their dad at the beach. They were all smiling, their bodies a testament to their love for ice cream and weekend Netflix binges. The sight of his brother's lean frame in the picture was a stark contrast to the muscle-bound shell that now walked the halls of their home.
The next morning, Jake woke to the sound of his alarm, his mind still racing with thoughts of Bulldawg Strength. He stumbled into the kitchen, hoping to find some semblance of the familiar in the form of a bowl of cereal. The sight that greeted him, however, was anything but comforting. On the kitchen table, right in the center, was the trial pass, a stark reminder of the night before. Next to it, a protein shake sat, the condensation beading on the outside of the bottle. The label was printed with his name in bold, block letters.
Ignoring the gym pass and the shake, Jake made his way to the fridge. It was barely 8 AM, but the idea of facing another day in this nightmarish reality was already draining him. He pulled out a carton of milk, his hand shaking slightly as he poured it into a bowl. The cereal box was nowhere to be found. Only a sea of protein shakes and Tupperware containers of lifeless, brown food stared back at him. The kitchen clock ticked away, a silent metronome to his rising dread. He had to get out of here, if only for a few hours.
The diner was a short walk away, and the cool air outside was a welcome reprieve from the stifling tension in the house. The streets were unusually quiet for a Saturday morning, the only sounds the distant clanging of weights and the occasional grunt from a passing Bulldawg devotee. Jake quickened his pace, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only comforting noise in the eerie silence.
When he stepped into the diner, the smell of greasy breakfast food wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Mike was already there, nursing a cup of coffee, his eyes dark with concern. They exchanged a tense nod as Jake slid into the booth across from him.
"You okay?" Mike asked, his voice low.
Jake took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm the racing of his heart. "No, not really," he admitted. "It's like they're not even the same people anymore."
Mike leaned in, his expression a mix of shock and concern. "What happened, man? Did you talk to them about it?"
Jake's eyes darted around the diner, making sure they weren't being overheard. "Yeah, I tried. They're so... intense. And happy about it all, it's weird." He took a sip of his coffee, the bitter taste doing little to alleviate the metallic taste lingering in his mouth from the previous night. "Tim's changed so much. It's like he's not even scared anymore, just... eager to become one of them."
Mike leaned closer, his eyes wide. "You don't think it's some kind of mind control, do you?"
Before Jake could respond, the bell above the diner door chimed, and the sound of booted footsteps echoed through the room. A figure emerged from the kitchen, a tray of food balanced on one hand. The waiter was a young man, his skin stretched tight over bulging muscles that seemed almost comically large for his frame. He wore the same black Bulldawg Strength gear that Jake had seen plastered over the walls of his house. The sight of the logo made Jake's stomach churn.
"You guys okay over here?" the waiter asked, his voice too cheerful for the early hour. His eyes were bright, almost feverish, and there was an unsettling eagerness to his smile.
Mike nodded tersely. "Yeah, we're just catching up."
The waiter's smile grew wider, his teeth unnaturally straight and gleaming. "Great! Bulldawg bonding time, right?"
Jake forced a chuckle, trying to play along. "Something like that."
The waiter's smile didn't waver as he set down their plates of food—massive portions of eggs and protein-laden meats, not a carb in sight. "Well, you know where to find us if you're ever looking to join the pack." With a wink, he sauntered off to attend to the other patrons, his muscles flexing with every step.
Jake pushed his food around, his appetite gone. "I can't take much more of this," he whispered to Mike. "I need to get out of here."
Mike nodded solemnly, understanding in his eyes. "Come on, let's go to my place."
They left the diner quickly, the jovial chatter of the other patrons a stark contrast to the tension that hung between them. The walk to Mike's house was brisk, the air cooler now that the sun had risen higher in the sky. The neighborhood looked the same, but the underlying sense of unease was palpable. Every few houses had a Bulldawg Strength poster in the window, and men in black gear could be seen through some of the open garage doors, lifting weights and shouting words of encouragement that echoed through the quiet streets.
When they arrived, Mike's house looked as if it had been untouched by the strange phenomenon. The door was unlocked, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. The TV in the living room was on, the sound of a video game's explosive soundtrack spilling into the hallway. But as they approached, the music changed to something eerie—a low, rhythmic chanting that grew louder with each step.
They paused at the doorway, peering in. There, sitting on the floor, were Tim and Mike's younger brother, Joey, both in Bulldawg Strength uniforms. The black, skin-tight gear made their muscles bulge in a way that seemed unnatural for their age. They were engrossed in a game on the TV, their eyes glazed over with the same unsettling enthusiasm Jake had seen in his father's.
The laughter grew clearer as the screen showed a virtual battlefield, with men in the same uniforms mowing down unseen enemies. The game was called Bulldawg Unit, and the graphics were disturbingly realistic. Jake felt his heart drop into his stomach.
"Hey, guys!" Joey looked up from the game, his eyes lighting up with an enthusiasm that didn't quite reach the corners of his eyes. He was built like a miniature version of Tim and their father, the same black gear clinging to his newfound muscles. The sight of his friend's younger brother, once a shy and slightly chubby gamer, now a hypermasculine soldier, sent a cold shiver down Jake's spine.
"You're just in time for some Bulldawg bonding!" Tim said, his voice booming with forced cheer. He punched a button on the controller, and two more figures dressed in the same black uniform appeared on the screen, their digital muscles bulging as they sprinted towards the fray. "You can play as a unit with us! It's so much better than playing alone."
Mike's eyes lit up, his love for video games overriding his earlier concern. "Cool! I've always been a fan of co-op games." He took the controller Joey offered, and within moments, he was absorbed in the pixelated battlefield. The three of them, side by side, mowed down enemy after enemy, their virtual muscles flexing with every victory.
Jake, however, couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The game's graphics were too realistic, the sounds of gunfire and explosions too intense. And the way Tim and Joey's faces lit up with every kill—it was like they were reliving something from their new lives at Bulldawg Strength. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with the scent of sweat and testosterone.
He cleared his throat, trying to get Mike's attention. "Thanks for the hang, man. I think I'm gonna head home."
Mike didn't even look up from the TV, his thumbs flying over the controller with a ferocity that seemed to mirror the scene playing out on the screen. The digital figures on the battlefield moved in unison, a well-oiled machine of destruction. "Yeah, sure, Jake," he mumbled distractedly. "See you tomorrow."
Jake took a step back, watching his friend disappear into the game, his mind racing with the implications of what he'd just witnessed. Was this what the Bulldawg Strength did to people? Turned them into mindless drones, obsessed with violence and power? He had to get to the bottom of it before it was too late.
The next day, Jake found himself standing in front of Mike's house, his hand hovering over the doorbell. He took a deep breath and pressed it, his heart hammering in his chest. The door swung open, and there was Mike, his eyes gleaming with the same unnatural light that had filled his father's and brother's. He was clad in the same black compression gear, a half-empty protein shake in his hand.
"Hey, Bro," Mike said, his voice unnaturally deep and powerful. "You're just in time for a little pre-game pump." He gestured to the shake in his hand. "It's the Bulldawg way to start the day."
Jake's eyes narrowed, his fear morphing into anger. "What the hell have they done to you?" he demanded, his voice low and tense.
Mike's smile grew, if anything, even more forced. "They haven't done anything to me, Jake. I've become a better version of myself, just like your dad and Tim. Stronger, more focused. A real man." He took a swig of the shake, the muscles in his neck bulging with the effort. "You should see the gains you get from the Bulldawg program. It's like nothing you've ever seen before."
Jake stepped into the house, his eyes scanning the room. It was a mirror image of his own home, the living room now a shrine to the Bulldawg Strength program. The walls were adorned with posters of bulging men in black and gold, flexing their impossible muscles. The furniture was gone, replaced by a sea of weight benches and dumbbells. The TV had been pushed into the corner, the game controllers scattered around it like forgotten toys.
Mike began to speak, his voice taking on the same fervent tone that Tim had used the night before. "Jake, you wouldn't believe what happened yesterday," he said, his eyes shining with a manic light. "After we played Bulldawg Unit, they took me to the gym. The place is like nothing you've ever seen—like a fortress, a temple to strength and power. And the gear, oh man, the gear." He gestured to the black uniform he wore, his muscles rippling like something out of a comic book. "It's like it's part of you, like it's feeding you power from some other world."
Jake's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him. The house was now a bastion of the Bulldawg regime, and Mike was fully indoctrinated. "What do you mean, 'induction'?"
Mike's smile grew even wider, if that was possible. "You know, the initiation. The thing that makes you one of us." He took another long pull from the shake, his eyes never leaving Jake's. "You've got to drink the Bulldawg brew, man. It's got a special ingredient that takes your strength to the next level."
Jake's stomach churned. "What kind of ingredient?"
Mike leaned in closer, a smug smile playing on his lips. "You really don't know?" He chuckled, his voice deeper than it had ever been. "It's the essence of the Bulldawgs, man. The secret to our power." He tapped his chest, the fabric of his shirt straining against the unyielding muscles beneath. "It's the seed of our strength, our vitality. The brew is made with...let's just say, a very unique protein source."
Jake's hand clenched into a fist at his side. "I don't want to know," he said firmly, taking a step back. "And I'm definitely not drinking it."
Mike's smile didn't waver. "Come on, Jake. Don't you want to be part of something great? To be strong, to be feared?"
Jake's mind was made up. He had to get out of here before it was too late. He forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah, sure. Maybe I'll check it out." He didn't want to arouse suspicion, not yet. "But for now, I need to get home."
As he made his way back to his house, the once-familiar streets seemed to close in on him, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desperation. The Bulldawg Strength gym loomed in the distance, a stark reminder of the transformation that had swept through his town. The black logo shimmered in the sunlight, a beacon of a twisted ideal that had claimed his family and friends.
Jake walked through the front door, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the walls of the empty house. The silence was deafening, the only evidence of his family's existence the discarded protein shake containers and sweat-soaked towels scattered around the living room. He couldn't stay here anymore, not with the constant pressure to conform to this nightmarish version of masculinity that seemed to be consuming everyone he knew.
He made his way to his room, his eyes lingering on the framed photos of happier times. With a heavy heart, he packed a bag with a few essentials—his laptop, some clean clothes, and a couple of pictures. He had to get out of this city, find somewhere that still felt like home. He paused at the doorway, glancing back at the room that had been his sanctuary for so long. It now felt like a prison cell, the walls closing in around him.
Jake took one last look around the house before leaving, the emptiness of it echoing his own feelings of isolation. The gym was his last stop, the place where he would say goodbye to his father and brother—his new life's final bridge to burn.
As he approached the Bulldawg Strength compound, the imposing structure grew larger, its black and gold facade gleaming in the midday sun. The parking lot was packed with pickup trucks, their bumpers adorned with stickers that read "Bulldawg Brotherhood" and "Stronger Together." The building's windows were tinted, but Jake could make out the shadowy figures inside, lifting weights in perfect synchronization, their grunts and shouts a symphony of aggression and camaraderie.
The gym's doors swung open with a hiss, and the smell of sweat and testosterone hit him like a wall. Inside, the air was thick with the sound of clanging metal and the rhythmic thumping of heavy bass from the speakers. The walls were lined with mirrors, reflecting an endless sea of bulging muscles and vacant eyes. The men inside barely registered his presence, their focus solely on their own reflections.
Jake approached the front desk, the music's pulse echoing in his ears. The desk clerk looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Jake's non-Bulldawg attire. "You're here for the induction," he said, his voice a low rumble that matched the bassline. It wasn't a question.
The clerk slammed a hand down on the counter, and the music's volume dropped just enough for Jake to hear the words. "You know the rules. No outsiders beyond this point. Not until you're one of us."
Jake swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room. The clerk's gaze bore into him, and he felt his resolve waver. But the thought of his father and brother, lost in this madness, gave him the strength to nod. "Alright," he murmured. "I'll do it."
The clerk's smile grew, revealing teeth that were somehow too perfect. He picked up a clipboard and scanned it. "Great," he boomed, the music rising again to swallow Jake's words. "You're in for the full experience today. You'll be seeing the head coach, the Alpha Bulldawg himself."
Jake's heart hammered in his chest as he was led down a dimly lit hallway, the walls lined with posters of men contorted into impossible poses, their muscles bulging with a preternatural power. The floor vibrated with the thunderous bass of the gym's sound system, each step feeling like a descent into madness. They stopped in front of a door marked 'Induction Chamber'.
The clerk's smile remained unnervingly wide as he pushed the door open, revealing a small, windowless room. "Go ahead," he instructed, his voice now a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very walls. "The Alpha Bulldawg will be with you shortly."
Jake stepped into the chamber, the door slamming shut behind him. The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination a flickering TV in the corner. The walls were painted black, the floor a cold cement slab that sent a shiver up his spine. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and something else, something metallic and bitter. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
On the TV screen, an image of the Bulldawg logo grew larger, the black and gold swirling together like a tornado. The background noise of the gym faded away, replaced by a rhythmic, pulsing beat that grew louder with each passing second. Jake's eyes were drawn to the screen, the spiraling design of the logo hypnotizing him, pulling him into a trance. His heart rate slowed, his breathing grew shallow.
The video transitioned to a montage of men undergoing the transformation—their bodies contorting, muscles bulging as they were bathed in a golden light. The chant grew clearer, the words now distinguishable: "Stronger, faster, better—together we rise." The images grew more intense, the men in the video now a blur of power and ferocity. Jake felt his own body tingle with the promise of power, his mind racing with thoughts of the strength that could be his.
The screen flickered, and the Bulldawg Alpha appeared, his form massive and menacing. His eyes bore into Jake's soul as he recited the creed of the Bulldawg Brotherhood. "You shall cast aside your old life, your weakness, and embrace the true power within," the Alpha's deep, resonant voice boomed, the sound filling the room. "You shall be reborn in the image of the Bulldawg, a creature of unbridled strength and dominance."
Jake nodded, his mind a whirlwind of fear and fascination. The Alpha leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy. "Are you ready to take the first step?"
"Yeeeessss," Jake says drooling, his voice barely audible over the pulsing beat of the video.
The Alpha nods, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "Good," he says, his voice like thunder. "It is time."
He unzips his black Bulldawg Strength pants, revealing a monstrous cock that seems to have been carved from granite. It's thick and veiny, a stark contrast to Jake's trembling form. The room feels smaller, the air thicker, as the Alpha steps closer, his cock mere inches from Jake's face. The head of the phallus is slick with pre-cum, and Jake can't help but feel a strange, twisted attraction to it.
Jake's knees hit the cold cement floor, and he wraps his hand around the shaft, feeling the power pulse through it. His mouth opens, and he takes the head into his mouth, tasting the saltiness of the Alpha's desire. The Alpha's eyes roll back in his head as Jake begins to suck, the rhythm matching the beat of the video playing behind them. It's a ritual, a moment of submission that seems to resonate with every fiber of Jake's being.
The Alpha's hand is in Jake's hair, guiding him deeper, his grip tightening as he grows closer to climax. The room spins around them, the chant from the TV a cacophony in Jake's ears. He can feel the power building in his mouth, a potent cocktail of hormones and chemicals that promise to remake him. His mind fights the urge, but his body responds eagerly, his mouth working faster, his throat relaxing to accommodate the growing girth.
With a roar that seems to shake the very foundation of the gym, the Alpha reaches his peak, filling Jake's mouth with a hot, thick load of cum. Jake swallows without hesitation, the warmth spreading through his body like wildfire. It's an act of submission, a declaration of his willingness to become one of them. He feels the change begin, a tingling in his fingertips that spreads up his arms, his muscles growing, his senses heightening.
The Alpha withdraws, his cock still pulsing with the last drops of his release. He looks down at Jake, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Welcome to the Bulldawg Brotherhood," he says, his voice a deep growl. "You are now part of something greater than yourself. You will never be weak again."
Jake stands up, his knees wobbly from the intensity of the experience. He licks his lips, still tasting the Alpha's seed, a mix of sweetness and power. His eyes meet the Alpha's in the mirror, and he sees the reflection of a changed man—his eyes now filled with a feral hunger that matches the others'. The Alpha claps him on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "Now, let's get you into some gear and show you what you're truly capable of."
He hands Jake a black Bulldawg Strength uniform, the material feeling almost alive in his trembling hands. Jake pulls it on, watching as his already substantial muscles seem to swell and fill out the tight fabric. The uniform clings to him like a second skin, accentuating every bulging vein and powerful curve. He flexes in the mirror, his newfound strength pulsing through his body like an electric current.
The Alpha nods in approval, his own muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. "Looks like it's a perfect fit," he says, his eyes raking over Jake's transformed physique. "You're going to be a fine addition to our pack."
Jake looks down at himself, the black fabric clinging to his newly bulging muscles like a second skin. He runs a hand over his chest, feeling the unyielding power beneath his fingers. He flexes, and the fabric strains, the seams threatening to split apart. The sensation is heady, a rush of adrenaline and something more primal—a hunger for the power that courses through his veins like a drug.
The Chav Kiss
Newcastle, Friday night. Bigg Market was packed, the pavement slick with rain and spilled WKD. Outside Greggs, three lads in full black puffers crowded around a corner, passing a vape and laughing like they owned the city.
Inside a quiet bar nearby, Jamie sat hunched over his pint of cider, watching the chaos outside from behind his round glasses. Skinny jeans, tucked-in pink polo, and a nervous energy that didn’t fit in with the noise of the city. He was clever, introverted, soft-spoken — more interested in queer book clubs than club nights.
His best mate, Connor, nudged him. “You see that lad again?”
Jamie glanced across the bar. There he was — the same guy from the other night. Black puffer, shaved fade, smug half-smile. Tall. Built. A proper Geordie lad. He was leaning against the jukebox, sipping a Red Stripe like he’d invented swagger.
“That’s Kye,” Connor whispered. “He kissed my mate Mikey at Flares last week. Next morning, Mikey turned up in an Adidas tracksuit. Said he didn’t fancy brunch anymore. Just Monster and JD Sports.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. What, it’s contagious now?”
Connor nodded seriously. “That’s what they’re saying. One kiss and it changes you. Proper chavvy. Like your brain rewires itself.”
Jamie laughed. “Sounds like a Grindr horror story.”
Then Kye looked over.
Their eyes met.
It wasn’t supposed to happen. Jamie was meant to go home early, finish a draft of his zine, maybe binge some retro anime. Instead, he found himself pressed up against a back alley wall behind the bar, breath fogging in the cold, Kye’s hand at his jaw.
“You’re cute, you know,” Kye said, voice low, accent thick.
Jamie was too stunned to reply. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a stolen Vauxhall.
Kye leaned in. Their lips met.
And something changed.
Jamie woke the next day to the hum of drill music coming from somewhere — except it was his own phone.
His soft pink polo was gone. Replaced with a shiny black puffer jacket, zipped halfway up. His jeans were looser. His socks were Nike. His lips tasted like mint vape and Red Bull. He blinked at the mirror.
His fringe had been trimmed into a short fade.
He tried to speak. “I’m losing my—”
But what came out was: “Swear down, that was a mad night.”
He slammed his hand over his mouth. “What the fu—?”
His phone buzzed.
Kye 💦: You alright, lad? Don’t fight it. Just ride the vibe. Meet me outside Greggs at 8. Bring your vape if you’ve got one.
Jamie tried to resist. He pulled out his old polo and glasses. But they didn’t feel like his anymore. He didn’t even know why he ever wore them. He tossed them in the bin without thinking.
By the end of the week, Jamie didn’t go by Jamie anymore.
He was Jay now.
Jay wore his puffer even when it wasn’t cold. He’d replaced his bookshelves with shelves of trainers. He kissed a different lad behind the pub every other night. And every time, he spread it — the virus, the vibe, whatever it was.
The city was changing. Quiet boys, indie gays, art school students — all slowly taken over. All it took was one kiss. Then came the change in clothes. The shift in slang. The sudden craving for Lucozade, trap beats, and corner shops.
It was spreading across the Toon like a storm. Nobody in Jesmond was safe.
Jay stood under the glowing Greggs sign near Monument, vape in one hand, gold chain peeking out from under his puffer. Kye strolled up beside him, matching jacket, matching grin.
“Didn’t think you’d last this long without caving,” Kye said.
Jay shrugged. “Guess I just needed the right lad to chav me up.”
They leaned in, kissed under the orange lights.
Down the street, a nervous-looking uni fresher watched them.
Jay pulled back, spotted him.
“Oi,” he called out with a wink. “You look cold, mate. Want to try on me jacket?”
Be a GOOD boy
Tucker looked up from his work when his phone buzzed. He had received a message. At first he didn't recognize the sender: GOOD boy #79. The avatar showed a picture of a bald guy wearing a leather uniform with a big cigar in his mouth. His eyes seem to glow red.
Tucker was annoyed. It must be some kind of spam bot. But as he saw the number, he recognized it as the number of Connor, his best friend. As he looked better, he recognized the guy on the picture as his friend. He opened the message. It only said: "be a GOOD boy". Tucker was now very puzzled. Did Connor get some kind of virus on his phone? Was it some kind of joke? Barry was so occupied with the message, that he hadn't noticed that a file had started to download. Once it was finished, his phone shut down. Tucker didn't know what was happening. He started his phone again, but instead of the normal opening screen he saw an image of a red spiral.
"Shit", Tucker thought, he must have downloaded a virus. He tried to shut down his phone again, but nothing seemed to work. As he tapped frantically on the screen, the image started to change. A picture of bald man in a leather uniform, smoking a cigar appeared on the screen and then another and another. Tucker didn't understand anything of all this. What was happening to his phone? He looked at the screen. The images started to change faster and faster. He sometimes thought he recognized some of the guys in the pictures. Wasn't that James? And wasn't that the guy who worked at the gas station? He wasn't sure. By now, the images flashed so rapidly that his consciousness couldn't register. It was, however, in a way quite relaxing to watch the images. The longer he kept looking at the screen, the more he got entranced. He didn't even notice that text started to appear on the screen. He didn't even notice that after a while, he was starting to chant softly: "be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy..."
Several hours later, the doorbell rings. Still entranced, he stands up and goes to the door. He ooens the door. He doesn't expect there to be anyone and indeed, the hallway is empty. He looks down and sees a big bag standing on his doorbell. There is a note attached to the bag. It says: "GOOD boy #137". He smiles. He takes the bag inside and opens it. In it he sees a pile of neatly folded leather clothes. He smiles. His uniform has arrived. He puts it on. He walks towards the bathroom and picks up his razor blade and starts shaving his head. He doesn't question his actions. He just OBEYS. It feels so GOOD to OBEY. Once done with shaving he grabs the bag again and takes out a wooden box. He opens the box. In it, he sees a rows of cigars. He softly caresses them with his fingers and picks one out. As instructed, he cuts the cigar and toasts it. He then sticks it in his mouth. He flicks the lighter and looks in the mirror. In a few seconds, he will be a GOOD boy.
As he takes his first drag and his lungs fill with the thick, creamy smoke, he feels a feeling of euphoria and joy wash over him. He is a GOOD boy! GOOD boy #137 takea another drag. The feeling intensifies. It feels so GOOD to smoke a CIGAR, so GOOD to OBEY.
GOOD boy #137 picks up his phone. The phone seems to work normally again, with the small differences that the red spiral with the cigar-smoking men is non-stop visible, like a transparent film over his screen. He takes a picture of himself and he uses it as his new avatar. He looks at his screen name. It said "Tucker". He frowns, he knew he had heard that name before, but he couldn't recall when. He tried to think, but GOOD boys don't think. He changed the screen name to "GOOD boy #137". He then uploads his photo to the spiral-file. He is a GOOD boy and everyone who sees the file should know it.
He looks through his list of contacts. He sees that besides GOOD boy #79 there are also GOOD boy #89, #103, #107, #117, #118 and #129. He smiles. So many GOOD boys already, but not enough. Everyone should be a GOOD boy, so he sends the file to all the men in his list with the simple message: "be a GOOD boy".
He then texts GOOD boy #137. "I am a GOOD boy now. Thank you!" Half a minute later, he got a reply: "It is so GOOD to be a GOOD boy! Come out and meet me at my place, we need to make more men into GOOD boys." #137 answers: "every man should be a GOOD boy. I'll be there in 5 minutes." He grabs a few extra cigars and walks out of his apartment. He smiles as he takes dep drags of his cigar. It is so GOOD to be a GOOD boy.
======================
EPILOGUE
Barry Johnson, head scientist at Big Tobacco international, a conglomerate of the largest tobacco producers worldwide, rushes to the director's office. There was no time to lose. He knocks at the door and without waiting, he opened the door and stepped into the office. "We have to stop the GOOD boy project! We have to use the kill-switch!" The director, sitting in his large leather chair didn't answer for a second. He then asked, calmly: "And why should we do that?" Johnson answers hastily: "The program is too powerful! Our estimations showed that it would affect about 200 men in the course of a month, but it has reached that number in a few days. The program's reach seems to grow exponentially!" "No worries, I have increased the production of uniforms already. We cannot have GOOD boys without thwir uniforms. I have also contacted the partners. They have increased their production to the max." Johnson is dumbstruck. "You did WHAT? You don't understand! I have to kill the program before we lose control!" As the director turns his chair slowly around to fave Johnson, he says: "No, you don't understand how GOOD it feels to be a GOOD boy."
The director had now a shaved head and he was wearing a leather uniform. He has a cigar in his mouth, in the other his phone. The phone emits a vague red glow, that is reflected in his eyes. Johnson backed away. "How?", he stammered. "My son Jason shared the file with me. He wanted me to know how GOOD it is to be a GOOD boy. "So, it got to you too," Johnson said, "the there is only one thing that I can do. I have to use the kill-switch" He backed further away from the director, until he hit the wall. "Odd", Johnson thought, he didn't know the office had leather walls. But then he realized he hadn't backed himself into the wall, but into Andrew, the 2.07 m high security guard who was into body building big time. "Andrew, thank God, we have to get out of here!" He looked up and his heart jumped. He saw a large cigar sricking out of Andrew's mouth. Plumes of smoke came out of his nose, covering Johnson. "It got to you too..." Andrew didn't reply to him. He simply mumbled around his cigar "be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy..." Johnson felt the iron muscles of the security guard wrap around him. He was trapped in a smokey embrace. Johnson tried to get out, but the other man simply was too strong. Andrew holding the head scientist with one arm, took out his phone and switched it on. A red spiral appeared. Johnson tried to look away from it, but only a short glance was enough to fix his gaze on the screen. He saw the images of men, wearing leather uniforms and smoking cigars flashing in front of his eyes. Inside his head, a battle was taking place:
"All those guys... all GOOD boys now... victims of the program... MY victims... all GOOD boys now... I have to help them... I have to kill the program... they know how GOOD it is to be a GOOD boy... I have to fight the program... be a GOOD boy... I have to think... GOOD boys don't think... I have to think of a way out now... GOOD boys obey... I have to think... GOOD boys smoke CIGARS... I have to... be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy..."
they held their pledges to face the television and permanently slicknotized them just like the rest of the frat
Career change
Joey was fresh out of university after initially taking a gap year to travel. He had just finished his degree and was ready to jump straight in to work.
He thought it was a stroke of luck he found the perfect position at a new company in his home town. Working as the CEO's personal assistant for a couple months before taking on more responsibilities. Seemed good enough for him.
Joey walked in to the building, and was called up the CEO's office almost immediately.
Joey cautiously knocked on the door and was met with a deep voiced reply, "You may enter."
Joey slowly opened the door and walked in, trying to look at confident as he could, but deep down he was terrified of messing it up.
The CEO looked Joey up and down and smiled at him, "Sit. I am Mr. Stirling."
"So... tell me about yourself." Mr. Stirling asked
"Well, I'm a very hard worker and a quick learner, as well as being keen to get stuck in and get my head down."
Mr .Stirling looks him up and down again, smiles briefly, puts his hand onto the table and replies with a soft, "you can stop there, you sound perfect for the role."
Joey was taken aback, "th- thank you so much!" he eagerly responded, "what happens now?"
"Well, we shall continue to have a brief discussion, and begin to get you ready for the role, how about starting today?"
Joey eagerly nodded back, not being able to speak due to his excitement.
The 2 kept chatting for about 10 minutes until Mr. Stirling gave him a glass of water, "here, drink up, you're bound to be parched after talking for so long." he said with a comforting smile.
Joey gulped the water down and kept on talking, not realising how Mr. Stirling's words were pulling him in, making him feel drowsy.
20 minutes pass and Joey is apologising for yawning and having droopy eyes, when Mr. Stirling takes the chance to say, "it's okay... that reaction is normal" as he steps forward, closing Joey's eyes with his own hands, watching him fall into a deep trance.
Mr. Stirling opens his drawer, pulls out a pair of headphones and places them carefully over Joey's ears.
"Listen to the sounds, Joey Listen to what they are telling you..."
Listen
Obey
Sink
Listen
Obey
Sink
A deep hum pairs itself with the repeating voice, pulling Joey into the deepest sleep of his life.
Mr. Stirling removes one of the speakers so he can whisper into Joey's ear.
"Fall deep for me boy. You want to become my new worker. You want to change yourself for me."
Mr. Stirling puts his hand through Joey's hair, "we'll have to fix this first..."
2 hours pass and the recording finally ends.
Joey is still un-responsive in the same pose as when he came in.
Mr. Stirling took Joey's hand, and led him into the adjoining room.
"Listen boy. Change your clothes first, I have laid out your new uniform for you. Do you understand?"
"...Y-Y-Yes Si--r...." Joey slowly droned, barely managing to get any words out.
Joey stepped into the wardrobe, and after 2 minutes he emerged in his new uniform.
Mr. Stirling circled Joey like a predator with his prey, "I think we need to make you look even more suitable to serve me, don't you think?"
"mmphhh" Joey couldn't even get any words out at all anymore, as Mr. Stirling took his hand once more, taking him into the office basement.
Joey was pushed into a leather chair, eyes closed once more, and the only sound in the room was a soft buzzzz from the clippers.
"Need to make you smoother and neater boy." Mr. Stirling beckoned across the room.
The clippers worked their way across Joey's face, removing all hairs from his face.
Afterall, all of Mr. Stirling's workers needed to be entirely smooth.
After Joey's treatment was completed, his eyes opened, but there was nothing there.
"I am your servant to be used however you see fit." Joey moaned.
Smooth out your free will.
A Personal Concoction
Rain pressed softly against the tall windows of the townhouse, turning the city outside into streaks of gold and grey. Inside, everything was warm light and careful.
Adrian Vale stood in the kitchen with one hand braced against the marble counter, watching ice melt slowly in a glass of bourbon he’d stopped drinking ten minutes ago.
He was 46.
Most people guessed younger. Not because he chased it, he didn’t bother with desperate things like dyed hair or flashy clothes—but because time had settled on him gently. Silver threaded his dark hair at the temples. His face had sharpened instead of softened with age. He moved with the kind of confidence that made younger men straighten unconsciously when he looked at them.
And they always looked.
Especially the frat boys.
Loud in packs. Sunburned shoulders in summer. Cheap cologne layered over beer and detergent. They arrived everywhere like they owned the room, then folded embarrassingly fast under direct attention.
Adrian liked that moment best.
The shift.
The instant confidence turned into nervous laughter.
He crossed the kitchen and picked up his phone from beside the sink. Notifications glowed across the screen, messages stacked on top of each other, invitations, ignored conversations, half-finished replies.
None of the names mattered much anymore.
His townhouse sat just off campus territory, close enough that students drifted through the neighborhood constantly. Over the years the place had developed a reputation. Not openly. Nothing obvious. Just whispers passed between people after parties.
Adrian always hosted the best afterparties.
Enough music. Enough alcohol. Enough mystery.
No one ever asked too many questions about who actually knew him.
He walked into the living room, pausing near the massive windows. Across the street, wet pavement reflected neon from a bar sign down the block. Groups of students moved through the rain in clusters, jackets over their heads, laughing too loudly.
A fraternity house stood three streets away. Tonight would be busy there. Friday nights always were.
Adrian loosened the cuffs of his black shirt and glanced toward the hallway mirror. Calm expression. Relaxed posture. The exact right amount of warmth in his eyes.
Practiced.
He opened Instagram first, then another app after that, scrolling slowly through stories and tagged photos from campus parties already underway.
A familiar pattern emerged quickly: Red plastic cups. Kitchen counters. Sweaty shoulders. Group photos taken too close.
Then he stopped.
A blond guy leaned halfway out of frame in someone’s story, laughing at something off-camera. Broad shoulders under a varsity jacket. Baseball cap backwards. A face that was handsome in the careless way youth made effortless.
The caption tagged a fraternity house Adrian recognized immediately.
He watched the clip twice.
Then a third time.
Outside, rain tapped steadily against the glass while Adrian smiled faintly to himself and picked up his coat from the back of the sofa.
Tonight, he decided, he was going to invite someone over.
Adrian sat at the kitchen island with his phone in one hand and bourbon in the other, scrolling through fraternity stories until he found the blond guy again.
Ethan Mercer. 22. Sigma Tau.
Every photo looked the same, laughing with friends, baseball cap backwards, arm around somebody’s shoulder. Comfortable. Social. Exactly the kind of guy who never expected anything strange to happen to him.
Adrian posted a quick story to a private circle connected to students he’d met before.
Afterparty at mine tonight. People heading over around 11.
Almost immediately, reactions started rolling in.
A few minutes later, a new message appeared.
yo is this actually happening tonight
Adrian smiled slightly.
Depends who’s asking.
Ethan. Saw Tyler repost it
Adrian waited before replying.
Yeah. Swing by if you want. Few people already here.
That was all it took.
By the time Ethan arrived, rain clung to the shoulders of his jacket. The townhouse stood quiet at the end of the street, warm light glowing through tall windows.
No loud music outside. No crowd.
Still, he walked up the steps and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
“Ethan,” Adrian said, like he’d been expecting him.
Up close, he was intimidatingly attractive. Older, confident, perfectly relaxed.
“Hey,” Ethan said with a nervous laugh. “Hope I’m not too early.”
“Not at all. Come in.”
Ethan stepped inside.
Soft music drifted through the house. Amber light reflected off dark wood floors and expensive furniture.
Then he glanced toward the living room.
No people.
No noise.
No party at all.
"Where's the party at?" Ethan enquired, sounding nervous looking around the townhouse.
That's when his fate was sealed...
"The party has just begun" Adrian whispered, his eyes glowing red, starting into Ethan's soft eyes.
Ethan felt his whole body weaken. He tried to fight it off but he couldn't.
He fell to the floor and felt Adrian start dragging him somewhere...
When Ethan came to and tried to open his eyes, he couldn't see anything. He could just feel something pressing against his face.
"Wh-where am I?" He desperately groaned, trying to wiggle free.
"Where you belong now. To me" Adrian responded coldly. "Just watch as the spiral comes on and relaxes your mind, it makes the next part a lot easier for you..."
Sink deeper
Give in
Sleep
Sink deeper
Give in
Sleep
Sink deeper
Give in
Sleep
All Ethan could do was resist. He tried to resist as long as he could but he was falling drowsy.
Ethan heard rolling along the floor, and something long go into his mouth...
Ethan tried to resist but he couldn't.
He felt a thick substance go into his mouth and he did everything in his power to spit it out.
Until Adrian walked over and held his mouth shut, whispering into Ethan's ear, "this is my favourite part, you'll be one of them soon..."
Ethan finally mustered up the strength to ask, "what's happening to me?"
Adrian laughed, "well, firstly, the headset is calming your subconscious mind to make this process a little quicker. But, my favourite part, this substance flowing through your entire body right now. Spit. That's right, the spit from the lucky guy before you. And this bucket under your chair catching your drool. Spit to be used by our next plaything. Isn't that fun?"
Ethan couldn't talk any more, but after hearing that, thoughts were racing through his mind, someone had to get him out of this. Someone had to know where he is...
Almost as if Adrian knew what he was thinking, "no one is coming to get you... I sent a story from your phone telling everyone how you're done for the night. They won't notice for at least 12 hours..."
Ethan grew completely hopeless, and seemingly gave up, feeling Adrian stroking his cheek, feeling the spit course his veins...
Ten minutes later, Ethan became entirely unresponsive...
Adrian knew his work here was done and went back upstairs, ready to come back down in an hour when the transformation should be complete.
Adrian started scrolling through all of Ethan's social medias.
Looking at his life, who he used to be, his friends, his boyfriend...
Adrian cherished getting to know each of his victims. After all, they were about to spend eternity together.#
About 55 minutes later, Adrian stood up and headed back down to the basement.
And what he saw was exactly what he wanted.
He could not be more pleased.
Every hint of life, erased.
"Follow me." Adrian ordered.
"Yes Sir." Ethan droned in a robotic tone.
Adrian took Ethan into an adjoining room, removed Ethan's clothing and placed a collar and some new shorts onto him.
"Doesn't that suit you much better?" Adrian jeered.
"Yes Sir." Ethan droned in the same monotone robotic tone.
"Wonderful. No one would even recognise you anymore..."
Adrian took Ethan's hand and took him into a deeper room.
"Go. Join the others, you might recognise a few familiar faces..."
Ethan stepped into the crowd without question.
Adrian was right, many of Ethan's old classmates and frat brothers were also down here, supposed to have just dropped out or moved away.
No one could have expected this.
Ethan would have been mortified.
That was, if he could still think for himself...
2 days later, Adrian came back down to his collection of toys.
"Ethan, I have a visitor coming. Your buddy Matt, if only you could remember him... Anyways, I need your spit so he can join you."
Adrian walked close to Ethan, started stroking his cheek and whispering in his ear, and just like that, Ethan began to drain his seed for his master, after all, his only purpose was to serve and transform others...
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Stench of a Man
Liam was wandering around outside the club he just got kicked out from for being too intoxicated. The night was only young at 1:04am and Liam wanted to stay out so he decided to take a little rest out back to regain himself.
About 2 minutes later and he started to walk back to the main street but he bumped into someone on the way back.
"Sorry mate, didn't see you there" Liam apologised, rubbing his eyes.
"No bother. Was hoping to meet someone tonight..." The man responded, smiling back.
"Woah.. what's that... thing??" Liam asked, stepping closer for a closer look.
"What do you mean?" The man responded, putting a confused look on his face like a mask.
"That... tail?" Liam pointed at it, and took a step back, scratching his head. He wasn't that drunk surely?
"Think you're imagining things boy..." The man stepped closer, and Liam felt a pull between them, nothing like he'd ever felt before.
Liam took a step forward again and talked to the man for a couple minutes before he suggested Liam came back to his place so they could talk properly. Liam agreed with little hesitation, still fuzzy in his head.
An hour later, they stepped out of a taxi and Liam walked up to the man's apartment.
"What's your name anyways?
"Sigurd. Come inside now, I'll get you a drink."
Sigurd handed Liam a glass of water which he downed instantly. The ride to Sigurd's apartment was long, and there was a strange smell in the taxi that seemed to linger in Liam's mouth.
Within seconds, Liam's head grew heavy and he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and fell asleep.
While Liam was sleeping, Sigurd couldn't help but smile. He loved this part, where he was waiting for his prey to awaken. They never know what's about to hit them...
Three hours passed before Liam woke up, and when he opened his eyes, he tried to move. But he couldn't. He was stuck. Paralysed.
Sigurd sat opposite, admiring his catch.
"Wh-whats happening?" Liam quivered, trying to get up and run.
"Everything is falling into place" Sigurd responded, stroking one of his tails, "see, they were real all along, you shouldn't have doubted yourself. he laughed.
"Someone will notice I'm missing, you won't get away with what you're planning!"
"Heard it a thousand times before. Never stopped me. Now. shall be begin" Sigurd softly said across the room, before taking a big breath in and...
ppppffffttttttt
Thick, green, gas came pooling out from behind Sigurd and a foul stench filled the air. Sigurd couldn't hold back his cackling as the gas filled the air, "oh I love this part..."
Liam couldn't hold is breath any longer, the foul smell began to find its way into his nose and his mouth, infecting his entire body.
Liam's body twitched and spasmed as more and more gas entered his lungs. Not long after, a black and white fur blanked wrapped its way around Liam's body, encasing him whole, keeping him trapped.
"That's right Liam... let my stench take over your body. You will soon be mine. You will soon join me and my subjects and we will take over this town one man at a time."
Liam's eyes were fully rolled back into his head now, he was barely conscious the the world around him, all he could smell was the foul stench of Sigurd, and all he could hear were Sigurd's words.
But inside his mind... Liam was trying to fight it, he was trying a shard as he could to move, to yell out, anything to save himself. But it was no use...
"I guess you'd like to know, why you? Why did I choose you to become one of us? The greatest thing is. I didn't. He did..."
Sigurd stepped aside and a man came wandering around the corner.
"Remember him?" Sigurd jeered.
Liam managed to make a slighting grunting sound, after recognising the man as someone he met while inside one of the clubs. They got talking, had lots of drinks together, but he disappeared when Liam went to the toilet.
Now that he was remembering more, Liam did remember how he started to feel even drunker after the man left him and he finished his drink...
"I had Troy here seek a mate out himself, yesterday, he was in your position. And now he needs someone to be with, roam the night with. And he chose you. How romantic. He's very new to this though, hence why he's still dressed in the clothes he was wearing where I stole him from after his basketball game. But that's something you can do together."
Liam eventually loses consciousness altogether and collapses to the ground.
"Ugh... I hate it when this happens. So weak. Troy... Finish him off and go take him to get changed before coming back." Sigurd demanded, heading out back into the night.
"Yes Sir" moaned Troy, stepping closer to Liam, pulling his face up by the chin and staring into his eyes...
The way Troy's eyes glowed as the smell continued to seep into Liam's system was making Liam feel so ethereal. He didn't even feel like he was inside his body anymore. The pleasure was building and no more thoughts about running were invading his mind.
"Come with me my new mate. We must make ourselves presentable for our Master and finish you off completely."
Troy pulled Liam to the next room, shut the door and a faint...
pppfffttt
could be heard from the other side.
20 minutes later, Troy emerged from the room, dressed in a luxury suit, not long followed by Liam who steps out looking exactly the same, with an added tail on his back.
Liam's transformation is complete and he couldn't be happier.
Liam and Troy can't hold their excitement any longer and gave into their instincts, embracing one another into a tight kiss.
Sigurd watches from a distance, gleeful at his most recent transformation, taking in the fumes that Liam and Troy were letting out in excitement.
Soon... all the men of the city will become one of them...
My Mind Is Plastic (Star-Lord Drone TF)
Out of all the creepy desolate planets that Peter Quill had wandered through, this one was the worst. There was an infinite universe with an endless number of planets, so why did he have to end up on the one that had the galaxy’s creepiest warehouse on it? The job was simple, so simple that Star Lord was alone when he landed his newly repaired ship, Milano, on the planet’s cracked rocky surface. Once upon a time, there was a company that spanned solar systems. The great Anitron sold robotics, the most advanced toys for the whole galaxy to enjoy. Yet after one accident some cycles ago, everything had seemingly been abandoned. By the time Peter arrived toward the great dark structure that was once the head factory of Anitron, he only had one thought—they could take ‘seemingly’ out the sentence.
When he stepped in, the only sound was the constant howl of wind, deep and guttural and making the company quarters more like a chasm. Peter had no idea what had happened to the place. Nobody did. But from the skeletons he could see strewn around debris of glass and concrete, he could tell it wasn’t good. That was why Peter Quill did the most sane thing. He popped his headphones over his ears and pushed down on the Sony Walkman.
♬ I CAN’T STOP THIS FEELING ♬
♬ DEEP INSIDE OF ME ♬
Peter’s smile was instant as he danced down the abandoned halls. He ignored the ash that was all over scorched ground and couldn’t hear the creaks of the building as he descended further down. His mission? To scout the place and retrieve whatever scraps of useful technology was left behind for a rival corporation. He figured it would be a safer job than the bounty hunting contract that was offered instead. So Peter Quill continued to dance, gyrate and hip thrust his way throughout the headquarters turned mausoleum. He knew the elevators down to the basement level weren’t working and so he crept down the stairs, hoping to find something good left behind in their laboratories. Or at least something interesting. Perhaps without the music he would have found the whirrs of cameras following his movements interesting. If he would have noticed them.
The underside of the building remained the cleanest. Though there was still debris from caved in ceilings and shattered glass of laboratory windows, it was a far cry from the hell on the surface. Enough so that on the fifth loop of Hooked on a Feeling, Peter pressed pause when he finally found a laboratory that was intact. Or at least it looked more intact compared to the others (which wasn’t saying much with their collapsed doors and scorched lab tables).
For one it helped that the room was lit. Peter hummed to himself as he did a double take when he first rounded the corridor of the third sublevel and saw the weak blue light illuminating from the place. The fact the windows were intact was already surprising enough. But the place having power was downright intriguing. Peter glanced left, then right, then left again and then shot the electronic device beside the door. At once sparks flew and the sealed doors opened with a shriek of metal. Peter sniffed at the sudden sickeningly sweet smell that oozed out the lab.
“Thought this was a toy place not a candy one,” Peter fanned the stale sweet air, though it did little to help.
Something else about the lab instantly let Peter know how different it was. It was huge. Unlike the others which were square boxes that Peter passed by in a few strides, this lab reached further beyond. Rows and rows of workbenches stood to hold nothing and be attended to by nobody. Peter crept forward, hands curling near his blasters like one of those Earth Westerns that he used to watch as he stepped in. His eyes narrowed when he saw what few things were on the workbenches, brightly painted animals.
At least at a first glance.
The closer Peter got to them, the more he could easily see the metallic sheen, the weak blue lights that flickered above reflecting off their skin. One of them was a fox with long metal fingers and no arm. Another was a rabbit that was missing its faceplate. Each of them seemed to have been toys, impressively large at around two to three tall that hadn’t been finished. One of the mascots cracked to life.
“Welcome to Anitron, where the fun never endssssssssssssssssss-” Its head jerked back and forth like a gear had gotten stuck before its voice devolved into a low groan and it depowered. Peter froze, staring at the creepiness as the sound of something else captured his attention, the sound of bubbles.
“What the fuck is this place?” Quill murmured, creeping along to the sound as if it were a siren song. He knew it was trouble but that only made it more enticing as the lights were weaker in the next half of the lab, making him only see vague shapes. If it weren’t for the gentle green glow of those shapes then Peter probably wouldn’t have recognised what he was seeing. But then he saw the shimmering green and giant bubbles and realised what he was seeing, a row of tanks filled with floating bodies. “What the fu-” The laboratory finished for him by suddenly coming to life. The dead lights turned white and Peter aimed with both blasters at nothing in particular, the tanks, the benches, the door he had come through. But nobody was there and nothing moved, except that of a screen. A section of high wall folded backwards, flipping over to reveal a large flat screen that jutted out. It unclenched from the wall and then began to move closer toward Peter, becoming the next target of his blasters. Even more so when it came to life.
“Ah…apologies but I have always had a flair for the dramatics,” a gravelly voice sounded out. Peter squinted at the screen, filled with the image of a man or something like a man, he couldn’t tell. Their face was hidden behind a polished silver mask and their body was draped with a lab coat. Though Peter could see the pale skin of a neck, he swore that just out of frame there were dark grooves where flesh merged into metal. The man had hair, spiky and brown, less like it was styled that way and more ragged. “I have been following you Mr. Peter Jason Quill, I believe that’s your name if records are updated. That or along with being a criminal you’re also a hacker who can alter records or practice identity theft. You aren’t and you don’t, do you?” Peter stood there, baffled and then lowered his blasters with a smile.
“Knew this job couldn’t have been easy. Why can’t any of the jobs I do be easy? Come on man,” complained Peter, appropriately acting like a child in a place where toys were built for them. Surprisingly, the man behind the mask let out a chuckle.
“Funny. They did not mention that on the records, but I always prefer meeting someone face to face as opposed to just relying on their…CV,” said the stranger pointedly. Peter made a gesture toward the screen and then himself, confused. “What?”
“I mean…dude, you call this face to face? Just because you’ve seen my face and I see your…not-face, doesn’t mean this counts,” scoffed Peter.
“Oh but it does Peter. You see technology can do such wonders…” The screen began to move suddenly, motioning as the man spoke. It was mounted on a rail Peter hadn’t noticed before and whirred around him in a slow circle as the man spoke, gliding from one side of the room to the other. “I find that it can even be a replacement for the things people do. Maybe even for people someday. Don’t you agree?” Peter took a moment, as if seriously thinking it over before giving a deadpan no. “A shame. From my sensors, you are in the Mascot Program. I apologise, I haven’t finished my work to show you.” The screen turned, facing the direction of the tanks.
“Uh…your what? You did that?”
“Yes, I did. You see I was attempting to use some of the survivors from the…accident here at Anitron for my experiment. But unfortunately…” The screen turned back toward him. “It seems I need a non-injured body to test on.”
“Uh…test on? Test what?” “Why…this.”
At once a spiral suddenly lit up the screen. Peter blinked. And then he couldn’t blink anymore. He tried to look away, but there was a sudden pulsating pressure behind his eyes. The spiral seemed to grow larger and larger until it was the only thing he could see.
“W-Wha is…wha…” Peter tried to look away again but it was as if the more he tried, the harder it was to do and the harder it was to do the more he tried. His thoughts were becoming a vortex of circular logic that was making no sense, almost like the thoughts one would have in a dream. Peter tried to reach toward his trusty blasters but the more that he tried, the harder it was to do.
He thought about just closing his eyes, not bothering to look anywhere but each time he blinked, it was as if the spiral was burned into his retina, still playing. It looped constantly in his mind and it was suddenly just so easy to continue following the spiral, at the looping pattern that swirled and felt like a black hole that was sucking his mind into its centre to be crushed. The longer he stared at the spiral, the closer he felt his mind was to the event horizon.
“You see…a non-injured person can focus on something beyond their pain and I have worked so hard to do this…to create the perfect subliminal to alter one’s DNA once they come into contact with the gas. Did you like that by the way? I was worried you would have smelled it by now and turned back.”
The voice continued but it sounded as if it was echoing from everywhere, a sudden omnidirectional force that was seizing his mind.
“No injuries and a weak mind combined with the gas you inhaled filled with nanomachines and it is a perfect combination. I would like to thank you Peter Jason Quill…”
“T-Thank…thank…f-for…wha…” Peter’s voice faltered as drool was already starting to escape the corner of his mouth.
“Why for being the first person to submit to the Mascot Program! Now repeat after me…” There was no way Peter was going to repeat anything this fucker sai-
I AM HEAVY.
The words felt so strong as they appeared on the screen, a brief flash, just enough for his mind to cling onto and understand before disappearing for good. As soon as the stranger said it, Peter felt a wave of fatigue cause him to sink.
He gasped as it began with his feet, his boots felt as though they had just crashed into the floor as tile cracked beneath him. The muscles in his legs seized and tensed, caught in some kind of forever flex whilst his arms fell to the sides. His fingers weren’t even able to try and grab at the blasters falteringly, instead barely twitching as both arms suddenly felt like they were made of lead.
“D-Dude what the fuck-”
I AM METAL.
“No c-come on wait…”
Peter’s eyes widened, the only semblance of some control that he still had over his body as a coldness started to form over his skin. A rhythm began beneath his ribs, different from his heartbeat yet similar enough in cadence like it was replacing the organ. A sudden heat was searing through his chest and making him almost wince in pain, though pain quickly started to feel dulled down.
All touch and sensation did in his chest, all feeling receding except for two, sensitivity and with it, pleasure. Peter could feel the cold make his nipples harden before they sank further into his chest. His shoulders locked, the sound of whirring at the shoulder blades like they had been disintended from the arms and fitted into place.
Steam hissed suddenly from the skin as both shoulders locked into position.
The same sound travelled down Peter’s spine as it aligned upright, forcing him to stand taller. Peter knew it was impossible but he swore that he could feel the nanomachines coursing through him, like tiny insects that were worming their way through his hands and feet, up his limbs, toward his chest. He could feel them dancing around his bones, latching themselves onto his skeleton, forcing his body to thicken as it grew more boxy and heavy at the chest. Beneath the skin, heavy steel frameworks began to form and interlock against the skin (or rather what was now the much more shiny lifelike shell).
MY MIND IS PLASTIC.
“N-no way am I saying-”
Peter’s next words didn’t matter. That’s what he told himself or rather the nanomachines or the spiral or something told him as he continued staring. There was another rhythm, the cadence of whatever replaced his heartbeat, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, that continued on in a similar enough cadence. As it did, warmth started pooling through him, oozing through his head first as his eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head. But his eyes didn’t move because Peter realised that his eyes no longer blinked. They had grown glassy and flat, fixed forever on the spiral which burrowed deeper and deeper into his mind. His hands felt like one appendage, the fingers thickening into rounded metallic digits that let the white light of the laboratory melt over them in a sheen. The same happened for his feet, trapped in the boots as Star Lord couldn’t have even lifted them if he tried (and he did, constantly screaming at himself to just run, get out, call the mission a dud, laser a warning sign into the side of the planet and fly off). Unlike his hands, the digits merged together into one thick piece, only separated by some detailed painting of lines to indicate the different toes even existed. The arches flattened completely and any and all blemishes or scars were replaced by the smooth texture of plastic, the same that raced up Peter’s limbs.
But it was his mind that he could feel was corroding the most, even as his chest expanded outwards like his ribs were pushed from the inside out.
I AM A TOY.
“W-Won’t get away withhhhhhhh…” Peter’s words slurred as his jaw grew heavier, his wide eyes desperately wanting to look around in instinctive panic. But instead they were fixed forward as a smile began to creep over Peter’s face. “No no nuh nuhhhhhhhh…” His chin separated from his body. It fell downward with a hollow plastic clack, hinging open like a piece of a toy. Two screws at the very back left it attached to the inner jaw whilst the chin dangled uselessly. “Nuhhh huuullppp mmuhhh…”
Peter garbled as the sickening cold infected the rest of his face. His eyes now no longer wanted to look around but roll into the back of his head as he felt all feelings recede from the skin except for pleasure. His cheeks rounded out slightly, almost rosy as Peter could imagine how smooth they looked with light reflecting off them. His nose receded in size slightly, flattening and hardening before he could feel the cartilage turn into mechanical pieces that let his nose be slotted onto his face. His flat eyes were allowed to blink once more, each blink clacking as his eyelids thickened into hardened plastic.
Peter’s auburn wavy hair hardened and no longer drifted in the wind, instead the hairs coalesced together, thickening and turning slightly brighter. As if he could imagine some marketing executive telling someone to make his hair almost ginger, to make his design unique, as if he wasn’t a person. A voice told him because he wasn’t a person. The spiral told him he wasn't a person. His mind told him he wasn’t a person.
His brain was calcifying. Peter Quill stared helplessly from somewhere deep inside himself as the frantic electricity of his thoughts slowed and hardened. Instead all the electricity was something that was becoming like his thoughts, something to happen at a set amount of time, with a set amount of power, in a set way.
Otherwise, it was something controlled. Suddenly every wild desperate impulse that had once been in the brain of Star Lord had seemed to freeze in place. His neurons no longer sparked naturally. Instead they aligned and clicked and fired only in neat patterns, each thought moving along invisible tracks laid down by the Mascot Program.
He could feel it happening and it was perhaps the last human feeling he had before the intoxicating pleasure of his sensitive body took hold. All the while Star Lord could feel the soft folds of his brain stiffened inside his skull as it became flatter and denser and smoother and colder. All electric chaos of memory and instinct and fear was being replaced with something clean, programmed, simple and worst of all, corporately safe.
I
AM
A
TOY
The spiral repeated emphasising each word with its own second long screentime. Toy…Toy…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…The word screamed inside Star Lord and suddenly started to make the gears inside his chest whir and the electric signals of his motherboard light up. The circuitry within him that was once his veins let the electric flow and send signals to the rest of his body like a real brain as Star Lord™ reared up suddenly. His half lidded eyes sprung wide awake and commands slid into place where memories used to be.
SMILE.
SING.
WAVE.
ENTERTAIN.
I AM A TOY.
The spiral turned off and in an instant Star Lord almost did the same. Except somewhere deep inside, behind all the metal and gears and circuitry, there was still some faint pulse, some semblance of Peter. The ability to feel was something unable to be replicated and so with it, a small vestige of the real Peter Quill remained, to feel everything for his new animatronic self. Even if it meant he would be stuck not wanting to feel a thing because he looked-
“Star Lord activate.”
At once Star Lord™ reared up again, his lower jack opening up on hinges with a clack. It moved up and down as a voice box activated in the back of his mouth.
What the fuck have you done to me?! Star Lord™ tried to say.
“I’M STAR LORD THE LEGENDARY OUTLAW!” Star Lord™ said with a wide smile as his head glided from side to side. The man on screen chuckled.
“Perfect Peter, catchphrase 1!”
Catchphrase?! I don’t have a fucking-
“BLASTERS LOCKED AND LOADED.” The sound of his blasters letting out a high pitched whine when he activated them sounded out in the background as he spoke. His own voice came with damn sound effects, he thought. He sounded ridiculous, he sounded-
“Catchphrase 22!”
22?! Why the he hell would I have 22 catch-
“DID SOMEBODY SAY, SAVING THE UNIVERSE?” A low quality sound effect of his clipped laughter sounded out after he spoke. In fact all of what he was saying sounded like a bad recording of him, his voice crunchy with static and sounding as hollow as the mouth it came from.
“Dance time!”
Wait wait wait what the fuck does that mean?
“DANCE-OFF PROTOCOL!” Just then, the music of I Can’t Stop This Feeling sounded out from the speaker in his open mouth as Star Lord’s fingers clasped together. He began to swivel from side to side, stopping midway through and adjusting his head as his body parts moved separately.
Both arms followed repeated motions, gliding through the air slowly as he realised he was doing a slow version of the robot dance whilst standing completely still.
Only his upper half moved whilst the song played, sounding as if it came from a faulty radio in the corner of some dark echoey room.
“Stop. Perfect…Absolutely perfect. Star Lord, register me as your master.”
No I’m not…not going to…
“YES MASTER! STAR LORD READY FOR YOUR COMMAND!”
“Now come to my office, fifth level. We have a lot of work to do and if you’re as good as you are…well, I think you just might change the galaxy, Peter Quill.”
“READY FOR THE STARS WITH STAR LORD!” Star Lord™ replied after registering one word, galaxy. He began to move, one foot after the other with automated ease, the sounds of springs following each heavy footfall. All Star Lord had to do was just simply walk over toward the right level and go be with his Master. That was all he could think about. It was all he needed to think about. He was now just Star Lord™. And that was all he ever needed to be.
Soon a whole galaxy would agree with him too and if any heroes were to try and rescue him, they would find out just how good it would feel to be something like Star Lord™.
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The Tie
I was meeting with Dr. Richardson, my advisor, for the first time upon entering college undecided on a major. I figured I would at least wear a polo and slacks to show I was taking it seriously, though I was more of a t-shirt and shorts guy day to day.
When I entered his office, I was taken aback by the smell of tobacco and was greeted by an out-of-shape man with a high flattop, dark horn-rimmed glasses, a perfectly smooth face, and a lit pipe. It was clear that his shirt collar was a little tight by the small mound of fat just above it. Around the neck of his pressed white shirt, a dark art-deco tie was neatly cinched in a full Windsor knot. He was clearly an old-fashioned man, a fogey of sorts, but he didn’t look a day over 30.
“Henry, please have a seat,” he said sternly, motioning to the simple wooden chairs in front of him.
“Thank you,” I obliged, reaching out my hand for a handshake. “I’m happy you decided to meet with me this early in the semester. I’m really out of my element and have picked some classes, but still need to fill out my schedule a bit more.”
“Of course, Henry! I’m here to help and give direction and guidance,” Dr. Richardson chortled. “We can’t have you going down the wrong path and wasting these formative years.”
I let out an small chuckle and shifted in my seat, stifling a small cough from his pipe smoke. It was a pleasant smell, but I certainly wasn’t used to it as a total non-smoker.
He continued, “So, I see you have 12 hours of classes down, all gen-eds. Are there any majors you’re thinking about exploring?”
I let out a small cough, unable to contain it any longer, stammering “Yes. I was thinking of looking at the theater department. Maybe adding acting I or set design to my schedule.”
“Is my pipe bothering you, son?”
“It smells nice, but I’m not used to smoke is all. I’ll be fine.” I smiled somewhat uncomfortably through it, my head in somewhat of a haze from it all.
A sly smile slowly formed on his lips. “Glad to hear it. Have you considered looking outside of the arts? They can be good to blow off steam, but one must be focused on employment as well. Have you considered the engineering department?”
I took a deep breath in and relaxed, actually enjoying the pipe smoke more. My mind felt a little foggy, but I replied “No... I was good at science... but never enjoyed it that much.”
“Well, Henry, it could be quite a career for you. I’m head of the department and I’ve even arranged for summer internships at NASA. It’s just something for you to consider.”
I hung on his words. “It could be a good career choice.”
“Yes, Henry, but only certain types of men succeed in those fields,” he said with a large grin, rising and walking to a mahogany wardrobe behind him.
I was now curious and solely focused on the man in front of me. “What kind of men?”
He pulled a white, short-sleeve dress shirt on a hanger from the wardrobe and laid it on his desk in front of me. “Rigid men. Traditional men. Men with a sense of purpose and an eye for detail. They are the ones that become engineers.”
I instinctively reached for the shirt, but Dr. Richardson grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes, exhaling a puff of smoke into my face. “Is that the type of man you wish to be, Henry?”
I inhaled deeply, my eyes closing slightly. I exhaled, “Yes.”
He guided my hand down to the shirt inquiring, “Yes, what, son?”
My hand made contact with the fabric. “Yes, sir, Dr. Richardson.”
“Good, son. Now take your shirt off.”
I was putty in this man’s hands. I had no resistance to however he wanted to mould me. “Yes, sir, Dr. Richardson.” I stood up and slid my shirt off over my head as he picked up the white shirt and approached from around his desk.
“Now, throw your shirt in the trash. You won’t be needing it anymore.” He took the short-sleeved dress shirt off its hanger and draped it over my shoulders from behind. “This is what engineers wear.”
I pulled my arms through the sleeves as he began buttoning the buttons for me, the warm bowl of his pipe mere inches from my nose. I was speechless. I wanted to become an engineer. I wanted to be like Dr. Richardson.
When the top button was done, he reached down, unbuckled my belt, and unfastened my fly. He slid his thumb into the waistband of my underwear and began sliding the shirt in, fully tucking it into my boxers. He pulled my pants up higher, zipped my fly back up, and re-buckled my belt.
Puffing more smoke as he spoke, he soothed me, saying “There we are, Henry, tucked and tidy as an engineer should be.” He ushered me behind his desk, guiding me to sit in his chair. He spun it around toward the wardrobe and opened the other door, revealing a mirror. “You’re beginning to look the part, son.”
I locked eyes with myself in the mirror, taking it all in. I was beginning to look like an old-fashioned rocket scientist.
Dr. Richardson placed his hands on my shoulders as I stared. When my eyes finally drifted up toward his reflection, he tightened his grip slightly, inquiring “Now does your hair look tidy like an engineer’s?”
I took a full look at my medium-length black mop. My bangs were nearly to my eyebrows. “No, sir, Dr. Richardson.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement, then, Henry.” He said, taking off my frameless glasses. “You have so much potential.” He opened a drawer to his desk and removed a comb and Brylcreem. He rubbed the cream meticulously on his hands before working it thoroughly into my hair. “With some proper guidance, you will be a great engineer.” He brandished the comb and combed in a hard left part. “You’re looking much better now, Henry.”
New, black, horn-rimmed glasses were placed on my face, and I could fully see the harsh parting, neat comb lines, and sheen to my hair. Not a hair would fall out of place any time soon.
He wiped off his hands, rubbed my shoulders firmly, and lectured me: “You’ll still have to go to a proper barber to get that fully taken care of, but this will more than do for now.” He removed the pipe from his mouth and smiled with pride. “I looked very similar myself at your age. What do you think, Henry?”
“I look very good, sir—like a real engineer.”
“Good, then! A glimpse at the future. Still, I do have a gift for all incoming engineering students.” He placed the pipe back in his mouth, reached toward his desk, and pulled open a drawer. He removed another art-deco tie matching his own. It unfurled in front of me as he continued, “That is, if you choose to enroll in the engineering school.”
My eyes shifted from the pattern on the tie he held before me, to his own, all the way up to his face and pipe, then finally to my own reflection. I wanted this to be my future as an old-fashioned engineer. I gulped and let it out: “Yes, sir. I will enroll in the engineering school.”
He leaned down and hugged me closely. “Very good, Henry. A wise choice. Now, stand up for me.”
As I stood, he looped the retro tie deftly around my collar and tied it quickly into a loose full Windsor like his own. He glanced down at the knot before it was fully retracted to my neck and then into my eyes. With a grand smile, he slowly tightened it around my neck until I could feel it on my Adam’s apple. Lastly, he took his pipe out of his mouth and slipped it into mine as he stepped behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders proudly.
I stared into the mirror again, lost in what seemed like a picture old man and his protege. We stood in silence for a moment before he finally broke through. “Take a puff, Henry,” he offered.
As I locked eyes with him in the mirror, looking every part his contemporary, I took a puff of the pipe. As the taste of tobacco and vanilla flooded my mouth, I too began to smile as Dr. Richardson announced “Welcome to the engineering program, son.”
One of my favorite vintage transformation stories
Hypnovember 24- Static
Dean walk on his way back to his room when he stopped in the restroom for a quick pit stop. He didn't usually use the public restroom all that often but needed to go. Other people in there didn't bother him at all but when he rounded the corner and saw a muscled country boy taking pictures of himself in the mirror and flexing. He couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for stopping in there. The way the man was dressed coupled with the fact that he was wearing sunglasses inside seemed off to him but he didn't pay him any real mind, figuring that he would leave once there was another person in there witnessing his narcicism.
Much to his annoyance however, the man remained plastered in front of the mirror, flexing and staring at his phone. When he exited the stall he could see that the man's screen was flickering and flashing, filled with static.
For some reason Dean found himself staring at the flashing screen in a mixture partly consisting of curiousity as to what about it was so interesting and another part that it seemed to make infect his head with the same static flickering on the screen. A pleasant tingle pulsed all over his body as he stood there in a sort of daze.
It wasn't until someone else entered the restroom that it pulled him from the screen and he realized that he was flexing in the mirror alongside with the man. Slightly embarassed by the look he was getting from the other man, he quickly left the restroom and retreated to the privacy of his room.
Later that night he was laying in bed thinking about the events earlier and felt the need to use the restroom again. Even though he had access to a much more private toilet, something made him want to use the public one again. The pleasant tingling static coursed through his mind and he found himself on the way to the restroom once more.
Upon entering he was taken back slightly at the amount of men standing in front of the mirror flexing. Most of them wearing similar attire. Jeans, boots, cowboy hat, belt buckles and strangely enough, sunglasses. If the static in his head hadn't been so overwhelming he would have found it wierd but instead he found himself wading in and taking a place in between two other men. One of the noticed that he wasn't wearing sunglasses and pressed a pair into his hand.
Without a second thought he slipped the shades on. Immediately his vision shifted and he could see the entire mirror was the flickering and flashing static that had ensnared him earlier.
The tingling sensation in his body and mind increased tenfold and even basic thoughts were lost in the static….
Dean woke up the next morning in a surprisingly good mood but also incredibly sore. He couldn't recall what happened the night before but he found that his while his head was filled with a pleasant fog, his ass and throat were feeling rather sore. He pulled himself out of bed and quickly threw on some clothes before heading out.
As he passed the restroom he paused for a moment, feeling the urge to head inside. As he rounded the corner he was almost surprised to find it completely empty. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment and admired what he saw. Looking back at him was a muscled country boy. Blue jeans, belt buckle, hat, sunglasses, the whole outfit. He couldn't help but pull out his phone to snag a picture but as he did it flickered to life and quickly stole his attention once more leaving him mindlessly flexing in the mirror with his phone exposed for all the curious onlookers to see…and obey…
📝 KO-FI IS UP 📝
I've set up a store for my stories to buy. There's only a handful of stories on there right now, but I will add more from my back catalogue of stories over time.
Thanks for any support that you can give. Enjoy reading.
Link - https://tr.ee/NQPR6k8m6h
The Regulars
Jamie adjusted the stiff collar of his new shirt as he stepped through the glass doors of the Job Centre for his first day. The place smelled faintly of old carpet and printer toner. Behind the front desk, people queued in a loose line, some scrolling on their phones, others slumped in plastic chairs.
He watched them for a moment before signing in.
Tracksuits. Hoodies. Trainers that had clearly seen better days.
Jamie sighed quietly.
“So these are the people I’ll be dealing with,” he muttered under his breath.
He’d worked hard for this job, studied, passed the assessments, sat through the interviews. To him, the benefits section was supposed to help people who had fallen on hard times. But the crowd in the waiting area didn’t exactly look like people trying very hard.
A loud laugh broke his thoughts.
A group of lads near the vending machine were joking around, one of them leaning back in his chair with his feet stretched out, talking about how he’d “sorted his claim” so he didn’t have to work for a while.
Jamie shook his head.
Lazy, he thought. The lot of them.
His supervisor, Mark, appeared beside him with a clipboard.
“First day nerves?” Mark asked.
Jamie glanced back at the waiting area. “Just didn’t realise how many… regulars there’d be.”
Mark gave a small shrug. “You’ll get used to them. They’re in here most weeks.”
Jamie followed him through the security door into the staff area, still hearing the laughter from the waiting room behind him.
The door shut with a heavy click, cutting the noise almost completely. The staff corridor felt different, quieter, calmer, like a barrier between two worlds. Posters about employment schemes lined the walls, and rows of grey desks filled the open office ahead.
“Right,” Mark said, leading him toward a workstation. “You’ll be working the benefits desk. Mostly claims, appointment check-ins, that sort of thing.”
Jamie nodded, taking in the rows of monitors and stacks of paperwork. It looked exactly like the sort of office he’d imagined when he applied.
Mark pointed toward the front of the room, where a glass window looked out into the waiting area.
“You’ll see the same faces a lot,” he said casually. “Some people are genuinely trying to get back into work. Others… well, they’re just part of the furniture.”
Jamie glanced through the glass.
One of the lads from earlier, the one who had been joking loudly, was still by the vending machine, talking to a friend. He was wearing a blinding puffer coat and leaning against the wall like he had nowhere else to be.
Jamie folded his arms.
“Let me guess,” he said quietly. “He’s here every week.”
Mark chuckled. “You’ll learn them all soon enough.”
Jamie sat down at his desk as Mark logged him into the system. The computer hummed to life, bringing up a long list of appointments scheduled for the day.
Mark tapped the screen.
“First rule,” he said. “Don’t take things personally. People get frustrated in here.”
Jamie nodded, though his attention had drifted back to the waiting room. The same group was still laughing, one of them now tapping rhythmically on the vending machine while they talked.
He shook his head slightly.
“I just don’t get it,” he muttered. “If I was out of work, I’d be doing everything I could to fix it.”
Mark gave him a look that was half amused, half knowing.
“Give it time,” he said. “You’ll see all sorts in this job.”
Jamie leaned back in his chair, convinced he already had.
Jamie had barely finished reading through the morning’s appointment list when the first name flashed up on his screen.
Tyler Briggs – Benefits Review
Jamie glanced toward the waiting room through the glass panel. The lad from the vending machine was now slouched across two chairs, hood half up, scrolling on his phone.
“Briggs?” Jamie called, opening the door.
The lad looked up. “Yeah, safe.”
Jamie paused for a second, unsure if that meant yes. Eventually Tyler stood and wandered over, hands in his pockets.
They sat down opposite each other at the desk.
Jamie straightened a file in front of him. “Right. Tyler Briggs. You’re here about your claim review.”
“Yeah, bruv,” Tyler said, leaning back in the chair. “They said I gotta come chat to you lot ‘bout it, innit.”
Jamie blinked.
“…Right.”
He glanced at the screen, then back at Tyler.
“So… you’re currently listed as seeking employment.”
Tyler nodded slowly. “Yeah yeah, I been lookin’, fam. Proper lookin’. Nothin’ decent tho.”
Jamie hesitated again.
“Sorry... when you say ‘fam’…?”
Tyler frowned. “You what?”
Jamie cleared his throat and tried to stay professional.
“Never mind. So, have you applied for any positions recently?”
“Couple, yeah. But they’re long, bruv. Want bare experience and that.”
Jamie typed slowly, trying to decode what he’d just heard.
“…Right.”
There was a short silence while the keyboard clicked.
Tyler leaned forward slightly. “So like… my money’s still calm though, yeah?”
Jamie looked up.
“Your payments are still active for now,” he said carefully. “But we need to schedule a follow-up appointment to check your job search progress.”
“Safe.”
Jamie paused again.
“I’m… going to assume that means you’re agreeing.”
Tyler grinned slightly.
“Yeah, bruv.”
Jamie clicked through the calendar.
“Alright. Let’s schedule another appointment in three days. Same time.”
“Sound.”
Jamie printed the slip and slid it across the desk.
Tyler stood up, tucking it into his pocket without really looking at it.
“Nice one,” he said, already halfway to the door.
Jamie watched him leave, shaking his head slightly once the door closed.
He stared down at the notes he’d typed.
Applied for jobs… maybe. Communication… unclear.
Jamie leaned back in his chair.
This job was going to be harder than he thought.
Three days later, Tyler Briggs walked back through the same door and dropped into the chair across from Jamie’s desk like he’d been there a hundred times before.
“Alright, bruv,” Tyler said casually.
Jamie looked up from his screen.
“...Alright."
Jamie had spent most of the last three days thinking about that first meeting.
Not about the paperwork, or the claim itself.
About the way Tyler talked.
At first it had sounded like a different language entirely. But the more Jamie replayed the conversation in his head, the more the words started to make sense. Certain phrases meant certain things. “Safe” meant okay. “Long” meant difficult or annoying. “Bare” meant a lot.
By the time Tyler walked in for the next appointment, Jamie felt strangely prepared.
The word came out a little stiff.
Tyler raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
Jamie cleared his throat and pulled up the file.
“So,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual, “you been lookin’ for work then?”
Tyler nodded. “Yeah, bruv. Been checkin’ a couple places online. Nothin’ proper yet though.”
Jamie nodded slowly, this time actually following what he meant.
“Yeah… fair enough,” Jamie said. “Some of them listings are kinda long, innit.”
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Tyler leaned forward slightly, studying him for a moment.
Then he gave a small grin.
“Yeah, exactly.”
Jamie felt oddly pleased that the conversation seemed smoother this time.
He typed a few notes into the system while Tyler talked about a warehouse job he might apply for and a mate who said there were shifts going somewhere across town.
For once, Jamie didn’t feel like he was translating every sentence in his head.
When the meeting finished, Tyler stood up.
“Safe, bruv.”
Jamie nodded.
“Yeah… safe.”
Tyler left, and Jamie sat there for a moment staring at the screen.
The conversation had been easier.
Much easier.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of appointments and paperwork. Different claimants came and went, some quiet, some frustrated, some clearly bored with the whole process.
But Jamie noticed something strange.
With a few of them, he found himself adjusting the way he spoke without really thinking about it. Shorter sentences. More casual tone. Words he wouldn’t normally use.
It just seemed to make things easier.
By five o’clock the office was beginning to empty.
Monitors shut down one by one as staff packed up their things. Chairs rolled back under desks. The quiet hum of the office slowly faded.
Jamie logged out of his computer and grabbed his coat.
As he walked down the corridor toward the exit, the waiting room was almost empty now. Only a couple of chairs were still occupied.
He pushed through the same glass doors he’d entered that morning.
Outside, the air was cool and the evening sky was starting to dim.
Jamie loosened his tie slightly as he stepped onto the pavement.
“Long day,” he muttered to himself.
He paused for a second.
Then frowned.
He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d started talking like that.
A few months later, Jamie barely noticed the waiting room anymore.
What had once felt like a barrier between two different worlds had slowly faded into routine. The same faces came through the doors most weeks. The same conversations. The same complaints about job listings, interviews, and paperwork.
Jamie knew most of them by name now.
Tyler Briggs was one of the regulars.
The office door swung open and Tyler walked in, glancing toward Jamie’s desk.
“Alright, bruv.”
Jamie leaned back in his chair and nodded toward him.
“Yeah, all good, man. You?”
“Sound,” Tyler said, dropping into the chair across from him.
Jamie clicked through the claim system while they talked, but the conversation felt nothing like those early meetings anymore. Half the time they drifted off topic—football results, people they both recognized from around town, the usual complaints about how slow the system could be.
Mark passed by Jamie’s desk at one point and paused.
Jamie barely looked like the same new employee who had started months earlier.
The stiff shirts and carefully knotted ties were gone. Today he was wearing a loose hoodie under his work jacket, and his once neatly styled hair was now much more relaxed.
Even the way he sat had changed, leaning back in his chair, talking casually between typing notes.
Mark watched the conversation for a moment before shaking his head with a small smile and continuing down the corridor.
The meeting wrapped up quickly.
Jamie finished typing the last line of notes and tapped the keyboard.
“Alright, bruv,” he said, turning the monitor slightly. “You’re sorted for now. Just keep checkin’ them listings.”
“Safe,” Tyler replied, standing up.
Jamie leaned back in his chair.
“You headin’ down the pub later?”
Tyler stopped halfway to the door and looked back.
“You serious?”
Jamie shrugged.
“Yeah, why not.”
Tyler grinned.
“Alright then. Couple the lads’ll be there anyway.”
Jamie nodded toward the door.
“Sound.”
By the end of the day, the office lights were dimming as people packed up their desks.
Jamie shut down his computer and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
As he walked through the corridor toward the exit, the security door clicked open and he stepped out into the evening air.
Across the street, Tyler was already waiting near the corner, hands in his pockets.
“Oi,” Tyler called. “Bruv.”
Jamie walked over.
“You ready then?”
Jamie zipped up his jacket and glanced down the street toward the pub lights glowing at the end of the road.
“Yeah,” he said casually.
They started walking down the pavement together.
Just another regular evening.
Cigar STUD!! 🔥🔥
You and some of your buds are swimming in your pool. When the patio door opens,and your Dad walks out. You open your mouth in shock when you see him
His head is completely smooth. He's wearing a tight,skimpy black speedo and has the biggest cigar you've seen clamped in his jaw. The smoke curling around his head
Youre in shock because as far as you know he doesn't smoke. Is way too shy to wear anything like a speedo,and up to last night had a headful of thick curly hair.
He stands there for a few minutes watching us swim. Then walks over to the lounge chairs,and laid down in one. His big cigar pointing to the sky and with an obscene bulge in the speedo. You decide to talk to him later about it,and you went back to the water basketball game.
You were playing 3 on 3 with your other three buds waiting to play the winner. They were sitting by your Dad. Talking to him
You didn't notice them getting up one by one and walk into the house. Each of them followed by your dad. They each stayed about 20 minutes before coming back out.
Each of them had their hair cropped into buzz-cuts. Wearing white speedos and smoking the same big cigars. Laying in their lounges showing the same big bulges.
The losing team got out of the pool and walked over to the lounges. When your three other buds stood up,your mind was reeling when you saw them
They took one last deep draw on their cigars,and laid them in a ashtray. exhaling as they dove in the pool. When their speedos got wet,their hard cocks were perfectly visable
You looked over and saw that your other buds were now talking to your Dad. Then you got into the game. The same thing happened to your buds
Walk into the house,and walked back out changed. You looked over at them again. Saw they too had changed and it threw you off your game
Causing your team to lose. When you got out of the pool,you saw them laying down. Their big cigars pointing skyward. Smoke slowly escaping from the puffs they were taking. They were showing the same big bulges
They repeated the first three actions as they dived into the pool. You last three took their places
You looked at your Dad with a questioning look as he started talking to you three. Blowing the smoke into your faces as he talked
Your two friends grew silent and was staring off into space. When one of them stood and walked slowly into the house"Dad? Wh...." Before you could finish,he hit you with a faceful of smoke" Don't worry fucker!! Just sit there and relax. I'm saving you for last" He got up and went into the house
If you could have moved your head and looked at the pool, you'd have seen your six buds fucking each other
Your friend came back looking just like the other six. Your last teammate stood and walked into the house
When he came back,you stood and walked into your house and to the Master bathroom
Your Dad was there. Nude and hard. Surrounded by a sea of hair on the floor. You see the big maduro and lighter on the vanity
You walk over and pick the maduro and lighter. As you are puffing it to life, your Dad starts running the clippers through your hair
When he was done,he pulled your trunks down and fucked his big cock into your virgin ass. Causing you to moan around your big maduro
He fucks you deep and hard. Helping the SMOKE enslave you faster. When you cum,you yell"Aw fuuucckk!! And start shooting. You reach down and pull your speedo up your legs and over your still hard pigdick
Completely enslaved,you go out and join your pig bros. Your PigDADDY calls you pigs together. He tells you to get on your phones and call a couple of your innocent buds to come over for a swim party. It's time for us to grow MASTER'S army of enslaved smokepigs