Sans titre

[oobbppaa-deactivated20240821]

[menssstuff]

Come take me

[frostedbloons2]

The New Recruit

Jake had a bit of an inconvenient habit. He had tried to get rid of it when he moved on to college - new beginnings and all that - but before October had arrived he was already back to his old tricks. It took maybe a day to figure out how to sneak into the official McGill University Basketball team's locker rooms. Jake tried to resist going as often as he did, but some animal part of him forced him to back to the musky basketball shoes again and again…

After a few days of this Jake started to feel a bit funny. His clothes didn't fit quite as well as they used to. Rather than seem concerning, this was very exciting to him. After sophomore year of high school he seemed to cap out at a mere 5'6", something he was endlessly insecure about. If he had visible ankles from under his formerly loose fit jeans now, that must mean we was going through the fabled late bloomer college growth spurt! Moreover, he began to notice his frame filling out. Where once he was a scrawny nobody, the other day a friend complimented him on his thick biceps. Jake tried to tell him he didn't work out, but his friend didn't want to hear it.

"Weren't you always built like that?"

The comment struck Jake as odd. He was always short and skinny… right? However, when he checked his driver's license, it stated he was 5'10". The next day it listed him as 5'11". Jake's clothes began to tighten on him more rapidly by the day. Now the clothes which he had specifically bought just last week to celebrate his entrance into the 6 foot club were already looking like hand-me-downs.

Jake just kept growing and growing. People he once (literally) looked up to now looked tiny. It still hurt his neck to meet their gaze, only now he had to crane his neck to look down rather than look up. He could see the tops of people's heads for the first time. He could see above crowds for the first time.

6'4", 6'5", 6'6",

Jake counted the inches day by day with glee. He reveled in his newfound confidence. It wasn't only his height growing either, he was getting stronger. He started to enjoy hitting the gym and the stares he got there.

At well past 7 foot, he could feel the growth slowing down. It didn't bother him so much - bumping his head on door frames was getting a bit old. Some recruiter caught him hanging around the team locker room exit after practice. Instead of giving him a weird look, he practically begged him to join the team. Jake accepted.

Why not, right?

Jake (7'9") and his new coach (5'10")

[idesofrevolution]

I was walking down my usuall path when I came across a pair of abandoned sneakers. They look trashed but I cant stop thinking about them. Maby I shuld return and see if they are still there

Indeed, the image of those trashed sneakers was left lingering in the back of your mind; imprinted, as if it were branded onto your brain. So much so, in fact, that you found yourself wandering aimlessly down random alleyways, dark streets, and arriving right back to the spot. You blink, rubbing your aching temples before opening your eyes to see the beat up AF1 sneakers still sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. Blackened socks stuffed into the grimy interior… a half empty pack of cigarettes forlornly abandoned to their left.

You sit there staring, longing. The way the scuffed white leather just oozes heavy use and abuse, the blackened soles of the white socks within, the sheer size of them on the edge of the pavement… there was a palpable magnetism about them. You stare, so entirely enamored with them that the strange fog which emanates from inside them doesn’t even seem to faze you as it writhes out toward you. Not even so much as taking a moment to look about for their owner, you lean down and let your hands wrap around the shoes and slide the pack of cigarettes into your pocket.

The walk back to your apartment is long and seemingly cumbersome. Between the dark and winding streets becoming unfamiliar and strange, and the now wafting haze of wet, funky mist now slithering into your nose, you feel your mind slipping deeper and deeper into autopilot. Quicker than you anticipated, you found yourself outside of a rather dilapidated old building on the rough side of town. You punch the door monitor before it beeps at you, the heavy metal door swinging wide to greet you.

Climbing the stairs, you realize fully that you haven’t ever been inside of this crumbling tenement before- yet the familiarity of the peeling white paint in the stairwell, as does the stench of piss and smoke surrounding you. You can’t help but feel a sense of belonging here. Strutting down the hallway, you arrive at a scuffed door near the broken elevator. You kick the door open, somehow knowing it stuck frequently and a swift punt to the bottom of it would do the trick.

You enter this entirely random apartment, the smell of cannabis hanging low in the air. The ratty disarray within was absolutely not the pristine environment you faintly recall- yet your mind can think of nothing else other than the destroyed sneakers now warmed in your hands. You feel your lips curl upward, dropping them onto the dirty vinyl floors in a heavy thud. They seem to stare back at you- a sentience of their own, calling out for your touch.

You crouch down low, letting that miasmic fog push into your nostrils: wet, heady, pungent. Slowly, you take in a deep breath, feeling your lungs fill with the scent and letting it flow through you. You let your fingers glide across the grimy, slick fabric of the well worn lining. Your hands seem to move of their own accord, taking ahold of the socks and gently pulling them out of the sneakers. They’re still warm, as if fresh off your foot- and they lay atop the floor stiff and fragrant.

Your mouth smirks as you pry off your shoes and socks, tossing them onto the pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room. Soon after, you find that you’ve thrown your shirt into the same pile as well- the tee shirt disappearing into the chaos of musky garments. With a filthy grin you’ve never known before plastered on your eager face, you grab the socks, letting the sweat inundated cotton slip over your bare skin. They’re loose and thick with a layer of slick grime on the sole as your feet slide into place.

You let out a heavy breath, the air seemingly rushing out of your chest as your groin begins to awaken from the gummy texture. With your feet in them, the heat doubles in intensity- as does the scent. You raise your left foot from the floor, the sticky outline of a footprint remaining on the fake wood. You stare at it, a drop of drool leaving your mouth at the sight of the large footprint, easily double the size of your sole within the sock. The impossibility of this goes unnoticed, your mind is focused entirely on stuffing your left foot into the sneaker. As it is seemingly suctioned onto you, you feel waves of goosebumps flowing from your legs all the way up to the top of your head. Your head is thrown back as you moan in ecstasy, unable to see the second sneaker slithering onto your right foot, encasing it in the musky cavern.

Your eyes shoot open, no longer entirely under your control. You let out a smug huff and crack your neck, pushing yourself off the couch and onto your feet. The sneakers squish below your toes with every step as you walk toward your bedroom, pulling out the fags from your pocket and slipping your unfinished smoke between your lips- still wet from earlier on the train. The door swings easily with your powerful push, revealing your disaster of a bed, covered in yours and your mates gear. Indifferent, you strut over to the bed and leap onto the stained mattress. As you start to pull your shorts down, reaching over to the sticky fleshlight you’d dumped your load into earlier, you hear the front door burst open.

“Oi! Liam you home yet, bruv?” Kev’s thick Yorkshire accent booms from beyond the open door. Unfazed, you pull down your boxers, absentmindedly stroking your thick uncut cock. With every footfall you hear of Kev approaching, you feel yourself getting more and more feeling like yourself again. Your tanned skin pulled tight over your sinewy build, the wheeze coming out of your frequently broken nose, your wavy brown hair slick with sweat from being in your cap all day long… by the time Kev’s pasty arse arrives in your doorway, you let out a sneering puff of smoke.

“Fancy a fag, mate?” Kev looks at you stroking your cock, his casual expression turning to one of smug lewdness as you slip your manhood into the slimy fleshlight with an audible “schlorp.”

“Heh, I fancy a fag and a wank, bruv.” He rips his jersey from his lithe torso, kneeling down at your feet hanging off the side of the bed. “But I fancy these first!” You lean back against the wall, taking another drag of your fag as he pries off your prize sneaks and starts huffing madly. You take another drag off your cigarette as you thrust into the warm slick silicone, grunting as Kev has his fill of your stink. This is your everyday, the way it has been for years, wanking with your best mate whenever he barges into your flat; it’s casual- it’s what lads do together. And as you both shoot your respective loads, it’s just another hang out session. Kev hops on your bed, plucking the cigarette from your lips and taking a drag of his own.

Life is easy, life is good, life is fun.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

Identity Death

As commanded by @mrrharper

“Endless war will end our world!” Alan shouted. “Stop funding our military!”

Alan was amongst the hundreds of protestors at the courthouse fighting against the proposed budgetary reforms. Schools, roads, transportation, parks, environmental protections agencies–they were all on the line. Through the presented bill, thousands of institutions would be shut down as billions of dollars would be rerouted towards a single entity: the military.

“The military corrupts! Stop the brainwashing!” Alan spat. He had organized this event under his alias, a popular political blogger on multiple social media outlets. Although his voice was loud and aggravated, Alan's physical appearance was anything but. He wore a baby blue tee and white-washed skinny jeans. 5’7 with bleached hair. All he needed was a rainbow somewhere to perfect his twink look. But he was not here to make that kind of statement. He was at the protest to make another form, something that could gain traction. Peering across the crowd, Alan saw his chance. 

A few of Alan’s fellow protestors were bombarding one of the towering guards with jeers. They scrutinized him, although it appeared none of their words got through the soldier’s heavy artillery padding. In fact, the solider stood proud in his position, dominantly poised with his chest puffed up in pride. Alan approached the guard slowly, noticing he remained perfectly still as the protestors continued to insult him. Without thinking twice, Alan approached and made his move. 

“How about you show us what they’re really funding, dickhead?”

Alan threw a fist at the soldier, putting all his strength behind the movement. Due to the crowds, the soldier did not recognize the motion until it was too late. Alan’s knuckle dove right into the much taller man’s neck, ricocheting into the muscular, masked chin. Instantly, there was a cheer from the crowd at the successful blow, but it was quickly hushed.

“You pathetic cocksucker,” the soldier growled. In a flurry, the once peaceful statue became a merciless brute, swinging down and dragging Alan out of the crowd. Before he knew it, Alan found himself handcuffed with the soldier escorting him off into the enemy’s territory.

“You can’t do this! This is illegal!” Alan cried out. 

“Shut your whiny mouth.” As soon as they were out of public sight, the soldier slapped Alan hard across the face. The warmth of blood soon filled his cheeks where the bruise began to bloom. Alan made sure not to react, but he could not hide the worry in his voice.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The barracks, you fairy prick.”

The soldier brought Alan to a building not too far from the protest lines. He guided them down numerous hallways, Alan losing track before they even made it halfway there. There were checkpoints, various nods, and some curt conversations with other soldiers, but nobody questioned about Alan or the situation. Eventually, Alan was tossed into a small makeshift bedroom, only holding a cot and a pile of unwashed clothes.

“Get undressed,” the soldier demanded.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Alan was met with another forceful assault, this time a punch to his gut.

“Cause I’m First Sergeant, maggot, which means out of the two of us, I’m in charge.”

Alan scoffed. “Is that your name: ‘First Sergeant’?”

“First Sergeant QF24,” the soldier gruffly shot back.

“That’s not a name either,” Alan replied. 

“Been in service so long I don’t need a civilian name.”

Alan wanted to jump on this, make a point about how this was evidence of the dangers of the military, but First Sergeant continued.

“While my identity is real, I assume the one you were about to give me is not. What do you go by, something like that 'AlanActivist' snot?”

Alan blushed, believing that his pseudonym had been cool and unique.

“It’s about time you considered that maybe it is not the military that enforces this ‘identity death’ you all are so worried about, but your own belief system.”

“You can’t be serious,” Alan snarked, surprised at the soldier’s intelligent argument. First Sergeant was however humorless, once again pointing to the pile of discarded clothes.

“Get dressed, degenerate.”

The soldier placed one of his giant, gloved hands behind the twink’s back and pushed him towards the pile. It appeared to Alan as a giant heap of army green and camouflage. Slowly but hesitantly, he began to strip himself of his clothing, hoping to avoid any further hazing. Once down to his underwear, he silently pleaded that he would not have to drop anything else.

“Soldiers go commando, sissy.”

First Sergeant quickly appeared behind Alan before ripping his underwear clean off, exposing the twink’s bare bottom and small package to the world. Alan quickly covered himself up with one hand before leaning down towards the pile. He grimaced, his fear no longer overriding the powerful musk seeping from the military cloth. First Sergeant chuckled at his disgust from behind.

“Aren’t homos supposed to like that kind of thing?” he asked, before grabbing the back of Alan’s head. “Go on, get a better whiff of it!” Amused, First Sergeant plunged Alan’s head into the musky pile of clothes. Alan’s oxygen supply was cut off, forcing him to inhale the overpowering masculine fumes.

“You idiots never consider that being in the military is hard work. It’s not all fun and guns.” First Sergeant smothered Alan’s head further. “‘Bout time you realize what it’s like, standing on the front line all day, hot and sweaty and random strangers berating you for protecting their country, their freedom.”

The military body odor seeped into Alan’s system, numbing his body and clouding his mind. By the time he was pulled away, the naked twink struggled to form a coherent thought.

“Much better,” First Sergeant noted the lopsided smile on the twink’s face. “Now, fit yourself into some tactical gear.”

Without questioning it, Alan followed the soldier’s command. He did not know every single piece of equipment that went into the common soldier’s uniform, nor did he understand the procedure to follow, but somehow Alan managed to get the attire onto his body.

Combat pants, military-grade socks, gore tex boots. Camouflage button-up, hardshell jacket, belt with holster and magazine pouches. Shooting gloves, army print hat, face mask. It took a minute longer for Alan to place every minor piece of tactical protection onto himself, but finally his smaller frame was completely covered, dwarfed by the oversized gear.

“Looking like a real soldier there,” First Sergeant mocked. “Now let’s actually make you one.”

Already covered in the musky clothing, Alan’s intellectual ability had been dulled considerably. But when First Sergeant approached, clutching Alan’s head once more before shoving it into his wet armpit, his brain completely halted. Coming straight from the source, the soldier’s stench wafted past all Alan’s barriers, taking control immediately. Its first instruction was to keep sniffing, its second was to conform.

With a chuckle, First Sergeant watched as Alan’s body began to expand underneath his hold. The shrimpy twink grew inside of the tactical gear, filling it out properly in every direction. Muscular arms filled the sleeves of the jacket, meaty hands stuffing the crevices of the gloves. The vest became as padded on the back as it was in the front, juicy pectorals and rigid abdominals forcefully pushing against the fabric. 

Thicker thighs padded the pants, bloated feet crowded the massive boots. Two muscular buttocks crammed the seat of Alan’s pants. A lantern jaw and cleft chin became prominent underneath the face mask. Buzz cut hidden by the cap, deeper voice waiting to confirm with “Sir, yes sir!” First Sergeant even noticed the prominent padding his new soldier was developing beneath the belt. When he ultimately removed Alan from his hold, the man before him now stood at the same domineering height.

“Good, now just stand still for one moment.”

Even if he wanted to, Alan could not move. The musk was still lingering in his mind, holding him steady as First Sergeant deposited an obnoxious military headset onto Alan’s head. He then plugged the headset into a walkie-talkie before tuning it to an empty channel. A robotic voice began looping into Alan’s ears, along with a few simple tones to open up the receptive pathways in his brain.

“Ready to get back out there?” First Sergeant asked, knowing his fellow soldier could not hear him. With a smirk, he escorted the dumbfounded subordinate out of the room, pacing slowly as Alan absorbed the propaganda. It was simple phrases, nothing too complicated but through repetition effective on the psyche. “Military good,” “pacifism bad”. “Nationalism good,” “multiculturalism bad.” “Masculinity good,” “progressivism bad.” The messages were rudimentary, but deliberate.

Once they stepped back into the open, fresh air, Alan’s consciousness resurfaced. He tried to fight back against the rampant messaging, doing his best to tune out the audios as the First Sergeant led him back to the front line. Alan was being attacked on all fronts: his morals, his identity, his sexuality. Every time he turned away to defend one trait, it was like he lost another. He felt himself dwindling, chipping away.

Before long, the two stood directly in front of the courthouse, mere feet away from their first encounter. First Sergeant loaded the new soldier up, arming the man with a weapon and other items necessary in case of an emergency.

“Let’s see if you’re done cooking yet.” First Sergeant looked directly into his subordinate’s eyes, pleased with their reflective quality. He then removed the headphones.

“Name and rank, soldier?” he saluted. The other man fell into place, mirroring his actions.

“Private Aaron Steel, MH36 sir!”

First Sergeant smiled. The name change was a good sign of transition, but complete removal would have been preffered.

“Ready for the task, soldier? Will you be loyal and obedient to the greatest nation? Follow every instruction in the name of tradition?”

The soldier nodded his head quickly, “Affirmative, sir.”

“Alright then.” First Sergeant replaced the headphones back onto the private’s head, knowing a little more time would do the trick. “Dismissed. Get back to work, private.”

“Sir yes sir!”

First Sergeant strolled back to his command at the front line. The new private monitored the crowd, absorbing his commands as he scanned for any disturbances.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

3TH93USA

Encouraged and spurred on by @mrrharper

The building in front of Nathan was nothing more than a gray warehouse. It was absolutely massive, stretching to either end of the block. Nathan had no idea how far back it went, and with no windows he had no concept of floors either. Nathan considered that it may have been a poor idea to apply after all. The job had been looking for candidates with highly flexible hours and at least 10 years of experience. But Nathan, a desperately-underfunded college student in his final year, was badly in need of some quick cash. Holding his head high, he strolled towards the building's entrance.

Nathan had received a notice of a job opportunity through his email. At first, he had assumed it was some kind of spam, but after reading a bit more discovered it was indeed a legit company. Falcon Security, somewhere Nathan would have never placed himself to be applying for, had not only sent a rather dull email, but had a dull interior. Everything with this company was informative and straightforward, apparently details and color did not matter. 

In the open, almost liminal space, Nathan felt as if a spotlight were on him. He had not dressed too flamboyantly, a floral-patterned dress shirt with blue slacks. But he definitely felt out of place in such a starkly-monotone place. Not only that, but he knew he did not fit in. Just under six foot, red hair with freckles, lanky enough to be considered paper-thin, Nathan had to remind himself this job was not based on looks. Falcon Security meant IT, and all he had to say was he looked younger than his actual age. In a few months, he could be gone, the company nothing more than a blip on his resume.

The orientation process was a lot easier than Nathan had expected. After navigating through a few empty halls, he eventually found himself in a large room with a plethora of other men. None of them matched each other, all presumably in desperate situations like Nathan. After a bit of waiting, the presentation began on the huge screen projected opposite of the door. 

It was nothing Nathan had not seen before, a male AI voice narrating the company’s background and history. When they began listing some of the more famous companies Falcon Security had aided in the past, Nathan was surprised at how many he recognized. Many names were politically-affiliated, all right-leaning but nothing concerning Nathan. Business was business, and he would be working IT anyway, so he would not inherently be supporting anything he stood against. The one anti-LGBT organization startled him a bit, although he did not show it. As a gay man, he would simply avoid any tasks related to that client. Money had influenced his standards a lot, but not to the point of changing his morals.

Once the presentation had finished, all the men received a text to their personal devices for their next station. Nathan pulled out his phone and after looking around, began to follow the other men out of the room. They herded down the hallway, passing by the different facilities available in the building. A cafeteria, restrooms, a huge gym with a few people the size of bodybuilders already hard at work. Nathan was beginning to think this was some kind of complex. Once they ventured past the sleeping quarters with bunk beds galore, questions formed as to how hard the company would be working him.

Eventually, each of the men began diverging off into different directions, finding their corresponding rooms. Nathan tried to remain optimistic of the situation, following along the instructions from his phone. Third floor, hallway T, room H93. It took a little strength to open the door, Nathan assumed it had to have been made of some metal. He entered his room and heard the door click shut behind him. Room H93 was small, with nothing in it but a chair facing away from the exit. Once Nathan took a seat, the projector lit up.

“Welcome to Falcon Security,” the male AI voice announced. “The following education supplement is broken into three segments.”

Nathan peered around the room once more, finding it strange as to why he was separated from the other men for this portion of the orientation.

“Cerebral Manipulation activated, engaging Cleanse.”

Suddenly, Nathan was bombarded with a combination of blinding visuals and piercing audios. The projector was strobing violently, quickly flashing colors back and forth and scorching his eyes. The speakers out of Nathan's sight were blasting discordant notes, the high pitches scrambling his neurological pathways. He immediately shut his eyes and went to cover his ears, trying to tune it all out, but the damage had already been instituted. Overwhelmed by the stimuli, his brain carried out the emergency function, shutting itself off completely. Nathan’s hands dropped to his sides as his mouth hung open, staring lifelessly at the paralyzing screen before him.

“Cleanse complete, Cerebral Manipulation disengaged.”

Nathan made no movement as multiple ceiling tiles lifted up, revealing vents. He continued to stare ahead, no thought forming in his emptied mind. 

“Physical Manipulation activated, engaging Vapor.”

Slowly, a hiss began to sound out from the vents opened within the ceiling. A reddish gas softly descended from the ceiling, filling up Nathan’s room in a minute. Before long the air had completely left the room, leaving Nathan’s mindless husk to breathe in the pure red fumes.

“Displaying mandatory characteristics,” the AI rattled off. Through the red haze, the projector booted up a loading screen with an array of fields. 

HEIGHT - 75 Units WEIGHT - 200 Units ADIPOSE TISSUE - 12% MUSCULATURE - 85% FEET - 13 Units PHALLUS - 9 Units LIBIDO - 80% HAIR (B) - 67% HAIR (C) - 1B0C05 EYE (C) - 200C05

Although Nathan could not recognize it, these inputs were standardized by the company.

“Vapor engaged, activating Reactor.”

A relaxer began to escape, mixing thoroughly with the red fumes already present in the room. Carefully slinking down, it eventually slithered up Nathan’s nostrils and tickled his brain. Triggered, Nathan began taking larger, deeper breaths, thoroughly absorbing the red gas.

The effects of the vapor rapidly assimilated into Nathan’s system. His bones began to crack, his tendons and ligaments shifting and expanding. The edges of his tight outfit grew taut, threatening to rip before a laser quickly scanned the room, erasing every article of clothing. Now naked, Nathan’s body was free to grow in any direction it needed. And it did, stretching out across the chair as Nathan evolved. With each filtrating breath, Nathan pumped himself larger and larger, eventually reaching a height of 6’3.

Nathan's muscles continued to bloat as the vapor was continually absorbed into his systems. His once lanky body was broadening: longer legs, longer torso, longer shoulders. His calves and upper arms swelled with power, thickening and plumping with strength and testosterone. His quads widened, now along with his new eight abdominals bolstering immense durability. Nathan’s backside curved outwards, better filling in his seat while his hardware up front enlarged into a thick 9 inches. Although not in a conscious state, Nathan separated his legs to accommodate for his new, massive bundle, his toes inching forward as his feet puffed out into a sturdy Size 13.

Nathan’s head arched back to allow the remainder of red gas to be consumed. His neck distended to accommodate for the emerging Adam’s apple, his vocal chords thickening to create a deeper tone. His jaw and cheekbones jutted forward, stretching his nose and accentuating his brow. In a flash, Nathan’s roots and eyes darkened into a steep brown, tainting his hair as it pulled into a tight crew cut. The rest of his body adapted accordingly, his skin tone tanning slightly before being washed over with dark hair through the pits, down the sternum, across his crotch, and throughout his arms and legs.

The last of the red fumes disappeared down Nathan’s nasal passages, coating his more masculine jaw with a well-maintained beard. The AI voice confirmed this completion.

“Vapor installed, engaging Auxiliary Supplements: 3TH93USA.”

AGE - 29 Units 

When Nathan had applied, he had not met the company’s standards of employment. This forced Falcon Security to take the necessary action of moving him to meet the minimum experience requirement. A small tube appeared from one of the open vents directly above Nathan. With his head in position and mouth lazily ajar, the pipe distributed seven blue drops directly down Nathan’s throat. He did not have to swallow, the liquid absorbing on impact.

After a moment, the aging began to show. Nathan’s muscles stiffened slightly, toughening after more years of constant conditioning. His body odor grew denser, his voice gruffer. His libido remained the same, but now served a different purpose. It had matured into a machine for fertilization, built for a purpose rather than for pleasure. As the tiniest beginnings of frown lines formed, the process moved forward.

“Auxiliary Supplements complete, Cerebral Manipulation reactivated, downloading Cognition.”

The ceiling tiles lowered, the vents closing as the screen booted up with new diagnostics.

“Displaying mandatory characteristics.”

CEREBRAL CAPACITY - 20% INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT - 73 Units SUBORDINATION - 95% AGGRESSION - 90% INTERPRETATION - 15% INDEPENDENT ANALYSIS  - 10% Uploading SECURITY package… Uploading SELF-MAINTENANCE package… Installing CODE RED

“Download complete, engaging Cognition.”

Once again, the room was filled with the blaring visual and audio combination. Because Nathan’s brain had already been turned off, the repetition now triggered the opposite effect. Soon, Nathan’s mind reanimated, becoming coherent to his surroundings. His former self had been deleted, leaving an open canvas ready to become something completely new. Before Nathan could become cognizant and recolor his gray matter, the program instituted new effects.

Delicately, the strobing lights and screeching notes were honed into the background. New media quickly infiltrated the pattern. Flashes of words and phrases flashed the screen, branding Nathan’s mind. Images of loyal men, bulky men, masculine men burst through Nathan’s retinas, establishing only one precedent. Mixed in were scattered opinion pieces to erect the bare minimum of personality features. Pictures of conservative leaders, Christian motifs, and clips of straight sex, enough to align with the company’s agenda.

 “The company is always right,” “The clients are always right.” A male narrator had begun instructing different phrases into the room. His words crawled into the open crevice of Nathan’s shrunken brain, filling up the emptied space. “Every guard is completely loyal to the company,” “The company never makes mistakes.” Every instruction repeated over and over, accompanied by the images of Falcon Security and their work. 

Nathan had been wrong to assume the Falcon Security had been an information technology firm. The company was actually a high-tech, military-grade safeguard who prided themselves with muscles promising complete protection, surveillance, and performative obedience. When they had discovered their investors in conservative businesses, they tailored their focus a bit more, pledging their guards would not only work for them, but vote for them too. Focus groups and trial operations provided them with the perfect formula for their clients.

In an instant, the program went into overdrive. The male AI returned, drilling “Ejaculate, Ejaculate, Ejaculate,” over and over. The stimulation exploded Nathan’s brain with ecstasy, his cock rising directly up and pulsing with excitement. The images on the screen ran twice as fast, the audio tracks looping quicker. With a manly grunt, Nathan howled as his swollen weapon blasted the remnants of his former will across the room. The laser from before returned, erasing the ejaculation and covering up the newly transformed guard in the company’s in house uniform: black sweats and a black cap

Blinking, 3TH93USA stood up as the door to the room opened behind him. He marched out of his room, the other new guards like fraternal clones of him doing likewise. They all filed down to the halls back to where they had come from. Some steered off into the cafeteria, others navigated to the sleeping quarters. 3TH93USA was one of the few who arrived in the gym, beginning his workout immediately as instructed. Security was his function, and if he was not doing that, then 3TH93USA was either eating, maintaining, or sleeping. 

3TH93USA began his pull up routine as a few men in suits walked by, looking in on the gym.

“One needs a soldier, completely obedient and always following orders,” one of the businessmen stated. “Each of our men are customizable, programmable to any of your needs. Their only purpose is to be a security guard.”

They watched on as 3TH93USA continued his workout, no other objective in his mind.

[marlborobrother-deactivated2024]

"Yes, bro, that's it... Deep inhales... Don't be afraid to be too greedy... There are plenty more where that came from... We both know you need it... You were acting like a bitch ever since you quitted smoking... You thought you coukd beat the addiction... Thatbyou were stronger than the smoke... Bro, were you wrong... You were like a caged tiger... But you were so damn proud... Too proud to lose face... Afraid that people would think lesser of you because you gave into the temptation... But as the days passed you only felt worse and worse... Weak.. Emasculated... Impotent... I bet you haven't even fucked since you quitted... That's why you came to me... You knew I would push you to light up... To push you over the edge... Just like you pushed me so many years ago... You forced me to smoke... You said I was a pussy for never trying it... That only real men smoke... And you were right... And now I am returning the favor... Keep inhaling that delicious smoke... You feel your power return... You feel your masculinity return... I can see it... Pulsing... Hungering... You are starting to realize the truth... The smoke has you by the balls... Don't fight it... Accept it... Embrace it... Embrace that you are an addict... Embrace that you are a pig... Ever since you smoked that first cig, you knew you were one... A filthy smoke pig... Yes, that's what you are... The way you suck that smoke deep in your lungs... You want more... You need more... You crave more... Don't be ashamed of those cravings... Just give in... The smoke doesn't judge even though you have strayed from the path... But now you are on the right track again and the smoke welcomes you with a warm, loving, embrace... It is so easy to fall back into its open arms... To willingly put the shackles of enslavement back on... All that pleasure that it makes you feel... Those are the rewards of your obedience... It feels so good to obey the smoke again... To feel like a real man again... Yes, bro, keep smoking and your manliness will be restored fully... You feel it already strain in your pants... And now that you accept the truth, that you are a slave to the smoke... a filthy smoke pig... It will only increase your pleasure... You will never think of quitting again... You will never want to be a pussy again... Real men smoke... Real men are filthy smoke pigs... Yes, you understand that now... And it makes you even hornier... Yes, bro, we both know what you want... We both want it... Let's celebrate that you are a real man again... Follow me and give me that delicious smoke-filled pig seed... And chain all the time while doing it... The night is young and we will not stop until your lungs are full and tour balls are empty..."

[squiffy-fags]

Well said!

"That's why you came to me... You knew I would push you to light up... To push you over the edge... Just like you pushed me so many years ago... You forced me to smoke... "

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

The Ideal Roommate

Brandon Rodrigues was pissed off, he couldn’t believe he was just fired.

Brandon was one of the top jocks on campus. He didn’t have much in the brains department, if he had anything, but he made up for it in good looks and natural charm. He was not only one of the best quarterbacks the school had ever had, but he had been succeeded in multiple other sports too. He was extremely popular, with both the students and the teachers. He had never earned anything higher than a C in his life, but his transcripts said otherwise. Brandon was willing to do anything kinky action with any teacher, no matter age or gender. He was straight, but he’d do anything to stay on the football team. Besides his intelligence, the only other imperfection he had was his attitude. He was a major narcissus and held a tiny temper, so when he yelled at the photographer as he was modeling, he was immediately escorted out of the building. Not only that, but he was extremely racist too. His family was from Brazil before the moved to the United States, but for some reason he believed that American people, among all other races, were the worst. He hated the whites, especially the one who were all patriotic and believed in fraternities. They were all loads of crap.

“Go to hell!” Brandon shouted as the door was slammed behind him. It was their loss anyway, they’d never have someone as great as him. His parents were filthy rich, but he was expected to have his own job and make his own money by now. As he walked home, he became more angry, seething in every little thing that went wrong. If anyone crossed his path, they’d be in for it, and sadly, his roommate was the victim.

Brendan Linson was just minding his own business, walking around his dorm when the door suddenly swung open. Brendan’s lithe body just barely jumped out of the way, narrowly missing the powerful impact. Brandon stomped over to his bed, his massive feet smashing against the floor. Brendan, the small, American, kind nerd, tried to console his roommate.

“What’s wrong, Brandon?” Brendan asked, getting himself up slowly.

“What’s wrong!” Brandon shouted, getting up slowly and walking over to Brendan, “You really want to know what’s wrong!” “Yes?” Brendan asked nervously. Brandon was slowly closing him into a corner.

“I’ll tell you what the hell happened!” Brandon grabbed Brendan by the collar and threw him on the ground, placing a foot right over his face. Brandon’s foot was so large it covered the nerd’s entire face, and he was strong enough to keep the loser down.

“I’ve had an extremely terrible day and all I want is a bro to talk to, a few beers, and a hoe that I can bang to kingdom-come. But no, I’m stuck with you, a pathetic, white loser of a roommate who can’t even appreciate the fact that a god’s foot is right in front of him!” Brendan squirmed and finally Brandon let go. Brendan ran to his bed and hid under the covers.

“I’m sorry!” he said, bursting into tears.

“Shut up!” Brandon retorted, jumping in his bed. He grabbed his computer and turned it on. He was sick of this lifestyle; he had to find a way to fix it. After closing a few porn tabs, he began to search for a solution. He hated his roommate, he hated that they basically shared a name, he hated that he was some, stupid American nerd - he had to get rid of him. So when Brandon came upon a sketchy website called Modifications, he knew he had hit the jackpot. He didn’t have the money at all, but his parents did. After plugging in their credit card, he immediately added all the settings to create his perfect roommate. It took a good while to figure out everything he wanted, not only did he choose a lot of options but his cognitive abilities were preventing him from going any faster. Once he was finished, he clicked the “Next Day” delivery button and the went to the cart. After buying the DVD, he closed his laptop and lazily stroking his dick through his shorts. Brandon slowly fell to sleep, hoping that the website was a scam and that he’d be truly getting the ideal roommate.

The next day flew by and Brendan was surprised to see a gift for him once he got home. After resting his bike, he grabbed the package and noticed there was a note attached to it. The little note with the package read that it was an apology from Brandon for his behavior the night prior. Brendan sighed, his kind heart instantly forgiving him, although he shouldn’t have. Brendan looked over the package, curiously reading the slogan on it.

“Creating the perfect mind, body, and soul?” he said quizzically, before ripping it open. He had no idea what it was, but he was excited to see what it could be. He was confused to see a DVD, but he didn’t care as he plugged it into the tiny TV on the wall of the dorm. Brendan pushed his bicycle out of the way and laid on his bed and began to watch the show.

The screen started with a singular image of Brandon modeling. Brandon was looking smugly at the screen, his strong arm holding the other as he cupped his crotch. He was half-naked, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and one of the many pairs of Calvin Klein jockstraps he owned. Brendan was confused, yet also enthralled.

As Brendan continued to stare, he began to notice that there was a strange flicker every few moments. He began to enjoy the flickers, it was a strange difference from the immaculate picture of Brandon. As the spiral began to appear more often, Brendan began to get hard. A small tent appeared as the spiral began to appear more than the picture of Brandon. Brendan began to grope himself slowly through his cargo shorts, the spiral now filling the screen. Brendan was now fully under the spiral’s control, both curious and excited for what the spiral was going to do next.

YOU LOVE BRANDON

HE IS THE PERFECT BRO

HE TAKES CARE OF YOU AND YOUR NEEDS

Brendan looked confusedly at the screen. What was it talking about, Brandon was a bully. He also treated Brendan like he was a piece of meat. Suddenly, the picture of Brandon flashed back on the screen. Brendan began to think that maybe the screen was right.

BRANDON LED YOU DOWN THE RIGHT PATH

HE SHOWED YOU WHO YOU WERE MEANT TO BE

A BIG, DUMB JOCKBRO

Before Brendan could process any of this, the spiral immediately threw three more messages at him to throw him off.

YOU LOVE TO WORK OUT

YOU LOVE TO PARTY

HAPPINESS IS BEING DUMB

Brendan was surprised, how did the spiral know this? It had taken him until college to figure out what he wanted to be. It was Brandon who had inspired him to become a jock. To join sports, meet bros, bang chicks. He had showed Brendan how amazing it was to be dumb and act dim. He never had a care in the world because the world revolved around him. He’d never have to be expected of anything, except to be great in bed.

As Brendan began to accept his new path, the world around him began to shift along with his body. His legs inflated as he continued to stare at the screen, pushing themselves away from his chest and pushing him up almost a foot in height. His calves and thighs began to fill in with strong muscle, that of a runner who has practiced for years on end. His knees became and strong as steel and his quads pumped themselves with led. Hair filled itself over his legs before being shaved away; he was faster with no hair anyway. His butt bloated too, filling in with meat from the countless squats he’d done over the years.

Next were his arms, which were quickly inflating as he stripped of his shorts and shirt. His biceps and triceps inflated, small tennis balls becoming large softballs in his upper arms. The lower half began to fill in with muscles as veins began to appear, pumping the new jockish blood to his enlarging hands.  Brendan’s hands became meatier as a small bracelet appeared around his wrist. A partial sleeve tattoo appeared along his left arm, he remembered that Brandon had told him that it would make him manlier. Hair slowly spread over his arms, but not too much to make sure he was still smooth.

Following was his chest, which was lengthened out a few inches. His small tummy began to suck in as six, solid abs began to pop in. Hard muscle began to fill in his pectorals, making him look as if his torso was carved from stone. His hips sucked in their fat as his ribs became accentuated, showing Brendan’s new strength. Hair spread across his chest, but it was quickly shaved down to a treasure trail. His collarbone began to appear as is shoulders straightened and pushed away from the body. A small tattoo appeared above his massive nipples, he remembered that one was a dare from one of his bros. His armpits filled with hair, a strong scent subtly beginning to emit from the massive bushes.

Brendan’s top came next, as his neck filled out with a thick and heavy Adam’s apple. Brendan coughed as his voice dropped several ranges, ending in a soothing baritone. His face began to lengthen, a square jaw entering into the scene. The beginnings of a beard began to adorn his face as his nose shrank and became longer. Brendan’s once casual haircut shaved off on the sides and styled on the top, becoming a trendy, sports cut. Two stud piercings and a necklace adorned his body while his eyes became a dull brown, showcasing his soon loss of intelligence.

Then, Brendan’s feet began to bloat. His once tiny feet began to fill in with feet, pushing themselves across the floor as the toes expanded. Veins appeared on top of the feet along with light hairs. His feet also added muscle along with the meat, making them grow wider as they began to finish. A putrid scent began to make itself known as his feet stopped growing. Brendan now owned two, massive Size 16 feet, the same size as Brandon, his bro.

The final change was Brendan’s pouch. Brendan had already stripped naked a while back, so he could see his package growing immensely as he stroked it. His balls began to drop lower, becoming heavier with jock sperm. As they continued to grow larger, Brendan’s previously small dick grew into a stunning eight incher, perfect for the aspiring jock. It also thickened out, becoming as heavy as his balls. Brendan began to grin as the sexual haze became more intense.

YOU LOVE BEING A DUMB JOCK

YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN A DUMB JOCK

BRANDON’S ALWAYS BEEN SMARTER THAN YOU

Brendan chuckled slowly, his laugh turning into a guffaw as the intelligence drained away. The spiral was right, he had never been the bright, but he had always been smarter than Brandon. Everyone was smarter than Brandon, and Brendan meant everyone.

Well, everyone but him. Brendan could barely spell his own name. Brandon seemed to be just a little smarter than Brendan, and yet he never teased him for it. Without his bro, Brendan probably couldn’t have made it by day to day. Brandon’s intelligence had made sure he didn’t flunk and drop out of college. With the help of Brandon, he was able to maintain his grades and stay on the football team. His bro was a lifesaver.

BECAUSE YOU’RE A BRO, YOU LOVE THE SMELL OF A BRO

YOU LOVE THE SMELL OF A REAL MAN

YOU LOVE TO REEK

The spiral was on point today. Brendan had always loved the smell of men. Sure he was straight, but the smell of bros was just so satisfying. He loved it so much, he barely ever took a shower. He hadn’t even worn deodorant since middle school. That’s why he loved to work out too, the gym was the best place to find that fresh, masculine smell.

The dorm room suddenly began to reek of sweat, piss, and cum. Brendan’s body began to produce twice the amount of musk as the room became almost unbreathable. Before, only Brandon’s bed was a little smelly, but now the whole room was an entirely different atmosphere. The floor became filled with scattered pairs of old shorts and shirts that were never going to be washed. Cumrags and old tissues appeared on Brendan’s desk and bed. Brendan grabbed one of his dirty socks as he continued to jack off, the smell of his own feet putting him into overdrive.

YOU LOVED YOUR BRO BRANDON

YOU’D DO ANYTHING HE WANTED

HE BECAME MORE THAN YOUR BEST BRO

Brendan knew the spiral was correct, he’d do anything for his bro. And after he realized how much Brandon had done for him, he realized that they had much more than a best friendship. The two bros truly had something special. Brendan would always help Brandon in whatever way he needed, he had always been there for him.

As Brendan adapted to the spiral’s phrases, the DVD hit a small dislodged piece in the player. A small scratch appeared, causing the spiral to glitch, screwing up the process that Brandon had specially installed.

BRANDON HELPED YOU REALIZE… that… YoU HatED am… 

YOU’VE NEver BeEN… BrENDAn

YOU… ARE…

Suddenly, the screen blacked out and the spiral ended, causing Blaine Lindell to stop jerking his cock. He swore, angry that he was now going to be left with blue balls because the stupid TV didn’t work. He realized that he might as well find a hook-up, maybe some big-titted hoe would relieve him. He grabbed a dirty jockstrap off of the ground and put it on, proud that his bathroom selfie would be flaunting Calvin Klein. Blaine walked to the bathroom and puffed up his chest, not hearing the door open as he took the picture.

“Hey, bro, you done?” Brandon shouted walking to his bed.

“Done with what?”  Blaine responded, coming out to see a shocked Brandon lying on his bed.

“What happened! You didn’t come out like what I ordered; that dumb company was a freaking lie!” Brandon shouted, kicking his bed angrily.

“What you talkin’ bout, bro?” Blaine answered, standing in front of the TV, “the porn you got me froze up and blacked out, I didn’t even cum.”

Brandon, trying to contain his temper, walked over to the small TV and smacked it, not understanding how he could have gone wrong. Suddenly, the TV booted up again the spiral was reactivated. Brandon was quickly sucked into the spiral, being so dumb that he couldn’t even fight back, and Blaine fell even quicker. The two stood there obediently as the spiral continued, glitching it’s way slowly to the end.

YOU TRULY… LOVE…. YOUr bros

YOU’Ve alwAYS BEEN…  GA… y

ONLY Men… caN LOVE MEn

Both Brandon and Blaine nodded in agreement. The two had always been gay, there was no denying it. They weren’t even bisexual, they were completely committed to sucking cocks and taking it up their buttholes. They’d have their men anyway they could, and with their bodies, they could get anything they wanted. While Blaine had gotten back to groping his cock through his jockstrap, Brandon had taken off his shirt, getting hot from being next to the beautiful bro beside him. He too began jerking himself through his gym shorts.

THINK OF… WORST RACE… One yoU HATE

IT’s ThE WOR… thE BEST

It’s BEcausE IT’S… yOUR RACE

Blaine was extremely racist, his viewpoints on serious subjects were as malleable as putty. His dull mind accepted anything it was told, so when he was told that all Arabs were terrorists, he immediately turned against them. But as Blaine thought about it more, there was nothing wrong about Arabians. In fact, he loved them; it was his homeland after all. The bright sun, arid deserts, and many other sexy Arabian men had provided him with a fruitful life before he received a scholarship to an American university. His English was a bit rusty, but his accent and knowledge of Arabic were so smooth they made anyone’s legs shake.

As Blaine continued to stare, his body quickly adapted to his new ethnicity. His tattoos disappeared as his body tanned into a sexy light brown. The light covering of brown hair thickened, especially in his armpits and pubes, before turning a dark black. His beard filled out as his face rearranged itself, gaining a thicker, Middle-Eastern look with bushier, black eyebrows. His piercings and necklace disappeared as a red ball cap placed itself on his head and his jockstrap became blue, the brand changing from English to Arabic. His feet widened a little more, gained from years of traveling all across the Arab Nations. Blaine’s pride for the Middle East thickened as his black mustache did the same.

As his bro changed into an Arabian stud, Brandon changed into the race he despised the most. His skin lost its darker hue, lightening into a tan, but pale white American. Brandon’s hair shaved the sides as his curly locks straightened out into the jockish sports cut. His beard lightened up along with his head as it filled in the rest of his jaw, a nice chocolatey brown. Brandon’s already defined muscles began to inflate differently, looking more like they were meant for the gym then modeling. As Brandon continued to stare, his face widened out a bit as he chubbed up in his torso, his proud abs sinking into the beginnings of a muscle gut. His voice became deeper and duller as his dick became much thicker, becoming the size of a frat party beer can.

Memories of Brandon’s American past began to fill his head. All the patriotic pride, the thanksgiving football games, the hundreds of hotdogs. So many years spent in his beloved country surrounded by bros who understood the exact his passion. He remembered all the football games he’s won, July 4th’s he had heavily enjoyed, and frat parties he had attended, which had gained him the beginnings of the beer gut he loved. Brandon was truly proud to be an American.

YOU ARE VERY… kiNky

THe grossESt… woRST… ThINGs… is… BIGGest kInKs

yOu lOVE… it… thEm sO MUCH

The two men immediately thought of the grossest things they could think of, but the more they thought about them, the more they were turned on. The Arabian Stud suddenly found himself attracted to being cucked. Before, he had hated it but now the feeling of being inferior to another man made him want to cum. Just the thought of being the bottom made his massive dick solid. He moaned as his butthole expanded from the previous poundings he had received. He also realized that he had a new love for feet, the bigger and smellier meant the better. He was so glad he had gigantic feet, he adored his own feet. The biggest love he had though was for the man next to him. Although he loved his bro, he also resented the fact that the man could someday surpass him, yet all this hate was turning into adoration. He didn’t understand why, but he loved it.

As the Arabian man unlocked his hidden desires, the American found his own. As he looked at the spiral, he began to realize how much he loved to relax. He was always so stressed out, so angry, but now, all he wanted to do was be lethargic and let someone else do the work for him. He was so relaxed that he suddenly found himself peeing, but he didn’t care at all. He loved the feeling of the warm liquid flowing down his leg, he loved the rotten stench it was adding to the already musk-corrupted room, and he loved the idea of wearing his piss stain clothes later, or someone else wearing them. He also realized he was getting hard to the idea of someone serving him. Before, the idea would have been pathetic, the fact that someone couldn’t even make themselves successful was disgusting, but now he was moaning to the thought of someone being below him. He wanted someone to revel in his glory. He needed someone to receive his American pride.

The spiral was now flashing, trying to approach the end but continually glitching out. The disk was supposed to show another image of Brandon as it approached the end, but it only flashed random words in its dysfunctional state. The two men couldn’t read what the words were, but as they approached their climaxes their subconsciouses interpreted them in their own ways.

DuMB

JoCK

The words were drilled into the two men’s heads as they began to moan in empty, low voices. Their glistening muscles were about to bring them to the finish line.

MUSk

BrO… EvERytHinG BRo

The men took deep inhales in as they started reaching the end. Both of their vocabularies being simplified down to frat boy lingo. Half of their words now contained the “bro.”

PriDE

kINKy… vERy

The Arabian man was excited for his brown cock to shoot his Middle-Eastern sperm. He quickly grabbed a dirty sock and shoved it in his jockstrap, excited for the results.

The American man pumped his dick, searching for freedom. He belched loudly and scratched his armpit with his free hand as his semen was ready too shoot.

g… AY

100%… onLY mEN

The men couldn’t hold it anymore. The thoughts of men in different positions in each of their minds was pushing them overboard.

CUM

The two men came, the cum spraying across the room and all over the dirty floor. Neither of them bothered to clean it up, the Arabian liked it and the American was lazy.

Brad Rogers was glad he had finally released, he was exhausted from all the edging. All he wanted to do was relax. Brad walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He was glad that he didn’t shave, his scruff was looking good. Brad took out his phone and took a pic, proud of himself and his body.

After putting his phone away, he walked back to the main room, not knowing why he went there in the first place. He never used a bathroom anyway, it was too much work and someone else could do stuff for him anyway. Brad sat back down, pulling out his thick dick to pee into an empty can on the floor.

Bilal al Lateef blinked back to reality as his huge cock flopped back into his jockstrap. That was definitely one of the best times he had ever came. Bilal took out the disk from the TV and was surprised to see that the DVD was scratched. He chuckled to himself dumbly and he broke it in half.

“قطعة من القرف!” Bilal swore in Arabic, angry that it had become crap. Brad, sensing the tension, tossed the beer can to Bilal.

“There, bro, calm down, I got you your favorite drink.” Bilal smiled and, after smelling to make sure it was fresh, chugged it down. Some of the piss dripped from his lips and fell onto his studly body. As he drank, Brad smiled before ripping a huge fart, adding to the impenetrable musk of the room. As Bilal finished the drink, he jumped onto Brad bed and laid his head up, facing the ceiling. Brad lazily moved and sat on top of his best bro before letting out another huge fart. Bilal nearly fainted from the putrid smell before eagerly sniffing in the smell of the American’s crack. Brad got off and then shoved his massive feet into Bilal’s face. Bilal eagerly began to lap at his crusty, hairy toes, polishing them clean. Once he was done, Brad told him to stand up.

“Take the jockstrap off and turn around, it’s time for me to show you where you belong.” Bilal smirked and began to tug at the jock, excited to be cucked. His wide hole was twitching.

“What you gonna do?” Balil asked innocently, his thick accent adding to his rich tone.

“I’ll give you the feet first, then my piss, then my load. If you can get all that up your hole, I’ll let you wash your clothes in the toilet after a number 2.”

“Akeed,” Balil smirked, hoping he’ll receive the gracious gift.

[hypnoandstuff]

Found it!!!!

[hypnoandstuff]

Looking for a story

Hey guys im looking for a gay tf story where two roommates watch a tape on a tv and one of them turn into a jacked musky arab man and the other one turns into a dumb fat dude or something, if you know which story im talking about please send me a dm

[goon-bate]

Alex Thompson was the epitome of a goody two-shoes. A star swimmer on the college team, he maintained a 4.0 GPA, volunteered at the local food bank every weekend, and always held doors open for everyone—regardless of gender. He believed in equality, climate change action, and voting blue no matter who. Politics wasn't his jam, but he leaned left because it felt "kind" and "progressive." His dorm roommate, Brock Harlan, was the polar opposite: a burly football lineman with a MAGA hat perpetually perched on his head, Fox News blaring from his laptop, and a fridge stocked with protein shakes and Bud Light.

At first, Alex tolerated Brock's rants. "Dude, the media's lying to you," Brock would say, scrolling through Twitter (or X, as he insisted on calling it) while chugging a beer. "They're turning guys like you into soy boys. Real men build walls, not bridges to nowhere." Alex would laugh it off, plug in his headphones, and study for bio chem. But Brock was persistent. He started leaving books on Alex's desk—stuff like "The Art of the Deal" and some underground redpill forums printed out. "Just read it, bro. It'll open your eyes."

One night, after a grueling swim practice, Alex came back exhausted. Brock was watching a Trump rally rerun, pumping iron in their cramped room. "Hey, pussy," Brock greeted with a grin. "Wanna watch some real alpha shit?" Alex rolled his eyes but sat down, too tired to argue. As the crowd chanted "USA! USA!", Brock explained the "deep state," how feminists were emasculating men, and why immigrants were stealing jobs. It sounded extreme, but Brock's confidence was magnetic. "You swim like a champ, but you're soft inside. Time to man up."

Over weeks, Brock's influence seeped in. He dragged Alex to the gym for "real workouts"—no more "pansy laps in the pool." Deadlifts, squats, bench presses. Alex's body bulked up, muscles swelling under his skin. Brock fed him supplements, saying they were "test-boosters for winners." Alex started feeling a surge of energy, aggression bubbling up. Conversations turned into late-night debates where Brock dismantled Alex's views. "Equality? Nah, bro. Hierarchy. Alphas on top." Alex resisted at first, but Brock's logic twisted everything: "The left wants you weak, chasing pronouns. MAGA makes you strong, gets you laid."

The turning point came during a campus protest. Alex had planned to join the eco-march, but Brock convinced him to skip it. "Those snowflakes are losers. Come party with real patriots." At the frat house, surrounded by MAGA bros chanting "Build the wall!", Alex downed shots, felt the alcohol mix with his new rage. A cute sorority girl flirted, and for the first time, Alex didn't hesitate. He grabbed her waist, pulled her close, and whispered, "You're mine tonight." She giggled, and they hooked up in a spare room—raw, dominant, no apologies. It felt fucking amazing.

Back in the dorm, Brock high-fived him. "See? That's the redpill. No more beta bullshit." Alex nodded, his mind foggy but clear on one thing: Brock was right. He started skipping classes, hitting the gym obsessively, his grades slipping as his biceps grew. Brock became his guide, his alpha. "Obey the king," Brock joked, but Alex took it seriously. He ditched his old clothes for tight tanks, American flag shorts, and a red hat. His vocabulary dumbed down: "Bro," "dude," "pussy." Politics? Simple: Trump good, libs bad.

Now, Alex was a full-on MAGA dumb jockboy. He obeyed Brock without question—fetching beers, spotting him at the gym, even sharing girls if Brock commanded. But the real change was the constant itch. Every waking moment, Alex craved pussy. Spotting a girl in yoga pants? His cock twitched, mind screaming to pin her down, pound her senseless, assert his dominance. "Gotta show 'em who's boss," he'd grunt, flexing in the mirror. At parties, he'd corner chicks, growl about "making America great" while thrusting like a machine. No romance, just raw conquest.

One evening, Brock lounged on his bed, scrolling memes. "How ya feelin', jockboy?" Alex dropped to his knees instinctively, eyes glazed. "Ready to serve, bro. Need to fuck somethin' fierce." Brock laughed. "Good boy. Go find us some tail." Alex bolted out, his transformed life a haze of lifts, rallies, and relentless pounding. The goody two-shoes was gone—replaced by an obedient beast, redpilled and roaring.

[jockbrojack]

My Roommate

I came home late from class and the apartment reeked of sweat, Axe body spray, and something sharper—like pure testosterone leaking into the air. Jake’s door was cracked open, the same way it had been every night for the last three months. I knew what I’d find before I even looked.

He used to be the quiet liberal kid who wore those ironic Bernie shirts and argued with me about “systemic oppression” while we split DoorDash. Skinny arms, soft belly, always glued to his phone doom-scrolling leftist TikToks. Now? The guy in front of me looked like he’d been sculpted by whatever god runs OnlyFans premium accounts.

There he was standing in the middle of his room under the glow of his monitor. Shirtless. Oiled. Every ridge of his abs gleaming like he’d just finished a three-hour pump. His chest rose and fell heavy, nipples hard from the AC blasting on his sweat-slick skin. The red MAGA hat sat low on his forehead, the brim shadowing eyes that glowed unnatural crimson in the light of his phone screen. Black over-ear headphones clamped tight, whatever audio he was blasting making his lips move in silent worship.

“Make… America… Great… Again…” he breathed between strokes, voice low and fucked-out.

His free hand tugged the waistband of those black American Eagle boxer-briefs down just enough to let his thick cock slap against his lower abs. The phone in his other hand showed that spinning red-white-and-blue spiral—hypnotic, pulsing, the kind of goon bait that melts brains. He was edging so deep his balls looked swollen, shiny, drawn up tight like they hadn’t been allowed to cum in days.

I should’ve backed out. Instead I leaned in the doorway, cock already thickening in my sweats, watching my former debate-club roommate turn himself into this brainwashed muscle goon.

It started after he joined that “alpha mindset” gym last semester. First it was just lifting. Then the protein shakes turned into pre-workout that made him jittery and horny. Then the podcasts. Then the spiral videos. He stopped posting about climate change and started posting shirtless gym selfies with captions like “TRUMP 2028 – LET’S FUCKING GO.” His liberal friends ghosted him. I stayed. Because the second he started changing, something in me started aching to watch.

Now he’s like this every single night. Gym till 11 p.m., then straight into goon mode. He doesn’t even lock the door anymore. Wants me to see. Wants me to smell the musk rolling off his pumped body while he stares into that spiral and lets it rewrite every liberal thought he used to have.

His hand moved slow, deliberate—thumb gliding over the fat head of his cock, smearing the constant leak of precum that dripped in shiny ropes onto the hardwood. Every few strokes he’d flex his abs, make that deep V-line pop, and whisper the new mantra he’d adopted like gospel:

“Trump… owns… my… mind… Trump… owns… my… cock…”

The red glow in his eyes wasn’t editing. It was the reflection of the spiral burning straight into his skull after hours of edging. His gold chain with the cross swung between his pecs, catching the light every time he rolled his hips like he was fucking the air itself.

I stepped inside. The floor creaked. He didn’t flinch—just turned those glowing eyes on me, lips curled in a lazy, cock-drunk grin.

“Bro…” His voice was hoarse, thick with lust and whatever the spiral had done to his brain. “You’re just in time. I’m so fucking close but I’m not allowed to cum till the next Trump speech drops. Coach’s orders. You wanna… hold the phone for me?”

He offered the spiral screen like it was communion. The pattern spun faster when I took it, the colors bleeding into my vision too. Jake dropped to his knees right there in front of me, still stroking, sweat dripping from his brow onto my sneakers. His free hand reached up and palmed my bulge through my sweats.

“Used to argue with you about politics,” he panted, tongue flicking over his lower lip. “Now the only debate I want is how many loads I can edge out before I turn you into a MAGA goon too.”

His thumb hooked my waistband. The spiral on the phone kept spinning, red, white, blue—blurring everything except the sight of my roommate on his knees, body carved from pure gym addiction and hypnotic reprogramming, begging with his eyes while his hand worked his own dripping cock in worship.

I didn’t answer with words. I just pressed play on the next Trump rally clip he had queued and watched his pupils blow wide, those crimson eyes rolling back as the mantra started all over again.

“Make… America… Great… Again…”

And this time, he wasn’t saying it alone.

[pupmilo-nl]

So ehhhhh think about ransomware for your brain… one moment you’re just doing your daily stuff online when you see a flashy link. You click it and in an instant the screen is filled with flashes. Next moment your mind is encrypted, fully locked down with a password only those hackers know. On your screen is a link to pay them for your mind to be unlocked. Would be such a shame if something like that would happen right? I mean… if no-one is there to see the ransom request you just sit there all drooly and dumb.

[marlboro00999]

Journey to Marlboro

My true story...

I used to be a non-smoker. In fact, I was a hardcore anti-smoker throughout my life.

Sexually sub, with a taste for adventure, I explored various avenues of fetish and submission... always with a constant friction with being a devout Christian faith.

This adventurous submissive nature is the factor which led me in my 40s to a chance online encounter with a Dom who identified himself as a leather Marlboro Man.

A philosophy idea...

It's quite incredible how online contacts can sometimes have a major impact - simply by using words in messages. In this case, it was clear from the offset that this man was on a mission. Now that I look back over the years to this event, I know now that fetish smokers have an inbuilt urge to encourage non-smokers to start smoking. Looking at the bigger picture, it's as if there's some sort of 'dark' sexual energy... a sexual programming... which, if looking at it from a more spiritual angle, may come from an external force/energy/entity that uses fetish and addiction in these men to gather others into its sphere of influence and control. This conclusion is reached by how these men respond and act with the same methods and approach to achieve their goals of recruiting new smokers. Think of them as being workers of the force/entity, programmed to feed their sexual urges to recruit.

Within this powerful sphere of fetish stands Marlboro as a cult in itself. The brand and its logo are above all others as a global beacon. The cult of Marlboro has a worldwide 'army' of dedicated disciples.

Being an antismoker with no interest in cigarettes or brands, this online conversation introduced me to this cult. My submissive sexual nature made me an easy target for what was to come. The Leather Marlboro Man targeted my sexual vulnerabilities, taking me into a state of edging as he described how I needed to submit to Marlboro. The fact that I saw cigarettes and smoking as something quite dark and opposed to my own principles made it hornier. It offered a sexually submissive counterbalance to my Christian outlook. The discussion felt dark.

When I told the Leather Marlboro Man of my Christian devotion, he latched onto it, referring to the rising smoke as incense in offering to Marlboro... taking the smoke and power of Marlboro into myself in submission to its superior power.

At the height of my edging horniness, he sent me a link to watch a leather Marlboro smoker on YouTube. For the first time in my life, I viewed a man smoking as being intensely horny. I'd been primed for Marlboro to gain access to my mind and begin a process of sexual reprogramming.

The discussion came to a close with instructions to buy a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter.

From this point, most would probably jerk off and think nothing more about it. But, as a sub trained to abstain from cumming, the thoughts he'd put in my head festered. The next day, I plucked up courage and went out to buy my very first pack of cigarettes. In the back of my mind, this was to be no more than a horny thrill to explore, then to put it in the past. It was to be just one pack.

Although the Leather Marlboro Man disappeared after this, he'd implanted something that I had to carry through. Without him, I was alone with the pack of Reds and the lighter. The first secret cigarette smoked was intense, and the words he'd said were wrapping around my mind as I inhaled it and looked at the pack.

But there was something missing. It needed to be shared in order to complete the intensity. I went back to view the video he'd told me to watch, and I edged my dick as I smoked the next from the pack. Then, the thought occurred. I needed to do the same as the man in the video. So, I created a YouTube account and began to video each cigarette smoked. The first video was my 4th from the pack.

Describing in the videos how this was my first pack, and that I wasn't a smoker, the videos quickly began to get attention... from Marlboro smokers.

Over the following videos, smoking one each day in my car as I stroked out of sight of the camera, encouragement and compliments began to fill the comments. I was no longer alone.

Looking back, my smoking technique was clumsy. I was obviously new to smoking, but I inhaled deep, which was why one cigarette per day would make me very dizzy and even feel a bit sick. Yet, the comments from Marlboro smokers of me being a "natural smoker" was encouraging. They knew exactly what they were doing.

After about the 10th cigarette from the pack, I'd progressed to 2 videos per day, with me posting 3 by the time the pack came to an end a few days later.

The end of the pack

My last cigarette smoked from the pack was to be my final one in this sexual exploration. I talked in the video, saying this would be my last one. I had all intentions of it being so. Those 10 days of videos of my smoking and stroking had felt like a long time. In that brief period, I'd gained hundreds of likes on the videos, and increasing numbers of encouraging comments. I'd loved the attention and almost felt like I'd got new friends. All the compliments and encouragement had added so much to the experience. I'd sort of got hooked on the attention almost as much as on the new sexual diversion.

There was a bit of a downer to have come to the end of it, but as an antismoker, I'd decided it was the best thing to accept its conclusion.

The next day, I decided to check the video and see people's responses. I was surprised to read a stream of comments, more than any of my videos had.

"You're such a natural horny smoker. You need to smoke"

"You're addicted. You can't quit now"

"Buy another pack"

"You're a Marlboro man. You need another pack"

"Nooo! You can't quit now"

...and the comments went on.

I clearly wasn't a natural smoker. Over that pack I'd developed a technique of holding the cigarettes, and I was inhaling deep, but I was obviously a newbie. But the Marlboro smokers leaving comments were simply doing their job.

The point of no return

The comments made an impact, mentally and sexually. I felt there was now something missing, having put the exploration behind me. Smoking that Marlboro Reds pack had been my sole sexual focus over those two weeks, and now there was just the memory and the videos. But I'd made my decision.

The most unexpected thing happened next. The following day I was at a garage to put fuel in the car. As I went to pay, behind the cashier were rows of cigarettes. I was totally familiar with seeing that, of course. But now it looked different. Something in my head had been changed. In the centre of the rows of cigarettes, the red and white packs of Marlboro Reds stood out. It was as if they were calling to me. As I took out my wallet to pay for the fuel, without thinking, I said "And a pack of Marlboro Reds, please."

It was done. I'd given in without even thinking. As the pack was taken from the row and placed on the counter in front of me, it became clear that I was no longer making the decision. Those two weeks of very focused sexual submission to Marlboro had laid foundations. The initial stage of my conversion had been put in place, and the next stage was about to commence.

In my head, I'd given in to the call of Marlboro from the row of cigarettes at the garage, and I excitedly drove to a quiet place to make the next video. I felt a sense of relief that this horny exploration wasn't ended. The new awareness that Marlboro was now wielding authority over my willpower fed into my sexual submissive nature, and making this next video of my 'failure' was a sexual high.

Quickly, the Marlboro smokers in the comments rushed in with congratulations. I began to feel the sense of 'brotherhood' that became increasingly mentioned in the comments.

"Welcome to the brotherhood, smoker"

"You need it"

"I'm so proud of you"

"You did the right thing"

"You can never quit now. No point in trying"

Development...

The videos continued for the following few months, still with each Red smoked being in a video. I only stopped doing videos for every one I smoked two months later when I got to 8 cigarettes per day. By then, I was in direct contact with some of the dedicated Marlboro smokers and I'd been directed to smokinmen.com.

My addiction was beginning to develop, and I was instructed to watch myself in a mirror as I wanked and smoked in order to focus and develop the fetish. Gradually, all other fetishes fell behind, as Marlboro took primary position in my sexual urges.

A matter of faith

But there was more... Remembering the first Leather Marlboro Man telling me how the smoke rises like incense in praise and submission, the spiritual aspect began to develop. The Marlboro pack and logo gradually became the primary focus of sexual worship. My devout Christian faith started to suffer and become weaker as Marlboro harnessed more and more of my adoration. My prayer turned from a selfless quiet ascetic practice into self-indulgent sexual ecstasy as I edged and smoked before the Marlboro logo.

A new 'faith' was being formed and developed, with my online down time being exclusively amongst dedicated Marlboro smokers, sexually charged, with various fetish aspects of cigarettes being developed. I was guided to buy and start using poppers, enabling Marlboro to open up deeper and darker portals of the mind and soul for Marlboro to exploit and develop. I bought Marlboro ashtrays and banners, and Marlboro leather jackets. I'd become a fully-fledged member of the Brotherhood. My computer desk became an altar of Marlboro, flashing smoke porn from the screens, and poppers being introduced which opens up the deeper portals of the mind and soul. Leather and other fetishes became fused into this Marlboro devotion, under the influence of the Marlboro brothers.

Conclusion

Over a decade later, although still involved with the church and all that goes with it, it is that force/energy/entity through the Marlboro pack that commands my real worship. The Christian antismoker of the past has been systematically transformed into a proud and devout Marlboro addict.

[smoketransformer]

Career Change

Avery sat at the bar, drinking his third hard seltzer of the evening and getting lost in the haze. He couldn’t believe he was just laid off from his office desk job of 10 years. He didn’t know what he would do now or how he was going to make rent for his apartment. He had enough savings for a few months, but living in Boston was expensive.

The bar was loud but he drowned it out. There were a group of construction workers having beers a few tables away and having a good time.

Avery didn’t drink often. When he did though, he became a lot more talkative. He was telling the bartender everything. How he was laid off and how he was worried. The bartender just listened and kept him supplied with White Claws.

“Hey, buddy,” a deep voice sounded behind him. It was met with a touch of a hand on his shoulder, which startled him. “Doing alright?”

Avery turned around and saw a large man with a long beard. He was both muscular and hefty. His skin was tan and sun baked. He wore a construction vest. He looked dirty from working outside all day. He smelled of sweat and smoke. He stopped to talk as his buddies left the bar.

“Oh…umm…I’ll be alright,” Avery answered.

The man sat next to him and asked, “Sure about that?”

This man seemed intimidating, but also warm in an almost protective way. Avery opened up and flatly said, “No. Not sure what I’m going to do. I just have been laid off.”

“Heard that,” the man said, “Name’s Ox.”

“Ox?” Avery asked back, never hearing that name before.

The man leaned in and whispered, “Short for Oxford, but nobody knows that. And I plan on keeping it that way.”

“Gotcha. I’m Avery,” he chuckled.

Ox held out his hand, “Nice to meet ya, Avery.”

Avery shook it with a “You too, Ox.”

“So, you’re out of a job?” Ox continued, “Ever done construction?”

“No, never,” Avery answered.

“Want to?”

Avery remembered watching the construction workers across the street from his office window. He sometimes was envious of being able to work outside all day and being free from all the formalities that came with a corporate job.

“Umm…not sure if I would be a right fit. Look at me,” Avery confessed.

Ox laughed, “We all start somewhere. Know it would be different than whatever office you came from, but you’d learn. Better than being unemployed. Can be temporary until you find something else.”

What Ox was saying was true. It would be better than being unemployed.

“Sure, okay,” Avery said.

“Perfect!”

The two of them chatted for a bit and Ox told him where to report to tomorrow morning before heading out.

Outside, Ox took out a pack of Marlboro Reds and slid one out with his lips before lighting it up. Before parting ways, Avery asked, “Why are you offering to help me?”

“Trust me bubs, I was once in your shoes. Exactly in your shoes. It didn’t seem like it at the time, but it was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Ox answered.

Avery reached out his hand and Ox shook it. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

—

Avery reported to the job site. He woke up with second thoughts, but decided to not let Ox down and to give it a go. He wore his tennis shoes, jeans and a long sleeved dress shirt.

The minute Ox saw him, he said, “Buddy, I’m glad you showed up but you can’t wear tennis shoes on site.”

The color in Avery’s face drained, “It’s all I have. I don’t own boots.” Avery feared he was going to be fired before even starting.

“I got an extra pair you can borrow in my trailer. Follow me,” Ox said.

Ox unlocked the trailer and gestured Avery inside. His trailer was messy and smelled of stale smoke. Ox lit up a cigarette as he grabbed a pair of boots that were sitting on a chair.

“Put ‘em on,” he said as his lit cigarette bounced, “And if you got an undershirt, take off the fancy one.”

Avery did as he told as Ox looked through some filing cabinets. The boots fit just right and he had a tank top under his dress shirt, luckily.

“You have to fill these out then when can get started,” Ox said as he handed Avery some standard new employment paperwork.

When he was done, Ox looked over it, “Bullock? Your last name is Bullock?”

“Yes,” Avery confirmed, “Why?”

Ox chuckled as smoke exhaled from his nose, “I’m calling you Bull from now on. Ox and Bull.” Ox then gave Avery a vest and a hard hat, “Put that on and let’s get started, Bull.”

Ox showed Avery the job site. There were other men already hard at work who all knew what they were doing. These men looked rugged and strong. He noticed most of the men were smoking and wondered why most blue collar men smoke. Ox must have felt Avery’s lack of confidence because he said, “Don’t worry, Bull. You’ll be working with me for a while. I’ll teach ya.”

The two men started working. Avery was surprised that Ox was a good teacher; he explained everything, was patient and never made Avery feel stupid. After a couple of hours, Avery was already feeling exhausted so Ox suggested they take a “smoke break” - even though Ox was smoking the entire morning as they worked.

“You smoke?” Ox asked.

“No,” Avery answered.

Ox laughed and said, “Never smoked myself until I started construction work.”

“Oh,” Avery responded, knowing he would never pick up the habit himself.

After a long day at work, Ox invited Avery to go to a bar for some food and beer. “First day beer is on me, Bull,” he said.

“Umm…sure, I’ll go. Thanks, Ox,” Avery said.

—

After a month of working as a construction worker, Avery was getting use to working long, hard days. He found himself liking the work and spending his day with Ox and the other men. He was starting to feel like he belonged, but still felt a like a fish out of water. He and his coworkers were still just too different. Most of the guys, with the exception of Ox, called him “Pretty Boy”. Avery knew it was in a friendly teasing way, but it still bothered him.

At lunch, Avery and Bull sat down on a makeshift bench. Ox lit up a fresh cigarette and the smoke drifted into Avery’s face. By now, Avery was use to it as Ox seemed to smoke all the time.

Avery looked around and saw most of the men were smoking on their lunch break. The workers chatted and smoked, almost like their same habits almost united them. Like a shared connection.

“Umm…Ox? Mind if I try one of your cigarettes?”

“Sure, Bull,” Ox said as he tossed him his pack and lighter, “Tryin’ the fit in, eh?”

“You could say that,” Avery confirmed. He figured most of the guys seem to enjoy it, so he might as well give it a shot.

After watching Ox smoke for a month, Avery had an idea what to do. He slid a Marlboro Red out of the pack and placed it between his lips. He then flicked the lighter and brought the flame to the end. He took a drag and inhaled, deeper than he planned. To his surprise, though, he didn’t cough. He exhaled the smoke and saw Ox grin.

“Smokin’ like a pro,” Ox laughed, “You like it?”

“Yeah, actually it’s not bad,” Avery answered truthfully. It wasn’t what he expected. It was better.

The two men finished their smokes before heading back to work.

—

A few months passed and the construction work was now natural to Avery. He had bulked up with the hard labor and had grown out his beard. He felt like he was now one of the blue collar guys. Everyone stopped calling him “Pretty Boy”. He was now Bull.

Bull worked hard as he smoked throughout the day by Ox’s side. He enjoyed smoking; it felt manly. He kept with it to blend in and connect with Ox and the other workers, but it was now a necessity. He slipped into addiction and realized it when it was too late. He didn’t mind though.

He and Ox not only were coworkers who grabbed a beer after work, they had become good friends.

They were carrying some lumber when Ox spoke up, “So still looking for a new job?”

“No, stopped looking,” Bull said as he exhaled some smoke, “Enjoy the labor too much. Feels like home.”

“Atta man,” Ox grinned.

After work that day, Ox and Bull went to the nearby dive bar to get a few beers in and eat a grease filled dinner.

“Going to have to find a new place though,” Bull chimed in, “Rent is too high. Gotta downsize and downgrade, unfortunately.”

“Come live with me,” Ox suggested.

Bull laughed but Ox’s face said he was serious, “Oh shit, you for real?”

“Yeah man,” Ox confirmed, “Got my own house. It’ll be cheaper for ya. And less rules than that pretty boy apartment you got too.”

“I’ll think ‘bout it,” Bull said and it was left at that.

—

Another few months had passed and Bull was spending a lot of time with Ox. They became pretty close. Even on the weekends, they hung out. They chained smoked, drank many beers and ate unhealthy food. Bull gained a bit of a beer gut.

On a Sunday night, Bull was at Ox’s house. They ordered a couple of pizzas and watched a football game.

Bull loved spending time at Ox’s house. He was able to smoke inside and light up at anytime, unlike his apartment.

Later that evening when Bull got back home, he stood outside having a couple of smokes before heading in. It was time to cut ties to his old self.

He gave Ox a call, “Hey Ox, your offer about living with you still on the table?”

“Of course, Bull,” Ox said.

—

It had been over a year since Avery became Bull, the gruff construction worker. He loved his new life and couldn’t imagine going back to the corporate office.

Without even realizing it, Ox had quite the influence on Bull. Bull had buzzed his head and got a tattoo sleeve. He was planning on getting the other arm done soon.

He spent his days off hanging out with Ox, drinking beer and eating whatever he wanted. He had no worries in life. It was simple and freeing.

The two men would indulge in pleasures on their days off while watching tv in only tank tops and boxers.

Bull’s voice became deeper from all the smoking and extra weight; he had never felt manlier.

Most people had assumed Bull and Ox were brothers as they looked a lot alike.

One day on a construction site, the two men stood taking a break from their work.

“Remember when you said getting fired and working construction was the best thing that ever happened to ya?” Bull asked.

“I sure do,” Ox said.

“Well, I gotta say it was the best thing for me too,” Bull said.

[marcoh1234]

The Magic of Chat Rooms

Guy’s Help Chat Room - Branson University

Kevin0403: Hey guys, can I ask you something?

Paddy7491: Yeah!

Chris3882: Sure!

Kevin0403: So, it’s about my college roommate. I was paired up with a jock, and he’s so messy and smelly. I’ve tried to change rooms, but they aren’t accepting it. What can I do?

Damon0397: Leave the school.

Neil5018: Give him some actual f****n’ advice, Damon!

Tony7273: Have you tried just swapping with another student, outside of the residential living office?

Kevin0403: They won’t allow that either.

Chris3882: Man, that sucks.

Damon0397: Why don’t you try being a bit more like your roommate?

Paddy7491: Really, bro!?

Tony7273: It’s actually not a half-bad idea.

Kevin0403: I mean, I guess I could do that, but I’m such a neat freak, and George, well, he’s George.

Neil5018: We can help you out with that, isn’t that right, boys?

Paddy7491: Yeah!

Chris3882: Yeah!

Damon0397: Yeah!

Tony7273: So, first things first, let’s start off small. He’s smelly, so you should be smelly too.

Kevin0403: What the f**k happened!? My pits reek now!

Chris3882: You probably forgot to shower last night, dude.

Paddy7491: Now that you’re smelly, let’s get you a bit messy, but not too literally.

Kevin0403: Haha, very funny, guys. Do any of you have actual tips for me?

Damon0397: I think if you got some abs, then George might wanna actually hang out with you.

Kevin0403: I can certainly try, but I don’t like to work- Holy s**t! I have a six-pack now! What the f**k is going on here!?

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403: Guys, something is seriously f****d up here!? Can you guys leave the chat?

Tony7273: No, Kevin, we can’t. We’re not done changing you yet.

Neil5018: I think George might want some nice and juicy pecs to rest on his head before he goes out to party and bang some chicks.

Kevin0403: But George isn’t even- S**T! It happened again, guys! Why the f**k are my pecs so big!

Paddy7491: We already told you, brah!

Damon0397: And you definitely need some big strong arms to hold George when he’s upset and crying.

Kevin0403: I have never seen that man upset once in my life, even after he lost a game! OMFG, stop it guys! I don’t wanna be a jock like George! I just wanted some tips to deal with him!

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403: I yanked my power cord out of the wall and the screen still didn’t f****n’ go away!

Chris3882: Just give in to the changes, Kevin. You’re becoming the jock you’re always meant to be.

Tony7273: Yeah, and jocks need big strong legs no matter what sport they play.

Paddy7491: I think George plays football. It’d be so cool if you guys played together!

Kevin0403: No it most certainly would not! But you f****n’ weirdos already made my leg muscles inflate!

Neil5018: And now for every guy’s favorite body part! A jock has to have a big dick, right?

Chris3882: Yeah!

Tony7273: Yeah!

Kevin0403: Well, uh, I guess I wouldn’t mind my dick getting a bit bigger. But everything else you’re doing to me is so f****d up, guys!

Damon0397: No, it really isn’t, Kevin. Now that you have the muscles of a jock, let’s finish turning you into a jock physically.

Kevin0403: Does this magic or whatever s**t you’re doing to me work when it’s not specific? Yeah, it does, because now I don’t have any fuckin’ acne, my hair’s a different color and cut much shorter, and my back is straighter!

Chris3882: See, we didn’t want you to get scoliosis, brah!

Tony7273: Jocks don’t usually wear button-downs or suits either, unless they’re going to a game. But since you’re in your bedroom or someplace, but not on the field, let’s get you into some jock clothes.

Kevin0403: Why the f**k does my wardrobe need to change! It was perfectly fine before! S**t, now I have on a t-shirt and some athletic shorts! Thanks, guys.

Neil5018: No problem, brah! And when you don’t need to put a shirt and pants on, jocks love to lounge around in their boxers.

Kevin0403: But I’m a briefs guy! And there my f****n’ clothes go! It feels so f****n’ weird just sitting here in my boxers.

Paddy7491: You just need to get used to it, Kevin. You’re a jock now. And now it’s time for the really fun stuff. Jocks love to have sex, brah, so it makes sense you have a high libido, Kevin.

Kevin0403: I have a perfectly fine libido, thank you very much. F**k, I’m so f****n’ horny, I need to jerk off right now!

Neil5018: That’s a good jock, Kevin. Just keep stroking your dick as we finish transforming you into a jock.

Tony7273: Of course, jocks aren’t usually smart. Yeah, some are, but it’s so much more fun when jocks are dumb, just like you are!

Kevin0403: No, I worked so hard to get into this college and get my degree! But, yeah, brahs, it, like, feels so much f****n’ better to just sit back and jerk my dick and not have to worry about, like, any tests or quizzes or homework.

Chris3882: Almost there, Kevin, you’re almost there!

Paddy7491: Sweet, brah! You know, jocks love to flex and show off their muscles to their bros and hot chicks.

Kevin0403: I mean, I have the muscles now, but do jocks normally do that? Man, it feels so f****n’ natural to flex and show off my guns!

Damon0397: Yeah, jocks love to do that, brah! And the last part of being a jock is loving being with your fellow jock bros. Whenever you’re around George or any jocks on campus, you’ll flex with them and act just like a bro should around other bros.

Kevin0403: Like, yeah, man, I’m not gonna f****n’ talk about Euclidean geometry around my brahs! Like, they only care about how many pussies I smashed and how many n00bs I killed in Call of Duty!

Neil5018: Your transformation is finally complete, Kevin. I hoped we all solved your problem!

Kevin0403: Yeah you did! George just texted me to come flex with him and some of the bros in the quad while all the chicks are out!

Kevin0403 has left the chat.

Neil5018 has left the chat.

Damon0397 has left the chat.

Chris3882 has left the chat.

Tony7273 has left the chat.

Paddy7491 has left the chat.

[alpha-men-world]

[entouragestories]

Jays little boi

Ben had always played it safe. He was twenty, lean and bookish, with sharp cheekbones, a clean style, and an academic scholarship that kept his parents off his back. He was the type to keep his calendar color coded, to eat clean, to work out just enough to stay fit without bulking. Everything in his life was about balance. He wasn’t out looking for anyone to take control of him. In fact, Ben liked to believe he was the one in charge. But some part of him, (the part he barely acknowledged) craved something heavier. He just didn’t know what yet.

He downloaded a hookup app one night, not for anything serious, just to blow off steam. That’s where he matched with Jay. Jay was twenty-six and local, a shaved-headed gym lad with thick arms, heavy ink, and a profile full of grainy mirror selfies in Nike techs. No description, no bio, just a location and a smirk. It wasn’t Ben’s usual type. Still, something about the guy stuck. Maybe it was the confidence. Maybe it was the way he looked like he didn’t have to try.

They agreed to meet up. Ben dressed casual clean jeans, sneakers, a neutral tee. Nothing fancy. Jay opened the door shirtless, in grey tech fleece joggers and white TNs. A thick gold chain lay across his collarbone, and even from the doorway, Ben caught the smell of him sweat, weed, something musky and raw that hit like a slap. It wasn’t gross. It was magnetic. It made Ben’s thoughts go slow.

Jay didn’t greet him with a smile or a hug. Just jerked his head toward the living room. Ben followed, already feeling like something had shifted. They hooked up, but it was calm, not aggressive. Jay was quiet but in control, hands firm, grip confident. He kept his sneakers on the whole time white TNs, spotless, heavy. They brushed against Ben’s legs while they kissed, while they moved, and something about the weight and scent of them made Ben ache deeper than he expected.

When he left later that night, his own shirt still faintly smelled of Jay. He breathed it in on the train ride home, heart pounding for no clear reason.

They met again two days later. Jay hadn’t asked him to come he just texted his address and a time. Ben didn’t even think about saying no.

Jay had a pair of old Adidas trackies laid out on the bed, creased and worn. “Put these on,” he said, not even looking up from his phone. Ben blinked. “What, like now?” Jay glanced at him. “Yeah. You’re not wearin’ your posh little jeans ‘ere.” Ben swallowed, then nodded. The fabric was rough, slightly damp. The waistband sagged low on his hips. Jay just grinned. “Looks better on you already.”

They didn’t talk much that time. They didn’t have to. Jay pressed Ben’s face into his armpit at one point, laughing when he moaned. The smell was stronger now thick, heavy, and intoxicating. Ben left in the trackies.

The third meetup changed everything.

Ben arrived in a hoodie and jeans, but Jay took one look and shook his head. “Nah. Strip. Wear this.” This time it was a full outfit, trackies, hoodie, cap, even socks and a knockoff gold chain. “Go on,” Jay said, voice low and calm. “Just for fun.” Ben didn’t argue. He changed. Jay made him sit down in front of the TV. A video loop started. Loud grime music, flashing words: Obey. Submit. Scally. Chav. Dumb. At first, Ben chuckled, thinking it was some joke. Jay sat behind him, pressed his sneakers into Ben’s lap, and leaned in close.

“Relax, mate. Just breathe it in.”

The scent hit Ben hard. Weed, sweat, old cologne, and something deeper. Masculine. Animal. It crawled into his brain, melted his thoughts. Jay kept whispering things. “You like wearin’ that gear now, don’t ya?” Ben nodded, not even thinking. His heart was racing. His cock was hard. His thoughts were gone.

From that night on, the changes stuck.

Ben stopped changing back into his usual clothes. The trackies felt better. His reflection looked more natural. The sharp cheekbones softened. His skin tanned slightly. He stopped trimming his brows. A faint patch of facial hair began to form, scruffy, unkempt, chavvy. Jay noticed. “Gettin’ rough round the edges, yeah?” he grinned. “Good. Gotta look the part.”

Jay gave him a cap and told him to wear it everywhere. “Helps the mindset.” And it did. Every time Ben put it on, he felt himself slouch more, talk slower. His voice began to shift, the poshness replaced by a lazy, thicker accent. His workouts stopped being about leanness. Jay had him do bodyweight stuff, bulk up his arms. “Scally lads don’t skip chest day, bruv.” Ben's body responded fast. Shoulders broadened. Abs thickened. His ass filled out the trackies. His face grew plainer, but in a way that felt right. More real. More local. Jay’s scent still triggered him every time. A whiff of it made his dick twitch and his head fog over. It was a shortcut. The key that unlocked whatever Jay had started in his mind.

Soon, he stopped being Ben.

Jay started calling him Kyle. “Ben’s dead, mate. You’re Kyle now. Me dumb chav pup.” Kyle nodded, grinning. He’d started wearing Air Max 95s everywhere—Jay’s old pair, still warm from his feet. They stank. Kyle loved it. He sniffed them when he was alone. Sometimes he wore them to bed.

He stopped going to uni. Said it was “long” and “waste of time.” He told his tutor to piss off. He didn’t even remember why he cared about grades. He started showing up to Jay’s flat early, sometimes just to sit in his gear and smoke. Jay let him. Sometimes he made Kyle worship his socks while they played FIFA. Kyle would nuzzle up against his master’s foot, eyes half-lidded, stoned and hard.

Jay started making him repeat things. “Say it. Out loud.”

“I’m a dumb scallyboy.”

“I live for me Master’s sneakers.”

“I don’t need brains, just gear and your scent.”

The more he said it, the truer it became.

By summer, there was no sign of Ben. Kyle was unshaven, thick-accented, unemployed, dumb and happy. He wore the same trackies for days. His room smelled like weed, sweat, and his master’s trainers. He didn’t read books anymore. He didn’t need to. Jay had filled his head with something better. Simplicity. Pleasure. Obedience.

One evening, Jay came home to find Kyle shirtless on the couch, playing FIFA with one hand and sniffing his Air Max with the other, a mindless grin on his face.

Jay smirked and sat beside him. “You happy like this, bruv?”

Kyle didn’t even look up. Just nodded, eyes glazed.

“Yeah, bruv. Don’t wanna be no one else. Love bein’ your dumb chav pup.”

Jay put a hand on his thigh, leaned in close.

“Good lad.”

[ghfghhmen]

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