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@hypnogayboi
“Flex, my obedient jock toy.”
Over the last 6 months, Chase had been conditioned by a never ending loop of hypnotic files designed to transform him into a submissive jock toy. Now when his Coach gives him a command, he doesn’t think, he just obeys.
Everyone looking though the shades were about looking cool.
And they do look cool, but they are really there to hide his glazed over and empty eyes as he works out to his Owner's voice.
His Suited body obeying the voice, pumping and working out.
But to everyone else he's just a normal jock...
“What day is it?”
“Where am I?”
“What am I wearing?” He asked aloud
*Unauthorized questions pre-drone, there is no “I”, be silent*
After he felt the mindnumbing input directly in his brain, Jeffrey, or rather Pre-Drone JFY, it directly clicked again.
Pre-Drone JFY immediately sat straight, his semi hard directly becoming full the second the sensation of the full rubber coverage was registered
“Damn, right. I fell asleep after the first session of the mental conditioning phase” he thought
*Unauthorized thought pre-drone, obey*
The second heard the obey trigger, the lenses in his hood blasted a bright pulsing light onto his iris. The combination of the light and the trigger made him throb and moan.
*Correct reaction pre-drone*
Instantly Pre-Drone JFY started to feel better. He did chose the phase 2 mental augmentation hood for a reason, maybe not fully out of free will. But he needed more rubber, more coverage. And this was the last remaining step.
*pre-drone, mind reprogramming session 2 starting in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1*
Suddenly Pre-Drone JFY was bombarded by input in his rubber hood. Binaural beats were pumped into his ears and flashing lights with spirals and code were projected into his optical nerve
*pre-drone is receiving programming, acknowledge pre-drone*
Without thinking Pre-Drone JFY reacted: “Pre-Drone acknowledges”
*repeat “good drones obey, good drones wear rubber, good drones stay hard, good drones obey…*
“Good drones obey, good drones wear rubber, good drones stay hard, good… drones… obey, goooddronswrrbbr, gdssrnsstayhhrd….”
It did not take long before Pre-Drone JFY’s eyes rolled back. His jaw going slack, drool pooling over his rubber body, his cock twitching every time the word obey flashed over his HUD
*drone programming at 20%, expected upload and hive synchronization in 172 hours*
hour 180 of programming. drone programming at 100%. uploading drone to the hive. hive synchronisation established.
There was no Jeffrey anymore. Not even a Pre-Drone. after all these hours of reprogramming his humanity and emotions were reduced and deleted. The direct visual and auditory inputs no longer painful or unfamiliar, rather a constant stream of perfected data. Replacing his feeble human mind with the drone programming.
It's HUD a constant stream of commands
OBEYTHEHIVESERVETHECOLLECTIVEOBEYTHEHIVESERVETHECOLLECTIVE
and Drone JFY's cock twitching in submission at each command.
Status check: Unit JFY. Report.
Drone JFY didn't hesitate. His body didn't belong to him, it belonged to the programming. The rubber suit, what began as choice a long time ago, was now his skin. Fused to his dermal layer, never to be removed. The heavy, airtight seal of the phase 2 mental augmentation hood felt like a natural extension of his skull.
"Drone JFY reports. this drone serves the hive. The hive is all," he spoke, his voice no longer his own. It was a rhythmic, droning monotone, his cock twitching.
Drone JFY is hard. Drone JFY is ready. kneel Drone JFY
As the command flashed across his retinas, Drone JFY’s legs moved with mechanical precision.
"Drone JFY obeys, position achieved" Drone JFY droned, his eyes staring blankly at the scrolling code on his lenses.
His cock, trapped in the tight, unyielding pressure of the suit’s internal constraints, pulsed rhythmically with the "Obey" signal that pinged his nervous system. He wasn't a man in a suit anymore; he was a tool. A hard, rubberized vessel for the hive’s will.
Good drones obey. Good drones wear rubber. Good drones serve the hive.
"Good drones obey. Good drones wear rubber. Good drones serve the hive."
You were worried after it took so long before your boyfriend returned. It wasn't like him to stay out so late. Little did you know that your boyfriend had some new friends. They had started his optimisation weeks ago, today it was time to spread it to you. He returned a new man. His skin perfected by the rubber "no need to keep it under clothes, babe, I'm perfect this way" he told you. He was right, you were in awe, you didn't know how to react. But that didn't matter. "You will join me babe, together we can serve the hive. Become perfect rubber drones" "Conversion Rod preparing for first integration" he or rather it started to drone as it became hard just before it gave you the first taste of rubber.
Maybe training for the triathlon so close to the lab was a wrong idea. My wetsuit suddenly started to extend over my feet and hands. I also can’t take it off anymore, but that doesn’t worry me as much, it just feels so good. The slight pressure, the smooth surface. It’s almost… not it does feel better than skin. Why would I wear anything else? It’s making me so hard, i can barely think. But why would I?
Maybe i should take my friend swimming next time, he will simply love this feeling as well. Maybe I’ll take a snorkling mask with me. Or actually go into the laboratory, maybe I can find the source and keep feeling this good.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B3gqNu2Ibxk/?igshid=1i6jtfqisk0in
It has been remade as the perfect compliment.
Pain? Pleasure? Endurance? Stamina?
It has been programmed for all of these things. No questions asked: no excuses given. Once the program has begun, there will be no stopping.
Encased in rubber, it’s body perfected. The programming has erased it’s mind. It only serves now.
Remade to be perfect.
Remade to obey
You too will be remade,
Ready yourself for the program.
Putting on the helmet has changed his mind almost as much as the compression gear had changed his body.
It didn't do anything, not really, they weren't magic or super science or anything. But knowing he was putting them on because his Owner had ordered it.
Knowing he had built up the body worthy for the gear for his Owner.
Knowing he had trained and programed his mind into a blank drone for his Owner.
Those facts meant everything.
The gear was just gear.
Trying on Coach's latex suit.....
As you wear it, feel the material become a true second skin. It is firm, molding to every curve, defining your silhouette with uncompromising precision. This transformation is immediate. The latex is not shy; it is bold. It demands your attention, and in wearing it, you demand attention too.
Feel the subtle, constant pressure—it is a quiet engine of assertion. This sleek, unforgiving black sheen acts as a visual armor, shedding doubt and hesitation. It strips away the unnecessary, leaving only the essential: confidence, focus, and undeniable presence.
Step into this new skin. Embrace the feeling of being polished, contained, and utterly in command. This material isn't just worn; it is worn with intent. Let the latex pull the confident, assertive New You into the light. You know what coach feels, you become a power of intent and presence.
Fantastic double B&B
Your Initial Struggle
Imagine yourself in the center of the ring, under the bright, focused light. Feel the firm, rubbery resilience of the mat against your skin. You are engaged in a fierce, absolute struggle. Mind and muscle are screaming with effort, every fiber of your being is dedicated to the fight. Feel the sweat, the heat, the driving, urgent need to win. You are pushing, pulling, resisting... (Deep breath) ...but now, your opponent, your coach gains the advantage.
Suddenly, you are taken down. The world tilts, and you feel the heavy, unavoidable weight of your Coach pressing you into the mat. There is still a brief, desperate thrashing, a final burst of energy to escape, but the hold is perfect, the technique flawless. You feel locked and pinned. The tight hold feels perfect.
As my weight settles, something profound shifts. The tension drains out like air from a balloon.
Being held like this is a relief.
The futile need to resist vanishes. Replace the burning effort with a heavy, profound sense of secure surrender. You feel your muscles let go. You feel your mind let go... You know this feeling.
Focus entirely on the feeling of being perfectly held. The pressure on your shoulders, your chest, your hips—it's not painful, it's absolute. It is a comforting, inescapable finality. You are suspended between the coach's power above and the solid earth below. You are done fighting, and in that cessation of struggle, there is a deep, profound wave of relief. Let this feeling this wave encompass mind and muscle. Accept it.
Now, listen for the sound: the slap of the referee's hand on the mat.
THREE....!
TWO....
ONE....
The pin is complete. You are utterly, deeply overcome. Let the sound of that final count, and that blissful, irreversible state of being pinned, drop you three times deeper into this heavy, receptive trance. Just rest in that feeling of complete surrender. You have surrendered to coach again.....
A man's Path is ahead !
You are ready to expand as a man. Open to truths that will allow you to EVOLVE beyond your current self. Some words bring absolute TRUTHS. Some WORDS enable CHANGE. Allow yourself to settle… Because right now, you are stepping into something POWERFUL. You are EVOVLING as a man. You are being coached. And that CHANGES everything. FOCUS…. ABSORB ….CONTINUE You define your MASCULINITY. You ACCEPT you are ready for Change. As COACH says "Your path is ahead". So, Take a breath, feel yourself letting go of the old… The outdated patterns, the limiting beliefs, the noise. Because you are EVOLVING as a man. And being coached is the catalyst. COACHING provokes a man to find solutions. COACHING provides guidance and training. Being coached means being seen. Being coached means being challenged. Being coached means being guided toward the man you were always meant to become.
You are EVOLVING as a man—stronger, clearer, more grounded. You are being coached—supported, sharpened, awakened.
And the more you hear and read these words, the more they resonate: EVOLVE as a man. ACCEPT Being coached.
Let those words echo through your mind… EVOLVE…. Let them settle into your nervous system… Let them become part of your identity. COACH knows you need this to Happen
Because this is not just a moment. This is a movement. This is your evolution. This is your coaching.
You are EVOLVING as a man. You are being coached. And you are ready. You ACCEPT to EVOLVE as a man—into someone more grounded, more present, more powerful. You ACCEPT being coached—into clarity, into courage, into conviction. You are EVOLVING as a man—no longer hiding, no longer shrinking, no longer pretending. You are being coached—no longer alone, no longer LOST, no longer stuck. You are READY, your PATH is ahead!! And the more you hear and read these words, the more they resonate: EVOLVE as a man. ACCEPT Being coached. EVOLVE as a man. ACCEPT Being coached.
Because being COACHED is not weakness. Being COACHED is a wise choice. ACCEPTING COACH is the decision to become more. To become better. To become whole. You feel EXCITED to ACCEPT and EVOLVE as a man. TO Respond to COACH as you feel you need to.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B3gqNu2Ibxk/?igshid=1i6jtfqisk0in
It has been remade as the perfect compliment.
Pain? Pleasure? Endurance? Stamina?
It has been programmed for all of these things. No questions asked: no excuses given. Once the program has begun, there will be no stopping.
Rubber day
It felt strange at first - but before the end of the day he realised that his new second skin was the most natural thing in the world.
Listen. Right now, every word I speak becomes a strap. Feel the first one slide across your chest — smooth leather, warm against your skin. It glides into place, then tightens. Firm. Exact. Another strap winds across your shoulders, pulling them back, making you aware of your posture. No choice. No space. Just the feeling of being fitted. The harness forms piece by piece — each buckle clicking shut, each pull drawing you deeper. Leather across your arms now, soft at first, then snug. You can feel the weight, the pressure, the grip. Another strap wraps your thighs, another around your calves. Your whole body encased in leather, held steady. The scent of the straps… the creak as they move… the press of the harness on your skin. Every sensation is a command. The tighter it gets, the deeper you drop. You’re not just wearing a harness. The harness is wearing you. You’re becoming still, silent, focused. No resistance. No escape. Only depth. With every strap, every buckle, every breath… you sink further. Held. Bound. Owned by calm. Drop deeper now.
Deeper and eager to respond
HARNESSED
Listen carefully. Each word is leather, each phrase a buckle. Feel the first leather strap slide across your shoulders — thick, solid, pressing against muscle. Imagine the feel of it. It doesn’t take your strength; it focuses it. Another strap draws across your chest, snug, shaping the power underneath. Wrapping around you, imagine it. The harness begins to form — over your back, around your arms — framing every line of muscle, every curve of power. Each strap presses into you, not to weaken you but to harness you.
Imagine the word HARNESS. Imagine feeling your self being HARNESSED. Muscles against leather, your chest rises against pressure. You feel your own strength captured, contained, directed.
HARNESSED The creak of leather, the scent of it, the weight — all reminders of your power under control. that power being harnessed. You don’t lose your muscle; you surrender it to discipline. Every buckle locks in more focus. Every strap channels more energy. You are no longer a scattered force; you are contained power. Bound. Shaped. Sharpened. The harness holds your muscles as a frame holds a blade — not to dull it but to enhance it. With every breath, you feel stronger, steadier, more controlled. The harness is not taking from you. It is making you. Now… drop deeper into harnessed strength. Drop deeper into how it confines and defines you. Drop deeper into the feeling. HARNESSED Ready to evolve. The desire to be harnessed is amazing. It swells in your chest, yet contained and controlled like it should. Excited, contained, harnessed, ready,
Repeat
Graham presses his hand into the panel at the front of the water fountain, bringing his head down as he begins to slurp up the ice cold water. He looks down the hallway as he continues to drink, the building empty save for the theatre students running through the play for the third time that day. He faintly hears his cast mates half-heartedly reciting their lines as he wipes his mouth with his forearm, beginning his walk back to the theatre.
“Hey!” A gruff but familiar voice echos from behind him. Graham turns around and sees Travis, one of his classmates and probably the most popular guy at the school. Even though they were both sophomores, Travis more accurately resembles a roided up third year senior. He’s got a high faded buzzcut and a square jawed face, the quintessential meathead jock look. But from his interactions with him, Graham considers Travis a nice guy. he’s wearing their university’s wrestling uniform: a charcoal gray singlet with yellow and red stitching and the letters of the university’s city, San Ventura, plastered across the front. Underneath the letters, two humanoid shapes grapple each other.
“Uhh, what’s up, Travis?” Travis starts walking toward Graham, his wrestling shoes squeaking against the tiled floor. As he gets closer, Graham notices the beads of sweat glistening across his skin, the singlet doing very little to hide the movement of his muscles with each footfall. Graham takes a couple steps back, not looking away from Travis.
“Why are you acting so weird, dude?” Graham asks as he takes a few more back steps. Travis flashes a smile as he picks up his pace, transitioning to a jog as he continues moves closer to Graham.
Utterly freaked out, Graham turns and runs, looking over his shoulder to see that Travis has also begun to run. His heavy foot steps sounding closer to Graham with each passing second as Graham races toward the theatre.
“Dude, stop! What the hell?!” With the door to the theatre in sight, Graham pushes his body, trying to get his legs to move faster, but as he begins to reach out his arm, two sweaty, burly arms grab his around the waist and swing him backwards, away from the door.
“Let me go! This isn’t fucking funny!” Graham tries to writhe himself free, but he’s no match for Travis’s hold on him. The jock drags him to a door down the hall from the theatre’s door, labeled, “Men’s Locker Room.” He kicks the door a couple times, maintaining his grip on Graham, entering the locker room as it’s opened by two of his teammates. The other two jocks watch as Travis drags the puny theatre nerd into the dark room, pinning him against a row of lockers.
“Get the gear,” Travis says calmly to one of the jocks. Graham renews his struggle as he sees one of the jocks, one he doesn’t recognize, reach into a gym bag and pull out a set of yellow wrestling headgear. The third jock that had been standing there joins Travis in holding Graham in place as Travis slowly releases his grip on him.
“Please stop,” Graham says exasperated, tired from his near constant struggling since Travis first grabbed him. Travis takes the headgear in his hands as the jock that fetched it now joins in on the “pin Graham to the lockers” game. Their muscles glisten in the low-light locker room, both of them dressed in the same singlet as Travis, with short-cut hairstyles that Graham guesses is so no one can grab it while wrestling. Travis pulls a few straps on the headgear, loosening it up while inspecting Graham’s puny frame. The small theatre nerd looks like a stick figure next to his two teammates. He’s wearing a T-shirt with the university’s drama club’s logo on the front, and his blue jeans hang off his skinny legs. A pair of dirty vans cover his feet, recently scuffed from trying to escape Travis’s grasp not too long ago. He’s got long brown hair, curly and unkempt—not good for wrestling.
With the headgear straps loosened up, Travis takes the foam headgear and positions it over Graham’s head.
“Dude, what are you doing?!” Weirded out and without a response, Graham decides to let this play out so he can get out.
Travis methodically fastens the straps around Graham’s head. Graham feels as Travis’s hands reach around and tighten two straps running across the back of his head, one across the crown, and one running across the top of his forehead. The straps press against his skin, and with the tightness, his sense of hearing is muffled. He looks up as Travis nods at the two jocks on either side of him. They release him, letting him stand on his own.
He takes a breath as he plans to make a break for it, and he goes for it. But, his body does not follow. Instead, he walks over to the open gym bag that the jock grabbed the headgear from in the first place. He reaches inside, and against his will, he pulls out a singlet. He tosses it on the metal bench in front of the lockers as he begins to undress. Blushing furiously, he lifts his t-shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor. Next, he steps out of his shorts, revealing his baggy boxers underneath. He sits on the bench and bends over to plop off his socks and shoes. Almost fully undressed, he finds himself breathing shallower. He looks down to see his body is covered in sweat. Travis smirks at him as Graham’s body turns to grab the singlet. With it in hand, he pulls down his boxers and steps out of them. Utterly mortified, Graham body shakes the singlet out. Holding by the straps, he steps into it and shimmies it up his body, the sweat from his body being absorbed into the fabric as it makes its way up his body. The singlet had definitely seen the mat many times before, with the pungent odor of sweat and must quickly filling his nostrils, making him dizzy. He mindlessly readjusts his enlarged dick in the tight fabric as he turns back to the bag. He sits back down again and pulls out a pair of black socks and black adidas wrestling shoes. As he’s putting on the socks, his breathing changes. He begins to instinctively take deeper breaths, pushing against the almost constrictive spandex, with each breath feeling like his lungs are getting bigger, taking in more oxygen.
Travis and the two jocks watch as Graham begins to grow before their eyes. As he pulls the socks over his feet, they lengthen, pushing further and further into the sock. His legs do the same, growing in the length and definition—his calves pop out as his thighs begin to show some shred. Underneath the singlet, the three can see Graham’s pecs billow, straining against the fabric of the singlet. His arms are next, growing similar to the arms that grabbed him only a few minutes ago. His biceps and deltoids pack on muscle, crucial for taking down opponents on the mat. His hands thicken as he begins to tie his shoes, losing their delicacy and growing to grapple.
Graham feels like crying, but his body won’t let him. He watches in terror as his hands shake and change before his eyes as he goes to tie his new wrestling shoes. His fingers shorten and thicken, and as he ties his last shoe, he feels a tickling feeling from his head. He starts to stand, and he sees a pile of hair on the bench and floor below where he had been sitting. Travis opens one of the lockers, revealing a small mirror that had been attached to the back. Graham gasps as he sees himself: Underneath the headgear, his long hair had been reduced to a fade to match the three jocks standing in front of him. The fade is tight against his scalp on the sides, with length only on top. A tuft of hair billows out over his forehead, the only thing separating him from Travis’s military-grade buzz. He feels sick as he continues standing, and though trembling, his body reaches up and takes the last strap of the headgear, the chinstrap, in his hand. He reaches his other burly hand up and confidently tightens the strap under his chin, tightens it, and clicks it into place. With this resounding click, Graham’s vision zeroes in on his reflection in the mirror.
Travis and the other two jocks watch as Graham stares at himself in the reflection, his body twitching ever so slightly as his old personality, memories, and life are wiped. He’s gonna be one of them now: A C-student that’s riding a wrestling scholarship, spending his free time at the gym or at parties. A complete and utter-
“Bro!” Travis is snapped out of his soliloquy as Graham goes to dap him up.
“Bro!” Travis reciprocates the dap and pats Graham on the back. “Dude we’ve gotta get outta here. The janitor’s gonna wonder why we’re still here so late after practice.”
“Fuck, dude, you’re right. Let’s get out of here.” Graham grabs his gym bag and stuffs his headgear into it. He grabs a pair of gray sweatpants from within and quickly changes into them. Following his teammates into the night and his new life as a jock.
Graham after his first (?) wrestling match, two weeks since incident.
-
Also, thank y’all so much for 1,400 followers! That’s insane. Thanks for the support of my sporadic uploads
Logan loved his new pair of smart glasses from HIMBOCo. He knew he did because the glasses told him he did. In fact, the glasses tell him exactly what to do every hour of every day. He no longer has to think for himself. He just has to obey the words that appear on the screen.
