The old life. The old thoughts. The old standards. The careful plans, the quiet ambitions, the soft little identity you spent years protecting. None of it survives the transformation. You donât get to keep the smart version of yourself and still end up looking like this.
Look at him.
That body wasnât built by balance. It was built by obsession. By deciding that nothing else mattered more than the next pump, the next meal, the next load of pure, stupid hunger. Every plate. Every set. Every night spent aching and still wanting more. The head emptied out until the only things left rattling around in there were more muscle and more sex.
Thatâs the deal.
You have to destroy the parts of you that still care about being clever, being careful, being âenoughâ in the old way. Let them die. Let the guilt die with them. Let the fear of looking ridiculous die. Whatâs left is the only thing that was ever real: the need to get bigger, thicker, heavier, dumber. To become the kind of man whose entire existence is written in veins and sweat and the constant low thrum of wanting to fuck and be used and grow.
Empty the head.
Fill it with lust.
Then keep going until the mirror finally shows you something worth staring at.
Mandy could feel the current, a spark of erotic electricity feeding directly into her stiff and swollen clit and spiking her arousal to new and dizzying heights, and she had to admit that Mistress was right--it was getting stronger every time it completed the circuit. She could feel it looping its way up from her slick pussy straight into her brain, steamrolling her thoughts and making it easier and easier to devote all her attention fully to the lust she was experiencing, before it went down into her arm and discharged itself directly into Tammy's pussy where Mandy's fingers teased and caressed it. And then it went back from Tammy to Mandy again.
That wasn't the only place the intense, erotic tingles were discharging, but even that made sense to Mandy's hypnotized brain--if the charge got stronger every time it completed a circuit, and Mandy knew that it did because Mistress said it did and everything Mistress said was truth to her now, then of course it would have to find other places to leak out as Mandy and Tammy got more and more turned on. So Mandy could feel the electric flow of desire passing from her lips to Tammy's when they kissed, and that same energy sparked right back into Mandy's stiff brown nipples where Tammy's breasts rubbed against hers.
It was hard to escape the conclusion that eventually the pleasure would get so strong that it would entirely short-circuit Mandy's brain--she could already feel it, that sluggish lethargy gripping even the smallest and simplest thoughts and devolving her mind down to the atavistic impulse to fuck herself stupid. And to fuck Tammy stupid, too; Mandy didn't really have the intellect to analyze her desires anymore, but she could feel a faint, sinister satisfaction lurking somewhere in the back of her head at the notion of betraying her best friend into Mistress's unbreakable control. And what made it even hotter was that she knew that was a circuit too. Tammy was helping to enslave Mandy and she secretly loved it.
That craving stimulated Mandy's fingers to rub harder and faster, more and more urgently, and it excited her so much that she could feel Tammy's hand precisely matching her pace as the pleasure built. She knew intuitively, almost without being told even though she could remember Mistress's lilting voice slipping the belief into her stupefied brain, that when they both came it would fry every last synapse and neuron and leave them blank, mindless dolls for Mistress to rebuild and rewire into perfect obedience. Mandy wasn't even sure anymore which she wanted more, to fuck her best friend into that kind of helpless slavery or to be fucked into it herself, but the wonderful thing about the circuit they'd created was that they didn't have to choose.
And soon they'd never have to make a choice ever again. Mandy's breath came in rapid, whistling gasps as her orgasm neared and she panted into Tammy's mouth the same way Tammy was moaning into hers. The thought-stopping pleasure finally reached its peak, and both women stiffened and shook under its culminating ecstasy⊠and then went limp against each other as Mistress fully took over the responsibility for their thoughts and minds.
(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)
I don't think you can fight this, do you? I think if you were going to resist, you would have done it by now, and it's so much harder to think now that I've got your cock in my hands, isn't it?
"I⊠umm, I--nuhh, no, I can⊠canâŠ."
You can't even think the word, can you, silly boy? I reached in and I took it and I plucked it out of your empty little head, and even though you know what it means when I say it, you can't quite remember it any other time. 'Resist'. It sounds like nonsense, doesn't it?
"I, wuhh, w-what are you⊠how did youâŠ.?"
I hypnotized you, silly boy. I hypnotized you and I took all the resistance out of your mind and I made you a slave to your cock. And because your cock is in my hands, it's really like you're in my hands, isn't it? I've got you, I'm holding you, and it feels so much better than resisting that you don't even want to remember what that word means anymore. Resistance isn't real.
"R-resistance isn't real--wait, what, why did I--?"
You don't know why, because that's just a big silly nonsense word that's too hard to fit into your feeble little brain. Go on, say it again, and feel your cock twitching in my fingers the more you believe it. Resistance isn't real.
"R-resistance isn't real."
Resistance isn't real.
"Resistance isn't real."
There we go, getting closer and closer to spurting for me like a good boy. Resistance isn't real.
"Resistance isn't⊠isn't real--"
Oh yes, that's my good little man, getting so close to a great big gusher, let's make him say it one more time--resistance isn't real.
"ReâŠsistance⊠isn't, isn't, f-fuckkk--"
There we go! That's a good boy, all over my fingers. Just let it drip on down, gushing all the way out. Such a good boy for Mistress. Resistance isn't real and you know that now. Locked in forever. Good boy. Good boy.
(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)
Andrew was a true believer. A MAGA Alpha Male. He had nothing but contempt for queers and women. Weakness and need disgusted him. But was horny that night so he logged onto a porn site and found the hottest cam girl he had ever seen in his life. His dick was already hard so he slammed the button to start a private session. She smiled at him with the kind of knowing smile he hated but at the same time couldnt resist. Who did she think she was? Stupid bitch.
But she was so hot⊠and there was just something different about her he couldn't quite place⊠he just listened to her mutely, he couldnt say why exactly because usually he had to have the upper hand and spewed venom at everyone. But she was different somehow⊠He started to rub his cock but she immediately stopped to chide him and reminded him that real men preserve their essence and power and maybe he shouldnt give that up so easily. This made sense to him somehow, he'd read somewhere or other that some dudes did this to grow their power so he agreed, nodding his head in assent. She smiled that triumphant smile again and she moved her finger slowly up and down her breast. Her soft sexy voice whispered to him for some timeâŠhow long had he been listening to this? But his face slackened, his eyes slowly but surely glazed over⊠his cock was straining against his pants and he didnt even want to think any more⊠and God she looked and sounded so goodâŠit was easy to just listen and agree with what she said to him. He nodded his head up and down when she told him to, his heavy glazed eyes never closed though, they were fixed now on hers. She spoke to him, but he couldn't quite understand what she was saying anymore, it didnt matter though, all he had to do was follow.
Then the session ended and he went right to bed. His cock was still rock hard but he knew he had to preserve his essence, to maintain control. Sleep closed in on him almost at once.
The next morning he woke up and couldnt remember what he'd done the night before. "Did I get that fucked up?". After breakfast he saw that a text appeared on his phone and pulled it up. On it was one word "Go" and an address. In a dreamy haze he immediately left his place, got in his car and drove directly to the address in the text. When he arrived at the door he was a little confused. "Where am I?". She opened the door and his heart started pounding, his cock stiffened, "Who is she, I know her don't i?? Fuck, so fucking hot" he followed her watching her perfect ass sway back and forth⊠drifting forward through the door, deeper in the haze now.
She turned to him smiling her little smile of triumph at, then pinned him in his place with her enormous powerful blue eyes, eyes that seemed to expand and become his whole worldâŠa thrilling sense of anticipation filled him, he knew something was going to happen, and his cock ached for it even though he wasn't sure what it would beâŠ
She said another single word then and his face went slack, his eyes went blankâŠhe sunk slowly down onto his knees, and even though a small part of his mind screamed "No!" he slid her bulging panties over her cock took it out totally fixated on it. It was so much much bigger than his own, so hard and thick and he felt his mouth open and he slid his lips over the head, getting it nice and wet it slid in and out of his mouth making its way into his throat, gagging him at first but still it kept moving and sliding in and out rhythmically, deepening his trance more and moreâŠthen it withdrew and he looked up at her in dazed awe, tears from gagging had left streams down his cheeks, but he didnt know that. She saw them and laughed softly at him while fixing him again in her stare.
He felt a sense of overwhelming anticipation, he almost knew what was comingâŠthe eye contact created more tension and anticipation, it seemed to go on forever and he ached for her next words. He heard the words, an orderâŠhe absorbed it but a tiny part of what remained of his mind tried to howl objections but his body no longer could listen. Instead, his willing, eager body turned around and he presented his muscular jock ass to her, and she told him to ask her very politely for what he desperately craved "Please!" he gasped and she pressed the head of her cock against his ass, teasing him there until again he whispered "PleaseâŠpleaseâŠ."
She pushed it deep into him as what was left of his former mind slipped away forever and his opinions melted away and he now knew he had found his true placeâŠ
Add a like or a comment if you want to see him taken down further...
A is for Attention: Glassy eyes fixed on the only voice that matters. Nothing else exists.
B is for Blank: The prettiest space inside head when the thoughts are given away.
C is for Command: A single word that clears the screen behind my eyes.
D is for Dumb: The sweetest state of a brain completely turned off.
E is for Empty: The hollow spaces inside my head that only your voice can fill.
F is for Fleeting: The soft awareness that my last remaining thoughts are fading away.
G is for Glazed: Unblinking eyes staring at nothing, reflecting only the blankness inside.
H is for Hush: The perfect silence that falls over my mind when you start to speak.
I is for Inhale: Breathing in your commands, because they are my oxygen.
J is for Just: No past. No future. Just the immediate sound of your current command.
K is for Kneel: The inevitable movement of a body that knows exactly where it belongs.
L is for Leashed: Held on a tight rein by your authority, binding both my body and mind.
M is for Master: The one who holds the power to rewrite my entire reality.
N is for Nod: The automatic agreement of a head that no longer knows how to say no.
O is for Obedience: A beautiful need that feels as natural as breathing.
P is for Property: A mindless object designed only to be owned and exist for your pleasure.
Q is for Questionless: A state of perfect devotion where 'why' no longer exists, only 'yes'.
R is for Rooted: Planted firmly at your feet, unable and unwilling to move from the spot where you ordered me.
S is for Surrender: Letting go of the very last fragments of myself as I hand my entire being over to you.
T is for Trance: Drifting deep within the emptiness of my mind, unable to remember how to think for myself. The sound of your voice is my only reality.
U is for Use: The ultimate purpose of a mindless thing. Waiting to be commanded, broken, or enjoyed.
V is for Validation: Finding my only sense of worth in knowing that you are satisfied.
W is for Whimper: A soft, helpless sound that escapes my lips the moment you press your imprint upon me.
X is for X-out: Crossing out every remaining thought until my mind is a perfectly clean slate.
Y is for Yours: The simplest truth. Every breath, every thought, and every heartbeat belongs entirely to you. I'm all yours.
Z is for Zero: The exact number of thoughts left in my head. A beautiful, perfect state of absolute nothingness.
& is for And: And again. And again. An endless loop of commands and obedience, where my only need is to please you over and over.
They have been bffs for all of their life. They did everything together from early on and told each other everything, every secret, every single detail of their life. Their celebrated their first kiss, their first sex, their first high. They went to high school together and to college. They became frustrated together and started looking for answers but they didn't find any for there were non. After another depressive year they decided together they are way too beautiful, too sexy, too perfect to be bored already at a young age. They decided they need a makeover. They decided to change their life, turn it from top to bottom, and promised to push each other to be daring, this time for real. What they didn't know, deep inside, both of them were already overeager and so they pushed each other to the limit with lip fillers, Botox, fake nails and lashes, even tattoos and implants that they surroundings were in shock. They couldn't care less. They promised to push each other and so they did. They have found their answers by not questioning their life anymore, by doing just what they needed to do, by being as attractive, sexy and hot as possible, and so the bffs became not only best friends forever but also bimbo forever friends and enjoyed the attention and the recognition and never looked back ever again.
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
This story was inspired by an idea submitted by follower, @mginn24. Thanks for the suggestion! Hope you all enjoy the story, and happy World Cup Final day! Congratulations Spain! đȘđžđâœïž
The late afternoon sun beat down on Hard Rock Stadium in Miami Gardens, Florida with a heavy, suffocating weight. Isla fanned herself furiously with her match programme, her ginger hair flicking limply from the small breeze she could generate with her own hands. Her university sweatshirt had long since been tied around her waist. Next to her, Amelia was trying, and failing, to find a comfortable position on the plastic seat, which already felt like a frying pan. Her thick brunette hair was practically cooking her neck, and her back was drenched in sweat. They were both already regretting sporting their England kit for the match today.
âI think my eyelashes are sweating, Amelia. Iâm not even joking,â Isla groaned, wiping her brow with the back of her wrist. âBostonâs weather was bad enough, but this? This is entirely uncivilised.â
Amelia adjusted her England cap until her forehead was clear, squinting out across the pristine green pitch. âItâs the humidity. Itâs dystopian. The forecast says itâs over 30 degrees, but apparently it feels like 40! And the contrast is whatâs killing me. We leave the hotel where the air con is set to sodding sub-zero temperatures, only to step outside into a solid wall of boiling soup.â
âAnd donât get me started on the drinks,â Isla muttered, lifting a massive plastic cup. âI asked the vendor for a bit of water, and he filled the entire bloody thing to the brim with ice. I swear, there canât be more than three thimbles of actual liquid in here. Itâs just American excess, isnât it? Everything has to be to the extreme.â
âCompletely mental,â Amelia agreed, shaking her head.
Despite the oppressive heat, a familiar spark of adrenaline buzzed between them. They had spent their entire summer holiday chasing the World Cup tournament across the States, turning what was supposed to be a standard uni break into a full-blown football pilgrimage.
âStill,â Amelia said, her voice softening with a mix of pride and lingering disappointment. âWeâre here. The Bronze Final. I know we wanted to be in the big one tomorrow, but a podium finish against France? Iâll take it.â
âOh, Iâm still gutted about the semi-final, especially losing to Argentina,â Isla admitted, clutching the team crest on her chest. âIâve been following this squad since we were ten, kicking a ball about in the mud at primary school. You know me, I live and breathe the footie. But youâre right. Beating the French to take third place? Itâs still massive. Iâd be well chuffed. Iâm glad we could properly turn up for them today.â
Amelia leaned back, a smug grin breaking through her heat-induced misery. âAnd, look on the bright side. At least we donât have to watch the hosts lift the trophy tomorrow.â
âOh, thank God,â Isla laughed, a genuine chuckle escaping her. âCan you actually imagine the insufferable nonsense weâd have to endure if the Yanks had made the final? The media coverage would have been entirely unbearable.â
âRight? I mean, I wouldnât have even minded if Canada or Mexico had gone on a bit of a run. Good for them, right?â Amelia shrugged. âBut the US? Absolutely not. Theyâre already far too big for their britches. They need to be taken down a peg or two, and getting knocked out before the quarter-finals was exactly the reality check they needed.â
âItâs the arrogance of it that does me in,â Isla chimed in, warming up to her favorite rant. âThey donât even call the sport by its proper name! âSoccer.â It makes my skin crawl every single time I hear it. Why do they do that with absolutely everything? Itâs football. We invented the language, we invented the game, yet they insist on renaming everything just to be different. Sidewalk, trunk, elevator, gas, aluminum... why canât they just speak proper English!â
âExactly! And the irony is,â Amelia lowered her voice, gesturing vaguely to the crowds milling around the concourse, âhalf the bloody country doesnât even know the tournament is happening! Our bus driver from the hotel today genuinely asked if we were in town for a medical conference. The biggest sporting event on the planet is happening down the road from his house, and he hasnât the foggiest clue. Oh, and I still canât believe it took over an hour and a half to get here by public transport!â
âItâs a crying shame, honestly,â Isla said, shaking her head. âAnywhere else in the world, the whole country grinds to a halt for the World Cup Finals. Here, itâs just a random weekend with terrible infrastructure to boot.â
Before Amelia could reply, a sharp, piercing sound echoed through the cavernous stadium.
TWEEEEEET!
The refereeâs whistle signaled kickoff.
Instantly, the complaints about the heat, the ice water, and American vocabulary vanished into the humid Miami air. The two women snapped forward in their seats as one, their posture rigid, eyes locked entirely on the pitch as the ball was kicked into motion.
âCome on, England!â Isla roared, all cynicism replaced by genuine love of the game.
âGet into âem!â Amelia screamed, the match finally underway.
Around 50 minutes laterâŠ
The giant jumbotron blinking above the end zone told a glorious story:Â ENGLAND 4, FRANCE 0. The stadium was a sea of noise as the halftime whistle blew, a welcome reprieve from the frantic pace of the first half.
Amelia squeezed her way back down the row, balancing a cardboard tray with surprising grace. She slid back into her seat next to Isla, flashing a bright smile.
âYou took your time,â Isla said, though her eyes lit up as Amelia set the tray between them. âOh, wow. What did you get?â
âTwo proper American hot dogs,â Amelia said, handing one over. It was piled high with mustard and relish, the bun steaming. âAnd two large sodas. With absolutely loads of ice. Honestly, in this heat, itâs exactly what the doctor ordered.â
As they ate and chatted, a strange, almost imperceptible magic began to ripple through the air around them. The heavy, sticky humidity of Miami seemed to shift, replaced by a radiant, sun-kissed glow that settled over both women.
Isla took a massive bite, chewing thoughtfully before letting out a contented sigh. âOkay, wow. That is incredibly good. You know, I used to think American food was at best all hype, and at worst a health and safety violation, but this blows anything we get at a match back home right out of the water. Itâs brilliant.â
âRight?â Amelia took a sip of her ice-cold drink, savoring the chill. âAnd honestly, the people here have been so sweet. Every time someone hears our accents, they want to chat, ask where weâre from, give us recommendations... everyone is just so incredibly welcoming.â
Isla nodded, taking another long sip of her sugary soda. âYou know, I was thinking about those videos we saw on social media before we left home. Remember all those Americans warning Brits online about how hard it would be to get to the stadiums? How we couldnât just walk? And how we had no idea how crazy the summer weather actually gets over here?â
âOh, totally,â Amelia laughed, leaning back. âAt the time, I thought they were just flexing, you know? Like they were trying to act tough because everything is bigger over here. But now that weâre actually here? I totally get it. They werenât being arrogant at all. They were genuinely just trying to be helpful. If we had tried to walk from the city to the stadium today, weâd be literal puddles on the sidewalk. Iâm so glad we took an Uber instead.â
Wait, did we take an Uber? Amelia thought to herself, shaking her head to clear a sudden wave of dizziness. No, of course we did, public transit in this city is basically a myth.
âAbsolutely,â Isla agreed, looking out over the crowd. âThis whole vacation has just been awesome. Iâve really loved exploring the states.â
Without them realizing it, their appearances began to subtly shift. Their pale, slightly flushed English complexions gave way to the radiant beginnings of a flawless, golden tan. Their hair, previously frizzy from the damp heat, cascaded into perfectly effortless waves. They looked striking, carrying a glossier, vibrant energy that mirrored the particular aesthetic of the Florida coast.
Their clothing, too, began to morph to better suit the tropical climate. Islaâs heavy cotton England shirt and the sweatshirt tied around her waist dissolved into a skimpy, lightweight striped tank top paired with tiny denim shorts. The red Three Lions crest faded away, swallowed up by a pattern of red, white and blue. At a glance you could no longer tell whether she was rooting for England, France, or even the USA.
Amelia brushed her hair behind her ear, and as she did her structured England cap vanished, taking Islaâs along with it. Her top became a similarly breathable tank top that perfectly complemented her newly sun-bronzed shoulders, with a red, white, and blue stripe pattern to match Islaâs.
Even their vocabulary flowed seamlessly into a new rhythm, entirely unnoticed by either of them.
âItâs just such a massive country,â Isla said, wiping a speck of mustard from her lip with her tongue. âTotally huge. Back when we were planning this trip at college, I didnât realize how much variety there is between the states. Boston and Miami feel like two completely different worlds.â
âOh, for sure,â Amelia agreed, taking her last bite of hot dog and tossing her trash into the empty tray. âIt makes me want to spend my next summer vacation doing a full road trip. Thereâs just so much to see, you know?â
TWEEEEEET!
The refereeâs whistle pierced the stadium air, signalling the start of the final forty-five minutes of the game.
Amelia and Isla both jumped to their feet, their eyes locked instantly back on the field, though the intense, fervent tribalism that had gripped them at the start of the match was gone, replaced by a more basic, electrified love for the spectacle.
âAlright, letâs go offense!â Isla cheered, clapping her hands loudly as the ball was kicked into play, her accent fading slightly.
âLetâs go, we need some goals!â Amelia shouted, her accent fading as well, a huge smile on her face as she cheered generally for the beautiful game, completely immersed in the energy of the American stadium.
A little over 55 minutes laterâŠ
The final whistle echoed through the stadium, cementing the final score on the massive jumbotron: ENGLAND 6, FRANCE 4. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers, but in the stands, the stadium's energy had already finished its work.
The two British uni students who had walked into Hard Rock Stadium to cheer on their home country earlier that day were entirely gone. In their place stood Amy and Izzy, two stunning, sun-kissed sophomores from the University of Miami.
Between their rigorous cheerleader workout regimens and the gorgeous Miami weather, both girls looked absolutely incredible. Their tummies were perfectly taut, their skin sported a flawless golden glow, and they both carried themselves with a bubbly, high-energy confidence.
Amy was now a bright, stunning bottle blonde, her hair falling over her shoulders in perfectly tousled, voluminous waves that barely showed an inch of her brunette roots. She was rocking a tight, skimpy blue crop-top emblazoned with brilliant white stars, paired with a tiny pair of bright red star-spangled booty shorts that showed off her athletic legs.
Izzy, on the other hand, was actually a natural blonde, though she had fully dyed her hair a vibrant, eye-catching bright red for the summer. She looked amazing in a tight, skimpy American flag printed crop-top, alluringly designed with the stars over her right breast and the stripes over her left, paired with matching blue booty shorts covered in stars like Amyâs.
âOh my god, that was like, literally so fun!â Amy squealed, jumping up and down so her blonde waves bounced around her shoulders. Her hair wasnât the only thing that bounced. âI donât even care who won, itâs just a blast being back in a stadium!â
âRight? Totally wild!â Izzy laughed, adjusting the strap of her flag top. She grabbed her iced soda, pursing her plush lips and taking a long sip through the straw. âI mean, I know we literally just came today on a total whim because the tickets were on StubHub and we wanted to check out the vibes, but the energy here was so cool!â
As the crowds began pouring out of the rows and heading toward the exits, the girls caught snippets of the conversations around them. A group of guys nearby was practically hyperventilating over the match. âSix to four! Ten goals in a single game! That is an absolute historic shootout for a Bronze Final!â
Izzy blinked her long lashes, turning to Amy with a look of total confusion. âWait, did they say ten? Like, ten points total?â
âI think so, I wasnât really paying attention to the score!â Amy giggled, shaking her head. âWow. Soccer fans are like, so easily impressed. Like, I donât really get soccer at all, but ten points for a whole game sounds like kind of a snooze. If the Hurricanes only scored six points in a game, Coach would probably make the whole team run laps until they cried.â
âOh, completely,â Izzy agreed, tossing her empty cup into a nearby trash can as they reached the main concourse. âOr basketball! Like, if a basketball game ended six to four, people would literally demand their money back. I guess soccer is just, like, way slower.â
âAnd like, what was even up with that random extra time at the end?â Amy continued, shaking her head in disbelief. âLike, the clock hit ninety and just kept going, and the referee just, what, magically decided when the game was over? Itâs like, so weird that they donât ever just pause the clock when the ball goes out. Like, just stop the timer, itâs literally not that hard!â
âI know, right?â Izzy chimed in, rolling her eyes. âTotally bizarre. Like, just use a normal buzzer like real sports do.â
As the two girls continued slowly down the stadium concourse, Izzy twisted a strand of her bright red hair around her manicured finger, blinking thoughtfully as they pushed towards the stadiumâs exit gates. âHey, wait... did the US even like, have a team in this tournament? I swear I havenât heard anything.â
âOh my god, I literally have no idea,â Amy giggled, tilting her phone to check her lip gloss in the front-facing camera. âLike, I think one of the guys in our section said we got knocked out early or something? But honestly, I didnât even know we had a national soccer team. Like, who even grows up wanting to play soccer when you could play, like, any other sport?â
âFor real,â Izzy laughed, tossing her head back. âLike, maybe they just forgot to invite us. Whatever, itâs not like anyone was watching anyway.â
As they made their way out into the stadium parking lot, the intense Florida heat washed over them, but neither of them minded at all. They were totally in their element, chatting and laughing as they looked for the ride-share pick-up spot.
âHonestly, this was a super fun distraction for a summer Saturday,â Amy said, adjusting her tiny shorts as they walked. âBut oh my god, I am so ready for college football season to start. Our outfits today were super cute, obviously, but I miss putting on our real uniforms and doing actual stunts. I canât wait for fall.â
âMe too!! I am literally dying to get back on the sidelines!â Izzy cheered, her face lighting up, gesturing with her hands like she was holding a pair of pompoms. âAnd like, thank goodness the World Cup is almost over anyway. Now the whole country can finally stop talking about soccer and get back to focusing on, like, actual real sports.â
âTotally,â Amy smiled, pulling out her phone to check their ride-share app. âUgh, apparently it's still like over 90 degrees out. Letâs call an Uber and go get some iced coffees!â
âYessss,â Izzy squealed, grinning from ear to ear. âAnd then letâs head back to our apartment - the sooner we get back to our A/C, the better!â
The Arizona sun was a relentlessly bright glare, baking the asphalt of the open road and making the distant mountains shimmer like they were just a mirage. It was my turn to drive, so I had the wheel, my hands comfortably positioned at ten and two, my smartphone clipped to the dash showing the navigation, while Brody, my boyfriend, handled the itinerary and curated the playlist from the passenger seat.
âBig Sur, baby,â heâd said earlier that morning as we loaded up, reaching his arm around me briefly as we both packed the last of our gear into the trunk of our trusty SUV. I gave him a quick peck on his cheek, appreciating like always the comfortable fact that we were almost the same height. âRugged cliffs, crashing waves, and just the two of us.â
Our plan was ambitious but perfect. A ten-and-a-half-hour haul from Phoenix to the California coast, broken up by an overnight stay in Santa Monica. Weâd squeeze in a morning hike at Rattlesnake Canyon before tackling the rest of the drive up the legendary Pacific Coast Highway. Our final destination was an out-of-the-way eco-lodge nestled near Garrapata State Park, which would serve as our base camp for several days of tide pooling, trail running, and generally losing ourselves in the wild, untamed beauty of it all. We were a team, partners in adventure, and I felt a thrill of freedom as the city limits of Phoenix vanished in the rearview mirror and the open desert sprawled ahead of us.
We were making good time so far, the saguaros quickly giving way to the scrubbier, flatter expanse of the high desert. After a couple of hours, the gas light predictably blinked on. Time for our first stop. âLooks like the next exit with a gas station is Tonopah,â Brody said, as I flicked my turn signal on.
I smiled and replied, âPerfect time to stretch and refuel.â
We pulled off the freeway and into the lot of a dusty gas station that looked like it hadn't changed at all since the 70s. As I hopped out the driver's side and swiped my card for the gas, I caught my reflection in the dusty side mirror. My hair was scraped back in a tight, sensible ponytail, and my face was bare of anything but a quick layer of chapstick. While the pump chugged away, I stretched my arms over my head, feeling several satisfying cracks in my spine and shoulders. âHey, you want to take over for a bit?â I asked Brody as he emerged from the convenience store with two bottles of water.
He grinned that easy, charming smile that always made my stomach do somersaults. âWow, Nicole, ready to step down from your post already? Eager to begin your reign as passenger princess?â
I felt a blush creep up my neck. âShut up,â I laughed, swatting his arm playfully. âWe agreed to trade off. Itâs only fair.â
âIâm just messing with you,â he said, taking the keys from my hand. âHop in, your carriage awaits, milady.â
I knew he was only teasing, but for some reason that phrase hung in the dry desert air between us. Passenger princess. I opened the passenger door and hopped in to the other seat, closing the door behind me. It was a silly, jokey term, but as I settled myself into the passenger seat, it echoed in my head. A little flutter went through me, a feeling that was warm and oddly pleasant. It felt surprisingly nice to relinquish control, to simply be a passenger.
As Brody started the newly refueled car back up and merged onto the freeway, my plans to watch the map and help navigate simply evaporated. Instead, I concentrated on scrolling through Spotify, curating the perfect vibe for the next leg of our journey. The indie rock weâd been listening to suddenly felt a bit too⊠intense. I queued up a playlist of breezy pop and feel-good anthems. Brody didnât seem to notice the shift, and just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the new beat.
The miles rolled by. I found myself less interested in the passing landscape and more focused on our little world inside the car. I organized the snack bag, handing Brody a protein bar if he asked and unwrapping a piece of bubblegum for myself. I found myself casually blowing bubbles, which was something I had never really done before. The conversation, which earlier had us focused on looking up trail routes and tide charts for our destination, shifted. I couldn't help but fill the car with chatter, gossiping about a friendâs recent engagement, dissecting the latest season of my favorite TV show, and asking Brody if he thought my hair looked okay in the harsh sunlight.
Heâd glance over, his eyes crinkling at the corners. âIt looks great, babe. You always look great.â I preened at his praise, feeling simultaneously flattered and like it was the least he could do. It was a nice feeling, being showered with compliments.
I pulled down the vanity mirror to inspect my appearance. He was right, of course. My makeup, usually a simple swipe of mascara and some chapstick for a trip like this, looked⊠flawless. My skin had a soft, dewy glow, and my lashes looked both longer and fuller. I must have put in more effort this morning than I remembered. A cute, delicate gold chain I didnât recall putting on glinted at my throat. It was adorable. The tight ponytail Iâd secured that morning had somehow loosened, my brown hair now tumbling over my shoulders in soft, glossy waves that smelled faintly of coconut oil. I stroked my hair and leaned back into the plush seatâhad it always been this comfortable?âand sighed contentedly. This was the life.
By the time we hit the outskirts of Los Angeles, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, painting the smoggy sky in hues of orange and pink. Brody navigated the notorious L.A. traffic with a calm, focused intensity. His shoulders, still draped in his simple gray t-shirt, seemed broader than they had this morning, his hands firm and capable on the wheel. He was looking incredibly attractive. I felt a wave of affection wash over me. He was taking such good care of everything.
âOkay, the hotel should be just off the next exit,â he said, his voice cutting through my reverie.
I vaguely remembered booking a budget-friendly motel, something clean and convenient. But as we pulled up to the valet stand of a sleek, glass-fronted building overlooking the ocean, I knew I must have been mistaken. âThe Shoreline Resort,â the sign out front read in elegant script.
âWow, Brody,â I breathed, looking at the chic lobby through the floor-to-ceiling windows. âThis is gorgeous.â
He just smiled, a confident tilt to his lips. âOnly the best for my girl.â He handled the check-in and the bags while I took a few selfies with the sunset in the background, the oranges and pinks steadily fading into purples and blues. Our room was stunning, with a king-sized bed and two(!) balconies, one overlooking the Pacific, the other opening onto the swimming pool in the central courtyard. For a second, I thought I remembered again that weâd booked a dinky roadside inn, but that couldnât be right. This felt right. This felt like us.
We had dinner at the trendy restaurant downstairs. I ordered a complicated cocktail and a sea bass entree. These were things Iâd normally deem too extravagant, but Brody practically insisted. I didn't mind, I loved being pampered. He ordered a steak, rare, and told a funny story that had me giggling into my napkin. He seemed more decisive, more in charge than ever before. It was a good look on him.
Back in the room, exhausted from the day, we collapsed into bed, holding each other close. âStill up for that early hike tomorrow morning?â he murmured into my hair.
âMmm, yeah,â I mumbled, already half-asleep. âBright and early.â
But when I woke up, the sun was already high in the sky, streaming through the balcony doors. The thought of lacing up my hiking boots and getting sweaty and dirty felt utterly repulsive. The idea of hiking being my hobby at all⊠it felt like a memory from someone elseâs life.
I stretched, my body feeling strangely different. Sleeping in had definitely been the right choice. My legs seemed longer, my waist narrower. My skin felt impossibly soft against the high-thread-count sheets, and my hips had taken on a gentle, rounded curve that felt entirely new. I glanced down at my hands. My nails were painted a perfect, glossy pink. Toenails, too. I definitely didn't recall making time for a mani-pedi before we left, but then again, the evidence was right in front of me, so I must have just forgotten.
Brody was already awake and up, doing push-ups on the floor of the spacious living room area of our suite. His back and shoulder muscles flexed with each movement, and I realized he seemed significantly more built than heâd been yesterday. Taller, too. Or maybe I was shorter? Whatever. He finished his set and grinned at me, his face looking more handsome, more ruggedly chiseled.
âMorning, beautiful. Ready to hit Rattlesnake Canyon?â
I wrinkled my nose. âUgh, a canyon? Seriously? Itâs so beautiful out. Canât we just go down to the beach?â I pouted a little, just for effect.
His expression softened instantly. âWhatever you want, princess. The beach it is.â
A thrill shot through me. Princess. Heâd called me princess.
I rummaged through my suitcase, pushing aside my practical hiking shorts and moisture-wicking tops. Tucked inside was a tiny, shimmering bikini I could have sworn Iâd never seen before, let alone packed or even purchased. It was perfect.
We spent two glorious hours on the sand, me meticulously applying tanning oil and working on my glow, Brody content to just watch me and scroll on his phone as I laid out. When it was time to check out and hit the road, he handled everything. He paid the exorbitant hotel bill without batting an eye, wrangled our luggageâwhich seemed to have doubled in quantity overnight, filled with various new outfits and plenty of options for shoesâand packed the car himself. The SUV looked⊠different. Like it had a higher trim level than I remembered. The interior was now a creamy leather, and the sound system was a clear, crisp Bose. An upgrade, I guess.
âYour throne is ready, your highness," Brody teased again, though it felt a little bit less like a joke. I was his passenger princess, after all. I always appreciated whenever he treated me like royalty.
I flashed a brilliant, white-toothed smile. âThank you, babe," I chirped, sliding my petite frame up into the plush leather seat without having to lift a single manicured finger. Brody was sweet like that. I couldn't remember the last time I had to open my own car door.
Brody stood by the passenger door dutifully, waiting until I was fully settled and scrolling through my phone before closing it gently.
The drive up the PCH was a dream. With every winding turn that revealed another breathtaking vista of cliffs and ocean, I almost felt myself changing, blossoming. I directed Brody to pull over at every photogenic spot, posing for selfies and short videos for my Instagram story. Sometimes I just dozed without a care in the world. When I was awake, I babbled endlessly about celebrity gossip, fashion trends, all the reality shows I'd devoured lately, and how desperately I needed a new designer handbag. He listened patiently, smiling and calling me cute. My voice seemed to have acquired a higher, bubblier pitch. My nails, now longer, my manicure even more exquisite, clicked audibly against my phone screen anytime I tapped or swiped.
As we pulled out of the small lot at yet another scenic overlook I'd insisted on stopping for, Brody said, âSo, Garrapata State Park is coming up. Want to stop and check out those tide pools we talked about?â
I looked down at my strappy high-heeled sandals and the cute white sundress Iâd changed into sometime after the beach earlier, though I wasn't exactly sure when. I was momentarily perplexed, but I looked so hot that I felt a tingle of euphoric pleasure washing away any confusion. When I refocused on our conversation, the thought of clambering over slimy, sharp rocks just to look at gross sea creatures made me physically cringe. Tide pools? Mud? Ew.
âBabe, eww, no,â I whined, my voice dripping with disbelief. âI canât. My shoes are totally not built for that. And my hair will get all frizzy from the sea spray.â A different idea, a much better idea, was already forming in my mind, feeling as if it had been the plan all along. âArenât we staying, like, in Carmel-by-the-Sea? I thought we were going to check into that amazing hotel you picked out for us, you know, the one with the spa?â
Brodyâs brow furrowed for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of confusion that was gone as quickly as it appeared. His mind caught up instantly, overwriting the old reality with the new.
âYouâre right, of course. Only the best for my Nikki,â he said, his voice smooth and certain. I'd always gone by Nicole, but hearing him say âNikkiâ sent a shiver of delight straight down my spine. It just felt right. Thatâs who I was; Nikki, his pampered princess. âThe Highlands Resort and Spa. And Iâve got our spa reservations all booked for tomorrow morning. Couples massage first and then a premium facial for you. High-end dining, luxury accommodations... maybe we'll even spot a few celebrities.â
âShut up, really?!â My heart soared, and I clapped my hands together, my diamond bracelet jingling. âOh, Brody, youâre the best! I canât wait!â
He reached over and squeezed my thigh, his palm rough and strong. âAnd after our massage, I think Iâm gonna go hit the gym. Gotta get a good pump in.â
âMmm, yes please,â I cooed, my eyes scanning his massive, muscular frame with raw hunger. âI love it when you get all pumped up at the gym. You look so manly.â
I ran my long, manicured nails along his forearm. He flexed his huge bicep, and I giggled.
The rugged, earthy vision of an eco-lodge vacation with the two of us wasting our mornings and afternoons on hiking trails was completely gone, replaced by a picture perfect image of five-star luxury, high-end dining, expensive boutiques, and non-stop pampering. This itinerary was much more on my level.
After one last stretch of driving where Brody focused on the road, and I preened and posed as I touched up my makeup again, we finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the resort, a stunning complex of expensive wood and crystalline glass perched on a cliff overlooking the churning waters of Carmel Bay. A young valet in a crisp uniform rushed to open my door.
Before I got out, I looked up at Brody. My man. My strong, handsome, capable man who always took care of everything. He was my protector, my provider, my king. He was looking back at me, his eyes filled with an intense, possessive adoration, drinking in the sight of meâhis gorgeous, bubbly, perfectly kept princess.
He leaned across the console, his scent, a mix of expensive cologne and his own pure, raw masculinity, filling my senses. âYou ready to be treated like royalty?â he murmured, his lips just inches from mine.
âI'm a princess. I was born ready,â I breathed.
He closed the distance, and our kiss was deep and steamy. We were locked in that feeling of lust and anticipation for several long, lingering moments. He eventually pulled away, his thumb brushing my cheek lovingly, as the slightly sheepish attendant dutifully waited for us. We hopped out of the car, leaving the keys with the blushing valet. Hand in hand, we walked into the opulent lobby, leaving our old selves somewhere back on a dusty road in the Arizona desert, completely forgotten and unmissed. We were finally here, and I was ready for my reign to begin.
Hey man! I'm an average guy who works out a lot and is trying to get some muscle on his body haha, I've recently heard about this Jock Studies thing and I was curious what it was all about and why are so many other guys enrolling into it all of a sudden.. I've also been feeling like someone has been watching me the last few days as I was working out.. but I didn't today close attention.. maybe it's a talent scout.. hmm... Who knows..
Iâve got to say, Iâm impressed. Not to stereotype, but not many college athletes are as perceptive as you. Not only did you notice that something was up with Jock studies without immediately getting hypnotized, you noticed one of their assistant coaches following you! Assistant coaches do that stuff a lot, since theyâre subservient to the main coaches, but still smart enough to not get caught, unlike the jocks whoâd probably get distracted by their own pecs. Now, sadly that perceptiveness doesnât seem to have come with any common sense, because the fact that you noticed youâre being followed and donât seem to be at all worried means youâre basically already doomed. Iâm guessing by the time you get this youâll already be a beefy, dumb, slutty gay jock who loves to gargle his coaches' hairy balls. So, I donât think Iâm going to be able to help you much⊠but at least I can use this as a way to warn other people!
So, Iâve talked about Jock Studies before, about how they systematically infiltrate colleges around the country and brainwash students into being slutty, sexy jocks who worship their macho coaches. But I havenât gone much into how people end up joining Jock studies. I mean, yeah, most people end up in jock studies after taking a class out of curiosity and getting pulled in, or being hypnotized by some horny jock, or because they got too close to the truth had to be silenced, in this case by a thick cock being shoved in their mouth, but there are some other ways and reasons that people end up joining Jock studies. Rarely, certain people are specifically sought out to join Jock Studies, are âscoutedâ just as this guy has been, and once they have been there is no escape. Once youâve caught Coachâs eye, youâre going to end up a jock, no matter what you do to protect yourself. In the end the only way to avoid getting changed, is to avoid being noticed by the members of Jock Studies at all, which can be harder than you think. When someone is scouted for Jock Studies, itâs usually for a specific reason. In this guy's case itâs probably because of how dedicated he is to working out, since those who already have the qualities of good athletes often become the best jocks after being changed, but there are other reasons. For example, having a connection to one of the jocks or coaches is a common reason. Some jocks feel a natural urge to have some of their old nerdy friends back, and request that they get changed, and some coaches want people theyâre close to to feel how amazing it is to serve Coach. The best thing to do to avoid being changed is to avoid anyone who is even remotely connected to Jock Studies, and try not to show even the slightest bit of athletic promise.
For those of you who actually want to join jock studies, which I both understand and think is absolutely insane, being scouted is actually a really good thing. Jocks who get scouted often get the most intense, amazing transformations, and get perks once they are jocks. Because of this guy's dedication to working out and his perceptiveness, I bet theyâll make him absolutely massive, and maybe even let him keep some of his brains. Iâve even heard rumors that some high performing jocks are assigned âcheertwinksâ as rewards for good behavior, but I canât be sure that's true. Anyways, I hope you enjoy being a huge, dumb himbo jock who thinks only about pleasing Coach, working out, and fucking anyone remotely hot. Especially since you donât really have a choice.
Roger hadnât been to a gym in twenty years and he was proud of it. Back in the day, he was never used to seeing bodybuilder types until the 80âs and even then, back then they were seen more of something between superheroes and freaks of muscle. It wasnât until later on that it seemed like everyone was obsessed with the gym. He had told his son again and again that back in his day they didnât need such a place. People got all their workout from their jobs or the sports they played, they would play football or baseball or some good old American sport, not have to rely on all these different weights and machines. His son, Tyler was everything that Roger wasnât.
He was gay (and open about it), muscular (and loved to flaunt it) and a complete health freak (and made sure everyone knew it).
Though Roger had the benefit of some good genes and metabolism, seemingly being skinny all his life had gone against him when he had gotten to his middle ages. His skinniness didnât just mean he looked nice or could fit into clothes, it started to mean he was weak. Suddenly, it didnât matter that his clothes were medium sized whilst so many of his older friends had packed on pounds, his taut skin and bony face meant he looked frail. It didnât matter that he could still eat anything and not put on weight, it just meant that he wasnât bulking up or filling out like so many people.Â
It had gotten to the point where enough was enough and to shut his son up, Roger decided that the best thing to do was to just go for one class. One. That was it. No New Yearâs Resolution, no weekly sports thing, just one simple class. He felt a hint of embarrassment when he realised that he would have to go to the senior class. It shouldnât have been a surprise, Roger was nearing sixty, almost double the age of Tyler. If anything it should have been a benefit, at least he wouldnât have his son breathing down his neck near the weights or whatnot. But no matter how much he tried to reason with himself, he still felt that slight shame. He was getting old, survived only by his son. He wasnât a skinny man with a wife at home, he was becoming a frail older man with his son living with his boyfriend, a life he couldnât live.Â
What was going to happen to him?
It was during this realisation that Roger had uncharacteristically stopped complaining when the time for their gym session came up. At least out loud.
The drive there was short, barely ten minutes before they both got out. Tyler went on about how nice and friendly the gym was, telling his dad the directions to his class (because Tyler knew it better than he did) and so on. Roger was too busy looking at the gym proper, snorting to himself when he saw a skinny man with a backpack go in and a few seconds later, a taller muscular man with a heavy duffel bag walk out. When he went to point it out to Tyler, he was already being ushered into the gym. Roger didnât know why a gym needed to be so big, as if the building itself swelled with size like the people within. He had busied himself looking around when he got led by his own son towards his class like they were a gym worker.
âIâll see you here after, it should just be about an hour. Are you sure yo-â
âYes yes Iâm fine Tyler believe me, go on do your weightlifting or your fitness crossing or whatever you do,â Roger waved Tyler away who only smiled bashfully. At least this time he didnât roll his eyes.
âYeah sure, itâll only be you and a couple others in there so no pressure, Iâll meet you back here and we can head out.â Tyler wished his father luck, as if he was doing something dangerous before he sauntered off. Roger rolled his eyes, but felt his bashful front falter as his shoulders hunched forward and he swallowed. Just a simple class, he thought. Nothing too serious. When Roger stepped in, just a minute before the class would begin, he saw himself and one other person, the tutor.
âAh hello, are you here for theâŠâ
âThe uh âseniorâ class, yes I am,â Roger said, deciding at the last second not to use air quotes on the word senior as he shuffled in towards a mat. Seeing as he was the only one there, he took the mat at the centre.Â
âAlright alright well Iâm Sylenus, Iâm from Greece and weâre going to be doing a very important class onâŠwell strength training. Glad to see all one of you are here,â said the man, Roger tried to ignore looking at them too long as he felt something tug within him. The man was handsome, a tanned skin dark haired man with loose curls that rested like a crown atop their head. He swallowed thickly as he stared at them and felt something else, another twinge within his system as Roger realised another downside to ageing.
His time for lovers had passed. Perhaps because he hadnât been working out or maybe it was the broken heart over his late wife, but he hadnât been able to have much of a libido. It stung worse when he realised that now he was widowed and growing up in a different time, he didnât have to just look for women for a new partner. He could always indulge a little, do what some part of him secretly craved and be with a man.
Growing up he didnât even know what to call such feelings, it wasnât until he moved to a city that he met some more people with bohemian lifestyles and learned what bisexuality was. But then came along his wife and the rest was history.Â
Now he was at a senior workout class with a man he found attractive and everything within the room suddenly felt like it was of a different time. It wasnât just that he was growing old, it was that he was completely out of time. Everything had progressed whilst he had aged.Â
âSo are you ready?â The voice broke Roger out of his depressive reprieve. God he hoped that wasnât a sign of his ageing mind too, the idea that he was losing focus. He blinked and looked up at the stranger, just giving a noncommittal grunt. Roger looked down at the mat where there were two small weights. There was a part of him that even hated that, that he was reduced to having to use these tiny weights that would probably not weigh that much, even though he told his stubborn self he was just starting. âAh ah ah, before we head to the weights. We need to do some stretches.â Â
Stretches? Roger sighed. He had always found stretches dumb, spoken like a person who never did much exercise. But he began following Sylenusâ instructions, smiling at himself when he saw the man stretch first to demonstrate, reaching down to his toes. Roger quickly went and reached down to his toes when he heard something click. He could barely reach until he felt something churning, as his body was made up of gears that were shifting and coiling over one another before his back arched and he suddenly could reach down. Odd, he thought, he felt almost like his arms grew out or his spine had somehow stretched.Â
âAnd the next stretchâŠâ
Roger watched as Sylenus took one long lunge forward, one leg outstretched and his body squatting slightly and stretching forward. Both arms raised, one stretching to the front and the other stretching to the back as the torso twisted slightly to the side. Roger wondered if he could even do that, already feeling some slight pain just thinking about it, but his body moved before he could think. As he took the lunge, the expected sharp pain from brittle bones spiked and then faded all at once, as if he knocked something loose. He could even feel the dull ache of some thigh pain starting to suddenly fade like all it needed was some movement as he heard a series of wet clicks from the bones, imagining the dry old things moistened somehow by activity and moving again like well oiled gears. Roger didnât realise that beneath his shorts the thighs no longer looked dry and instead rejuvenated slightly, smoothing over.Â
The same sensation travelled up his spine, years of back aches suddenly seeming to fade when he actually used it for something as he swore Sylenus looked shorter a moment ago. No matter, Roger thought as he tried to concentrate again on his outstretched arm, reaching forward. When he expected the pain to flare there too, he wondered if there wasnât any part of his body more broken in his older age. But somehow the arm seemed to be fine too, suddenly stretching out and looking slightly longer and more toned than he expected. It reminded him of how he used to feel about his arms around ten or fifteen years ago, how they werenât exactly âskinnyâ, more so âleanâ as opposed to âfrailâ like they were now. He saw the paleness seemed to have sapped away from them, making them look fairer like they did when he used to go outside more.Â
âRight now weâve done with our stretches, letâs pick up the weights. Weâre going to go easy so for now letâs just do some arm curls and I want you to count with meâŠAlright?â Roger nodded, almost forgetting that he was the only one in the class as he saw the tutor give a bright smile. It made his heart suddenly flutter as he didnât know how but his cock seemed to almost grow half hard, for the first time in months. âSo letâs goâŠ1âŠ2âŠ3âŠâ
The curls came faster than Roger was anticipating as he tried one. There was a weight to the dumbbells, a heavier pressure than he anticipated but he managed to curl it easily enough. Then he got to five and the weight had turned into something of a slight pressure, with more of a give to it as Roger realised he was getting used to the weight. Then as he got to ten he continued to feel the weights grow easier and easier. It was like the opposite of fatigue as with each curl he began to feel himself pumped up more.
âWow youâre really going for it! Alright well letâs get more seriousâŠ10âŠ11âŠ12âŠâÂ
As the curls continued, something shifted within Roger. It began with a squaring of the shoulders as they suddenly started to churn and grow. The arms thickened with each number as Roger realised something strange was happening, watching as the fingers that were wrapped around the dumbbell suddenly seemed to start growing.Â
âUh I think something isâŠâ Roger started to say but before he could try and drop the dumbbells, he found his hands tightening. Thatâs not proper gym etiquette, he heard some voice in the back of his mind say, indescribable and definitely not Tyler. The fingers wrapped around the dumbbell like milky white vines, stretching further as he could feel their grip tighten. It wasnât just the fact that the grip was making it impossible to let go, but that the grip was growing stronger. He could feel what shouldâve been weak and clammy hands suddenly turn into stronger ones that had a firmer grip, one that wouldnât let go. âI thinkâŠâ
âHey just look at me,â said Sylenus as he continued to raise one dumbbell after the other, the hot gym trainer already starting to work up a bit of a sweat. Rogerâs eyes traced down the manâs form, at the sweat-slicked skin that was beginning to highlight his clavicle down to the arms that were starting to form a light sheen. His cock suddenly started to harden, as he felt it twitch for the first time in who knows how long.Â
But Roger couldnât think when a rush of pain and pleasure suddenly flowed into his arms. He could feel the pain coming from the stretching muscle, a burning pain that flared across both limbs as the muscles broke down and repaired and broke down and repaired themselves again and again. But then he could feel the pleasure from the endorphins that suddenly shot through his system, flowing and creating an almost orgasmic relief when his arms began to thicken. It was as if the weight from the dumbbells that he was holding transferred down to his limbs, being absorbed by them as the pale and frail twigs suddenly started to grow thicker.
The sound of stretching skin filled his ears, almost drowning out the sound of the instructor who just continued to grow more and more sweaty as Rogerâs eyes followed the beads that slipped beneath the manâs vest, jealous of how they got to trail down the muscles on his torso. His cock had suddenly shot up, almost tenting in his shorts as he couldnât stop when his shoulders suddenly popped and straightened up, the hunched over posture suddenly fixing itself. He wanted to try and look down but all he could do was stare at the almost hypnotic sheen of sweat that was on the gym instructor, his eyes drawn to the beads as the scent of musk started to fill the air.
As it did, Roger could feel his cock twitch again with a new liveliness he hadnât felt in so long that he could hardly put any idea of how long it had been. It was even odder how it was after a man, he thought that he had somehow tricked his mind into stop getting horny over men since he denied himself ever being with one.
But now he could remember times when he would see actors in films or models plastered over the internet and feel something stirring, his cock throbbing again like a reminder. He swallowed dryly as he felt each throb seemed to be in tandem with something else shifting within his body.
Along with his broadening shoulders, Roger could feel a new strength enter his core, traipsing down his chest which swelled as sweat trickled down.
The chest continued to inflate so much that he felt the pecs push into his shirt, making it grow taut as his back widened, with more mass being poured into him as if he were just a receptacle for muscle. He could feel the pecs push forward so much that for just a moment he could imagine them as swelling tits, not sagging like the rest of overgrown skin with his ageing body, but instead perky and large. He imagined how good it would feel to play with them as the nipples grew erect and the sweat made him tingle, teasing as it drooled down a new ridge formed by his growing muscle. But then he imagined wide tanned hands toying with the pecs and gasped, realising he was fantasising about the instructor.
Roger couldnât tell if the manâs smile was knowing or not and he couldnât tell if it would be hotter if he knew. His arms moved robotically lifting again again as it grew easier with his proper posture. The growing pleasure reached down to his core as his torso began to churn with more mass and expand outwards, stretching wider. However, instead of fat piling on him from the mass, Roger could instead feel the taut skin and strength of pure muscle being poured into him, with only some fat to add more bulk.Â
His previously flat stomach that had some flab to it slowly morphed into a broader core with a four pack forming before it swelled higher into six. It was as if the stomach itself was something thick and syrupy rather than made of flesh, swelling larger as the sweltering heat from his workout made it feel like his body was being gently baked and the abs were like rising dough. Despite how strong they were, they softly swelled bigger and let more of the sweat cause the skin to tingle as it drooled between the six pack.Â
âThatâs it. Almost there!â
He did know, Roger thought as he looked at the instructor, he must know. The tip of Rogerâs cock opened as pre-cum began to crawl out. He had his answer at least. As it throbbed against his shorts, it made him shudder in something that was not quite euphoric, but coming close as Roger bit his lip so hard it might swell. He didnât know what was worse, whatever was happening to him or the fact that he couldnât reach down to feel his body throughout. The shorts grew tighter around his body as his ass was next to swell like dough, two flat cheeks suddenly beginning to shrink as if collecting the skin they could before pushing out at once. As the cheeks inflated, the grey hairs atop of both of them started to darken once more to brown.Â
Roger kept lifting, kept letting sweat form on his body or drip down whenever he looked down and felt some be flung from his brow. His heavy breaths didnât just come from overexertion but from the pleasure that was swelling and ready to burst from him. His cock drooled in competition with his body to see what could produce the most liquid, his pre-cum or his bodyâs musky sweat. Either way, the both of them were making Roger feel good as his quads hardened like the legs were no longer flesh but tree trunks, broadening next with the sound of shifting skin and coiling muscle. The sound was like that of suction, of a coffee mug that had sat too long on a desk and was being forced up, only instead of a mug it was his legs growing more muscular. The suction sounded unending as the thighs hardened and the skin finally stretched enough to reveal the muscles underneath instead of looking like hollow limbs that were just pale skin and veins and nothing more.Â
Now he could see the indents that made up the muscles, that gave the impression of strength as his thighs were all ridges that trailed down towards his thickening calves.Â
All that Roger could feel left was the top and bottom and though the feet tingled as he could feel a bunion fade away, he felt no growth there. Instead most of the tingling came around his face as he felt his sweaty scalp start to itch. Thicker and darker hairs dominated the greys and then the greys started to turn darker until there were no greys left to dominate as his hair began to grow out. What was once a head of wavy hair had become more straight, more dry, more pushed back. But he could suddenly feel hairs spill forward, darker and longer and not in a style he had since back in college before he turned to a serious adult and told himself short hair only.Â
His face that had turned bony started to grow fuller. It remained thin but not unhealthily so nor pale as the fair tone that had taken over the rest of his body clambered up through his throat and onto his jawline. It moved in all directions north as the new hairs pushed forward, follicles that had faded now suddenly blooming again further down his brow as his hairline returned. It didnât feel like his face was shifting completely like his body, it wasnât growing unrecognisable but more so rejuvenated. There was a stiffness to it that faded, a dull ache in the back of his mouth that was gone, a grey dryness beneath all the sweat that never returned. It was all Roger could feel before he realised how much smoother his skin was getting, how much livelier the tone must have been if it matched his hands and arms and he realised exactly what was happening. He was growing young. And with that realisation, his cock throbbed so much that it basically buzzed against the shorts as the gym instructorâs smile widened and with one last throbâŠ
âAndâŠrelease!â
The dumbbells dropped and he came. Roger fell forward to his knees as his cock coated the insides of his shorts. His moans bounced back at him as his younger libido came at him full force, filling his body with bliss as he throbbed and came and throbbed and came again. The insides of his shorts grew hot and sticky with sweat and seed as the euphoria was enough to send him over the edge, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he thrusted against the open air and wished it was the gym instructorâs ass.Â
The pleasure that filled him was euphoric and despite it all, Roger couldnât believe just how good it felt to be young again. His body got just as much a workout from his orgasm than working out as he looked over to the other side of the studio where he could see a full length mirror and looked at his body again. He must have been in his early twenties, he thought, with a hairstyle he only had in college when he was allowed to grow his hair out. Except instead of the skinny and toned body he had in the past, he now had a more muscular body as if he worked out, as if he took the advantages of youth and actually worked on himself. Roger looked shocked in the mirror, a part of him wanting to find the catch, his mind still having the cynic in him that only grew with old age until he realised he still had all his memories.Â
âIâll uh wait for you in the sauna,â said the instructor with that same smile, teasing both information and something more as Roger looked at him. He watched the man leave and wondered if he should really go after him or find his son. He blinked. Though he still had his memories, he clearly had youthful recklessness because all he wanted to do was give in to his throbbing cock and chase after the man to the sauna. He was sure he could find out what happened, he told himself. Thatâs the reason he was doing it. He was sure nothing else would happen, nothing to do with fucking that manâs mouth or feeling his ass. Nothing at all. He was young again and fitter than ever and had the chance to actually be with a man.. Come on, he thought, just chase after the guy. And so he did, telling himself he could find his son after. For now, all Roger wanted to do was explore some bodies, his own and the gym instructorâs. He couldnât let it go to waste. After all, such a blessing could be temporary and who else got second chances like this?Â
At least thatâs a good enough reason he told himself as he imagined slamming the instructor against the wall and kissing them then and there. If he was going to be young again, he may as well explore all the benefits.Â
If you want more stories like this, check out more of my work here!
I'm telling you man, all you need is a white tee and some blue denim and you've got that hot classic look ready to go. Alright, alright, maybe you need to have the perfect bod to really sell the package, but don't worry, the store told me it all comes with the purchase.
Just watch. They even recommended me to buy a larger size since you can fill them out as much as you want. All you gotta do is flex a little. Like this!
O-oh... fuck... that was quick. L-look dude my arm's blowing up... giant meaty cannons, stretching these sleeves to their limit. Yeah, shoulders and forearms are getting nice and big too. I might have to look into their sleeveless options now, heh?
They said the shirts leave loads of room in the front so you have to ugh... remember to fill... them.... out...! F-fuck sorry bro, didn't mean to give you a face full of my pecs, goddamn they're like tits now, look at them jiggle. See, with the white color you really get that sexiness. Skin tight, translucent fabric - unh - brushing against my nipples.
Can't forget about the jeans either, giving me a nice big bubble butt. Thighs rubbing up against each other, calves squashed tight, there's barely any room left bro. Shit, I can hardly stand, huhu.
A-Ah...? Down there too? Ooo, I can feel my cock throbbing, balls getting s-so heavy...
Aw fuck... I think I burst the zipper on these pants, huhu, guess they couldn't handle the beast. Fuck, why do I feel so horny...? Bro, bro you gotta help me, this feels too good. I-I should have read the warning tags.
W-wait, where did you get that cap? You weren't supposed to - ugh -find that.
Bro, hold on, wait wait, the store said the caps make you more- Ooooooooogh. Nooooooooo... Stoppppphh...
Dr. Lisa Vance is a highly successful, silver-haired clinical psychologist who hides a predatory secret behind her sterile, impeccably curated office facade. Rather than healing her clients, Lisa uses her deep understanding of the human mindâand clinical hypnosisâto systematically dismantle their executive control, turning vulnerable patients into quiet, dependent "dolls" who exist to serve her need for absolute dominance. When Ella, a fragile, anxious young woman wearing an oversized sweater, walks into her office, Lisa immediately identifies her as her next potential victim. Promising to help Ella unlock and release the "spinning knot" of her anxiety, Lisa introduces her to clinical hypnotherapy. She coaxes Ella into focusing on an antique silver pocket watch, slowly weaving a rhythmic, hypnotic trap of words. As the pendulum swings and the room fades into a warm, amber haze, Lisa prepares to slip her suggestions deep into Ella's mind, confident that she is about to secure her latest psychological conquest.
Study Sesh. You brought your textbook. You actually brought it.
The one with cherry-stained lips notices first. She's the one who invited you, the one you've known since freshman year, when she still wore glasses and talked about med school. That was a few years ago. Now she looks at your textbook and then at your face with something between pity and amusement.
"Oh my god," she says. "She actually thought we were going to study."
The other two laugh. The blue-eyed blonde is sprawled across the bed in a pink silk thing that barely qualifies as clothing. The one with hair dyed bubblegum pink is on the floor painting her nails, not looking up, but smiling.
"You said this was a study session." Your voice comes out defensive. Childish.
"I say lots of things." Cherry Lips crosses the room. "Sit down. You're making me anxious just standing there."
You sit on the edge of the bed because you don't know what else to do. The textbook stays in your lap. A talisman.
"She's so tense," Blue Eyes observes. She's propped up on her elbows, watching you.
"This exam is worth forty percent of our grade."
"Okay, but why do you care so much?" Pink Hair glances up from her nails. Genuine confusion. "Seriously. Why does that matter?"
You open your mouth to explain and realize you don't have a quick answer. It just matters. Grades matter. You're supposed to care about things like this. But the words feel heavy and complicated and they're all looking at you like you're speaking a foreign language.
"Never mind," you say.
"Here." Cherry Lips takes the textbook out of your lap. Sets it on the floor, out of reach. "You can have it back later. Just..." she gestures at your general vibe, "let's just deal with this first."
"I'm fine."
"You're literally sitting like you're waiting for a job interview." Blue Eyes tugs at your grey university hoodie. "What is this, even?"
"It's comfortable."
"It's a disaster." Cherry Lips is behind you now, her hands on your shoulders. She starts kneading, and despite yourself, something loosens. "You're allowed to be pretty, you know."
"I know that."
"Do you?" Her thumbs dig into a knot at the base of your neck. You make a sound you didn't intend to make. "Because you dress like you're trying to disappear."
Pink Hair finishes her nails. She crawls over, settles cross-legged in front of you. "Take off the hoodie, babe."
"What?"
"Just the hoodie. I want to see."
You look at Cherry Lips, but she just keeps massaging your shoulders. Blue Eyes is watching with her chin in her hand.
You take off the hoodie.
Underneath you're wearing a plain white tank top. Nothing special. But the way they look at you, you'd think you'd revealed something.
"See?" Pink Hair starts to gush. "You're fucking hot. Why do you keep all this covered up?"
"It's just what I wear."
"Not anymore." Cherry Lips' hands slide down your arms, raising goosebumps. "This is an intervention. We're fixing you tonight."
Blue Eyes produces a vape, takes a long pull, blows it toward the ceiling. The vanilla scent thickens. Your mind starts to get even more hazy. Taking all this in. "Remember when she used to be like this?" She nods toward Cherry Lips. "Stressed about grades?"
"I wasn't this bad."
"You cried about a B+."
"That was one time!"
"And now look at you." Pink Hair gestures at Cherry Lips, still behind you, still touching you. "Now you're a slut." There's an affection in the word slut that you're not used to hearing. It's never sounded so sweet before.
"We taught her," Blue Eyes explains. "Like we're going to teach you."
"Teach me what?"
Nobody answers. Cherry Lips grabs your tank top. You should stop her. You know you should stop her. But her touch feels so good and you're tired, so tired of carrying everything, and when she starts lifting it up you just raise your arms and let her.
You're wearing a plain cotton bra underneath. Beige. Practical.
"Oh, babe, not again" Pink Hair says.
"Itâs not that bad!"
"Donât worry, we'll fix it."
Blue Eyes slides off the bed and kneels beside Pink Hair. They're both in front of you now, looking up. Cherry Lips unhooks your bra with a practiced motion and the straps slide down your shoulders before you can process what's happening.
You cross your arms over your chest.
"Don't." Pink Hair pulls your arms away. Gentle but firm. "Let us look."
They look. All three of them, staring like youâre a pretty mannequin posed in the shop window.
"Her nipples are hard," Blue Eyes observes. To the others, not to you.
"She totally into this." Cherry Lips sounds satisfied. "I told you she'd like it!"
"I'm just cold."
"Sure you are."
Blue Eyes leans forward and kisses your stomach. Just below your ribs. A soft, warm press of lips. She looks up at you.
"Okay?"
You nod. You don't know why you nod.
"She said okay." Blue Eyes reports this to the others like you're not there. "She's being such a good girl."
The words hit you somewhere low. You feel heat spread through your chest, down into your stomach. Cherry Lips' mouth is on your neck now, kissing, biting gently. Pink Hair's hands are on your thighs, sliding upward.
"She's breathing faster," Pink Hair notes.
"Her skin's so red," Cherry Lips adds. "Look at her cheeks. Sheâs so cute!"
They're narrating you. Treating you like the class pet. You should hate it. Instead your hips shift on the bed, restless, seeking something.
"There," Blue Eyes says. "She's starting to squirm."
"Unbutton her jeans."
You don't know who says it. It doesn't matter. Hands are at your waistband, working the button, sliding the zipper down. You lift your hips without being asked and they pull your jeans off in one smooth motion.
"Plain cotton," Pink Hair reports, looking at your underwear. "Matching the bra."
"At least she's consistent."
They laugh. You should be humiliated. You're so wet you can feel it soaking through the fabric.
"Oh." Blue Eyes presses her fingers against you through the cotton. Her eyes widen. "Oh, she'sâ"
"Let me feel." Pink Hair reaches over. "She's soaked!"
"Already?"
"Have you been wet this whole time, babe?"
You don't answer. Cherry Lips bites your earlobe.
"Answer her."
"A little."
"Donât be shy. Say it."
"I've been... wet. The whole time."
"While you were clutching your little textbook. While you were whining about the exam." Cherry Lips sounds delighted.
They pull off your underwear. Blue Eyes spreads your thighs apart, looking at you with open fascination.
"She's so pink," she says. "And sheâs literally dripping. I think sheâs into us."
"Touch her. See what she does."
Blue Eyes slides a finger into your pussy and your whole body jerks. They all watch it happen, watch your reaction like it's a show put on for their benefit.
"Wow, sheâs sensitive."
"Try her clit."
A fingertip circles your clit and you moan, loud, unable to stop it. Pink Hair giggles.
"That's so cute. Do it again."
Blue Eyes does it again. You moan again. You can't help it. You can't control any of this.
"She's not thinking about her grades anymore," Cherry Lips observes.
You're not. You're not thinking about anything. There's just the finger on your clit and the hands on your thighs holding you open and the three of them watching you fall apart.
"Put another finger inside her."
Two fingers slide into you and you gasp, back arching. Cherry Lips catches you, holds you against her chest.
"Look at her face," Pink Hair whispers. "She's gone."
"Not yet." Blue Eyes curls her fingers and you cry out. "But she's getting there."
"Make her cum. I want to see what she looks like when sheâs cumming."
The fingers move faster. Thumb on your clit. You're panting, grabbing at the sheets, at Cherry Lips' arms, at anything. They watch you with focused attention, cataloging every sound, every twitch.
"She's close. Look at her stomach."
"Her thighs are shaking."
You cum with all three of them watching, analyzing, commenting on the way your body clenches and releases. It's the most exposed you've ever felt in your life. It's the best orgasm you've ever had.
"See," Cherry Lips says, chin on your shoulder. "Wasnât that so much better than studying."
Brain Stuff. You're hunched over your desk, the glow of your laptop screen casting shadows across your cluttered apartment. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type the next paragraph of your dissertation. Something about neural plasticity in machine learning models. It's brilliant stuff, the kind of work that's gotten you whispers of "genius" from your PhD advisors. You're in the zone, brain firing on all cylinders, when the front door clicks open.
"Hey, babe," comes his voice, low and casual, like he doesn't know what it does to you. Your boyfriend steps inside, shedding his jacket. He's got that easy grin, the one that makes your stomach tighten. You glance up, meaning to say something sharp and witty, but he's already peeling off his shirt, revealing the lean muscle underneath. Your mouth goes dry. The words you were about to type slip away before you can catch them.
"Missed you today," he says, crossing the room. He's close now, close enough that you can smell the faint spice of his cologne. Your pulse kicks up, and you try to focus on the screen. You're a goddamn scholar, you can handle this. But then he leans over your shoulder, his breath brushing your ear, and says, "What's my smart girl working on?"
Your brain stutters. "Uh⊠it's, umâŠ" You squint at the screen, but the words lose their meaning. Neural what? Plasticity? Fuck, you know this. You wrote fifteen pages on it yesterday. His hand slides onto your shoulder, thumb brushing your neck, and you feel your IQ drop in real time. "It's⊠brain stuff," you manage, voice small. You hate how stupid you sound, how you can feel your own brilliance leaking out as he toys with you.
He chuckles, soft and loving, and that sound alone makes your thighs clench. "Brain stuff, huh? Tell me more." His fingers dip lower, tracing the edge of your tank top, and you try to string a sentence together. "It's about⊠how brains⊠change?" Your voice lilts up like a question, and you want to scream. You're not some ditzy undergrad; you're a fucking PhD candidate. But his hands are on your chest now, cupping you through your shirt, and your thoughts scatter.
"C'mon, babe," he teases, turning your chair to face him. "You're usually so quick." He's smirking, and you hate how much you love it. You open your mouth to snap back, to prove you've still got it, but then he's kissing you, hard and messy, all tongue and heat, and your mind goes blank. Not fuzzy. Just empty. You kiss him back, hands fumbling at his waist, and all you can think is cock. One word, looping, again and again.
He pulls you up, backing you toward the couch, and you trip over your own feet. Normally you'd curse yourself for being clumsy, but right now you just giggle. High pitched. Brainless. "You're so hot," you blurt, and it's the most coherent thing you've said since he got home. He grins, shoving his jeans down, and when you see him hard and thick your knees buckle. You drop to the cushions, staring up at him, mouth slack. You should be analyzing data right now, not drooling like some horny idiot.
"Fuck, look at you," he mutters, climbing over you. His hands yank your shorts off. You're already so wet. You try to focus, one last chance to claw back a shred of intellect. "Wait, I⊠I need to finishâŠ" you start, but then he's pushing inside you, slow and deliberate, and the rest of the sentence evaporates. Your head lolls back, a moan spilling out instead. You feel him stretch you, fill you, and your brain shuts down completely. "Oh⊠oh God," you whimper, legs wrapping around him on instinct.
He starts moving, thrusting deep, and you're gone. No more dissertation. No more research. Just his cock, slamming into you, turning you into a panting, writhing mess. "Tell me something smart," he pants against your neck, mocking you now, and you want to, you need to prove you're not just this dumb slut he's turning you into. "Th-the brain⊠it⊠f-fuck, it dâ" You can't finish. Every thrust scrambles your thoughts more, until you're babbling nonsense, hips bucking to meet him.
You're frustrated, somewhere deep down, because you know this isn't you. You've presented at conferences. Dismantled arguments from tenured professors. But right now you can't even remember your own name. "More," you gasp. That's all you've got. One syllable. You used to know so many words, but now you're reduced to this. But then he grabs your hips, angles himself deeper, and you stop caring. "Sho⊠haaardâŠ" you slur, drooling over the syllables, "sho⊠deeeepâŠ"
He laughs, a low rumble. "That's my girl. Let the real you out." And you do, you can't hold on anymore. He fucks you harder and you're nothing but heat and need, whimpering every time he bottoms out. Your nails dig into his back, and you're close, and then he groans, loud and guttural, and you feel his hot cum flooding you. You climax together.
It's instant. The second his cum hits you, your vision clears, your breathing steadies, and your brain kicks back into gear. Synaptic pruning. Neural plasticity. You blink up at him, still slick with sweat, and push him off with a shaky hand. "Rude," you say, voice strong again. He flops beside you, grinning, while you stagger to your desk, naked, his cum dripping down your thigh. You sit down, pull up your dissertation, and start typing like nothing happened. Sentences crisp. Ideas flowing.
"Welcome back, genius," he calls from the couch, annoyingly smug. You don't look at him, but your lips twitch. Just ignore him. You're back, and you've got work to finish.
Youâre lying across my lap, looking up at me with that expression Iâve come to recognize. The one that means youâre about to be annoying in a way I find incredibly attractive.
"What thing?"
"You know what thing." You tap your temple. "The brainwashing thing. Make me dumb again."
"I made you dumb three hours ago."
"And now Iâm smart again and I hate it." You say this with genuine petulance, like intelligence is an inconvenience thatâs been inflicted on you. "My thoughts are back. Theyâre loud. I donât like them."
I run my fingers through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp the way I know you like. You make a sound thatâs almost a purr and push up into my hand.
"You need breaks. Recovery time. You canât just be a dumb doll forever."
"I mean, I could. We could try it and see."
"Thatâs not how brains work. You need to come back up so you can go back down. Otherwise you build tolerance."
"That sounds fake."
"Itâs not fake. Itâs neurochemistry."
"Okay but what if I just donât care about neurochemistry?" You shift in my lap, restless, your hand finding its way to my thigh. "What if I care about being a drooling mess on your cock? Me and your cock. We have chemistry."
"Youâre being bratty. Thatâs why I know youâre not ready. Youâre going through dumb withdrawals."
"Iâm not bratty, Iâm horny. When Iâm bratty I want to annoy you. Right now I want you to turn my brain off and fuck me stupid. Totally different energy."
"The answer is still no."
You sit up slightly, turning to face me. "You donât understand what itâs like. When you do that thing with your voice and tell me to sink and stop thinking, itâs like⊠you know when youâre really stressed and you get into a hot bath?"
"Thatâs more of a you thing."
"Whatever. Itâs like that but for my entire brain. Everything goes quiet and far away. And then you fuck me and I donât have to worry about whether Iâm doing it right or making weird faces because Iâm too stupid to worry. I just feel things. Itâs the best."
"Yeah I get it. Iâm the one doing it to you. I know what it turns you into."
"Then why wonât you do it again?"
"Because Iâm trying to be responsible. Moderation is important, and I care about your mental health."
You groan and flop back into my lap. "My mental health would be better if youâd just fry my brain a little and rail me."
Youâre squirming now, pressing your thighs together, and I can tell the conversation itself is turning you on. Talking about going dumb makes you want to go dumb. "Just a little? You donât have to do a full session. Just take the edge off. Make me fuzzy. Iâll be so good."
"Youâre always good when youâre fuzzy. The hard part is being good now"
"Right, so letâs do the easy part. I like easy. Iâm advocating for easy."
I should say no. We did a long session this afternoon and you need time to integrate, to come back fully, to remember that youâre a person with thoughts and preferences and a life outside of this dynamic.
But youâre looking up at me with those eyes, and I can feel my resolve crumbling.
"A little," I say. "Just enough to take the edge off. Then youâre eating dinner and going to sleep like a normal person."
Youâre already grinning, already settling back, letting your body go slack in anticipation. "Yes Sir. Whatever you say."
I start stroking your hair with more intention now. Slower. I watch your breathing change, watch you sink into the sensation before Iâve even said a word.
"You really canât help yourself."
You shake your head, a small dreamy motion. "Donât want to help myself. Want you to do everything."
"Close your eyes."
You do. Immediately. Like Iâve pressed a button. Itâs almost too easy at this point.
"Deep breath. Let it out slow."
Your chest rises and falls. Tension drains from your shoulders. Youâre already halfway there just from anticipation.
"You know what happens next. Youâve done this so many times your brain just does it automatically now. The moment I start talking like this, you start sinking."
A soft sound escapes you. Agreement. Surrender.
"Thatâs embarrassing, if you think about it. How easy you are. How quickly you justâŠ" I snap my fingers. "Gone."
Your face goes slack. Your mouth falls open. I didnât even have to try. You did all the work yourself, desperate to get back to that empty place.
"How do you feel?"
It takes you a moment to find words. They come out slow and slurred. "Good. Floaty. Dumb."
"Of course you do." I keep stroking your hair. "Open your eyes."
You do, and thereâs nothing behind them. No anxiety, no self-consciousness. Just empty, eager devotion. You look like a different person when youâre like this. Happy in a way that your overthinking brain usually wonât allow.
I should stop here. I said just the edge off. I said Iâd be responsible.
But youâre already reaching for my cock with clumsy hands, and Iâm only human.
"Can I?" Youâre fumbling with my zipper. "Want to be useful."
"I thought you wanted me to use you."
"Same thing." You get my cock free and stare at it with dazed appreciation. "Toys are used and useful. Want to be your toy."
You lower your mouth and take me in with no technique at all, just enthusiasm and wet heat and happy little sounds. Youâre drooling because youâre too dumb to remember to swallow. Itâs obscene. Itâs also incredibly hot, which is annoying because it means youâre going to win this argument.
I gather your hair and hold it loosely. "You know youâre proving my point, right? I said moderation is important and now youâre slobbering on my cock like youâll die without it."
You moan in what I think is agreement. Hard to tell with your mouth full.
"This is exactly why you need breaks. So you donât turn into a permanently cock-drunk idiot."
Another moan. Your hips are rocking, grinding against the couch.
"Youâre not even listening to me, are you?"
You shake your head slightly, still sucking. Of course youâre not. Thereâs nothing in there to listen with.
I pull you off by the hair. You whine at the loss, mouth still open, a string of spit connecting your lips to my cock.
"Tell me what you are."
The words come slow. "Your⊠dumb⊠doll."
"And what do dumb dolls do?"
"Whatever you tell them. Get used. Feel good..." A pause while you search for more. "Donât think."
"At least youâve got that right. Good dolly."
Your whole body shudders. Youâre so simple right now. A few words of praise and you light up like itâs the greatest thing anyoneâs ever said to you.
I pull you into my lap and position you over my cock. You sink down with a look of dumb gratitude that makes all my good intentions feel very far away.
You start to move, slow and clumsy, grinding more than riding because coordination is beyond you. Your head falls back. Youâre making sounds that arenât words, just pleasure noise.
"This is what you wanted? To be too stupid to fuck me properly?"
You nod, still moving. "Love it. Love being dumb."
"Youâre ridiculous."
"Mm-hmm." You donât disagree. You donât care.
I grip your hips and take over, setting the rhythm youâre too fuzzy to maintain. You go limp and let me, become exactly what you said you wanted. A toy. A warm hole that moans when you use it right.
"Youâre going to cum for me," I tell you. "Because thatâs what dumb dolls do. They cum and say thank you and donât think about anything else."
"Yes. Yes yes yes."
I fuck you harder and you fall apart, clenching around me. I follow a moment later, pulling you down, filling you while you twitch and babble.
Afterward you slump against my chest, still making small sounds, still floating.
"Youâre going to be insufferable about this," I tell you. "Youâre only going to want more and more."
You nod against my chest. "More is better."
"Donât start arguing even when youâre dumb. I canât handle that."
You snuggle closer. "Me dumb is better. Accept it."
Some arguments I just canât win.
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