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Disciplined by the Teacher [M4A][Hypnosis ASMR RP][Strict Teacher x Bratty Student]

In this file your teacher keeps you after class to discuss your falling grades & your attitude towards your classmates & teachers. He tells you how that is unacceptable behavior and he will teach you a lesson on how to be a good student.

SUMMARY This is an immersive file that puts you in the place of a naughty student kept after class by their teacher to discuss their attitude & grades and how they've been naughty & need to be taught a lesson. Using the board & writing on it the teacher starts to work his way inside your mind and explaining to you why you want to be a good student for him. Shifting to massaging your shoulders to relax your body (and lower your defense) he tells you the truth of why you've been acting this way and making sure you are a good student by the time he wakes you up

Content:

Various sounds to immerse you in the experience

ASMR shoulder massage

Partial Amnesia & memory alteration

Whispers & physical sensations

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sergeant-adams-deactivated20240

Father Knows Best

Thanks to @devonpink, who inspired this story

When my son said those words, I thought it had been some kind of joke. The signs had been there all along, but I had managed to twist each and every one with my blissful ignorance. The countless posters of pop divas hanging up in his room were because he thought they were hot, not because he liked their music. His passion for the arts was because he his physical talents were unharnessable, not because he avoided athletics intentionally. I had even convinced myself that the little lisp in his voice had been a defect from birth, not some pseudo-hereditary gene of his sexuality.

Being gay was not exactly the problem, it was its defining nature. Its label feasted on personalities, identities, and ideologies like a parasite. Everything that made someone human became underlined by their unique sexuality. Blending in with the majority was what had kept our family in financial and reputational high regards for decades. But with the burden of being an only child, and my son being my only child, it was wholly my responsibility to create our next generation.

Now, the promise of our legacy was presented to the parasite on a silver platter.

“I’m gay, dad,” my son said while we were having dinner together. I had nearly spat out my water in shock.

“You’re what?” I sputtered.

“Could you really not tell?” he asked.

“But this cannot be,” I clutched my head.

“Don’t be mad, please.”

“I am not mad at you,” I replied honestly. "I am mad at myself; I’ve failed you, failed us.”

His face grew beet red. “You didn’t fail me.”

“But I have,” I muttered. “I was tricked into believing the community and I could both raise you, through boarding school and the holidays. But only I know best. If you would have followed the proper way, molded through traditionalism like my father had me and his father had him, then maybe this would have never happened.”

“Screw this,” he scoffed before storming off to his room. I sighed as I began to clear the table, hearing his typical soft, more feminine music play through the walls. That had been another sign contorted in my own wishful blindness, believing it to be his playlist for ejaculation. Now however, forcefully exposed to the reality of the situation, I began to draft a plan. I could not change the past, but I could at least attempt to alter the future.

The first issue I had to tackle was for my son to want to follow my suggestions. If he was properly influenced, then the other necessary adaptions would progress quicker and more naturally than if they were forced. This would also provide a base layer I could build upon, a desire to fuel results. With the help of my family's fortune, I was able to utilize subconscious messaging hidden in my son’s music. My father had always remarked that there was no price on saving the family. I considered this as such.

I trust my father.

I respect my father.

My father has never failed me.

My father will never fail me.

Tradition has rewarded my family.

Tradition will reward me.

Thanks to the countless hours he spent directly or indirectly listening to music, my son’s mind began internalizing the messages I had programmed for him. I spent the following weeks minding my own business, waiting patiently for a sign. It came at Thanksgiving, when for the first time ever, my son led the prayer. He even caught me in a hallway a bit later to “apologize for his behavior that night”.

“Which night are you referring to?” I asked.

“When I came out,” he replied. “I should have trusted you at that moment instead of freaking out, and I should have respected you and your opinions. You have never failed me, and I should have recognized that you never intend to.”

I maintained my poise. “Thank you, son. Understand that I am just coming from a viewpoint of tradition.”

“It’s what has rewarded our family,” my son eloquently stated. “Perhaps I should consider if it can reward me.”

My son was then called away by a relative, leaving me to momentarily celebrate. Motivated by this sudden breakthrough, I moved onto the next objective. The physical work would have to come next, altering portions of my son’s mind and body to better suit his future. After some minor readjustments, his music began incorporating new messaging that aligned towards the more traditional images of success.

I was born to be a man.

I am proud to be a man.

Masculinity is what has protected me.

Masculinity is what I should protect.

The majority is who defines success.

The majority is who should define me.

Aided by my son’s slightly adjusted mindset, he slowly became more welcoming to my ideas. With my subtle encouragement along with the continual conditioning, it was less difficult for him to listen to and consider my viewpoint. My son was not only beginning to accept my ideas, but after a while thanking me for them.

With the passing weeks, the results became more visible. After casually mentioning to my son the importance of maintaining physical health, he swiftly secured a gym membership and began making daily visits. After remarking that art lectures were often hosted by exploitative shirkers, my son not only dropped a few of his courses, but eventually lost all interest in that field of academia. I almost wept with joy when he announced that he had switched to a generalized business degree.

“Are you confident that this decision is what you want?” I prodded. “The business world is already filled with many talented men.”

“I was born to be a man,” my son beamed, his voice having dropped an octave since the subliminal messages had begun. “And I know that by following in my family’s footsteps, I can become proud to be one.”

Thanks to his physical and my mental conditioning, my son rapidly began to ascend towards a more sustainable future. His body was started to expand, packing on muscle almost faster than humanly possible. It was as if every week he had to purchase new clothes. His biceps and triceps were now too large for any sleeve, or his thighs had shredded yet another pants seam. The transformation from a lowly nerd to a remarkable jock was incredible. He even managed to gain height, my once measly son now holding a couple of inches over my even six feet.

There were other minor features that embraced this change too. His boyish features almost vanished over the course of a day, leaving behind a jawline sharper than any of our carving knives. His beauty procedures changed, or rather disappeared, as I oversaw his eyebrows become bushier, his general hygiene loosen up. I once overheard one of the butlers complaining over how messy my son had become, and I could not help but grin after investigating the issue myself. The sweat-induced, locker room musk had proudly overridden the previously inhabiting lavender incense.

“Did you visit the barber?” I asked one day.

“Yeah, just needed something fresh, you know?” My son’s former mullet had been sheared down to a more respectable quiff with a modern spin: a lush, messy fringe and smart shaping. “I was thinking about how much embracing masculinity has done for me. I mean I’ve been feeling so much better and I'm super popular now just by being more of a man, or at least what’s manly, if that makes sense.”

I nodded, encouraging him along, “Certainly.”

“So I just thought that like, if manly was looking so good on me, then I should keep going with it. I thought about what most people would think was manly, and I thought that I should go with it.”

If his feet had not expanded out into such a monstrous size, I would have never registered my son leaving the table. While his stomping footfalls left the room, I was internally bounding with joy, thrilled to finally address the final issue. With his expanding masculinity, my son had already made half of the required transition.

Recently, I had registered after passing by his room that his feminine moans had been replaced by more primal grunts during his sexual encounters. I had taken this as indication in a shift in preferred position. This final set of messages would still be the most important for my son to internalize, but it was no longer something I was threatened by.

Success and honor follow my father.

To find my own success and honor, I must follow my father.

My family has protected and preserved tradition.

It is my duty to protect and preserve tradition.

I embody the normal male.

I am a heterosexual male.

My son’s mind was bombarded with the messaging constantly. During every workout, during every assignment, during every time music could be playing, he was being converted. And although the change was not as obvious as the middle months had been, it began to show eventually.

The first thing I noticed was the cupping. My son was now almost always casually fondling with his dick, which has nearly doubled since the process had began. His music taste shifted into the more recognizable, generic chart-topping artists, and his knowledge of fashion and literature were engulfed by sports and automobiles. Even his perspective on heritage reverted until his social media feed became nothing more than the occasional post on family and/or country.

At some point, my son began asking me for advice on the more pressing issues of his life. We discussed his dropping grades and interest in school, and by my suggestion he stopped attending non-mandatory classes. A man was made by his experience, not by his education. He then queried me about where he should work after graduation, and I told him he would be best suited to work beside me.

“You’re so right, bro!” He exclaimed. As time went on, I had noted my son’s decreasing intelligence, both through his grades and day-to-day interactions. But this was not of a concern to me as long as he was still able to fulfill his role. “Seeing how great you are, it makes perfect sense to follow in your footsteps.”

And so he did. As graduation neared, I began to expose him to the inner workings of the company, just in simpler terms. Between the remainder of his classes, the gym, and the occasional social outings, he began to recognize my role in the traditional upkeep. It was not long before he began to recognize and appreciate his own position. And eventually, at the same dinner table, I nearly spat out my water again.

"I’ve been thinking, maybe I should give girls a second try.”

It took a moment for me to recollect myself and approach the topic casually. “You are the definition of masculinity, son. You would have your pick of women.”

“I don’t know. It’s like the more I hear the bros recapping their conquests, the more curious I become.”

My son grew a little flustered, speaking from a place he did not know existed.

“I just can’t stop fantasizing about pumping my dick into some tight, wet pussy. Just wanna hear some big-titted slut beg for my seed and feel her cream on my cock!”

After his outburst, my masculinized son uncharacteristically blushed with embarrassment.

“You should start thinking about what girls you would like to ask out,” I replied calmly, unfazed. “Perhaps consider if you really knew yourself all those weeks ago, or if I knew you all along.”

My son gulped, intimidated. Before all this, he would have objected, provided a counterpoint, and may have even acted out. Now however, thanks to my actions, he had realigned his center of gravity. The parasite had been eradicated: tradition was properly restored.

Less than 24 hours later, I got a text from my son at the gym after his first real conquest of many.

“turns out I'm just another straight bro. railed some chick after this sick pump. guess you were always right, dad.”

I smiled, “Father knows best.”

jfeet14

rubbernikz

sergeant-adams-deactivated20240

StraightShot

Jax was about to have his very first one-night stand, and it was going to be with two pornstars.

Just an hour ago Jax had been flaunting his twinky physique at the clubs. With a group of his friends, he had been making waves along one of the city’s most prominent strips. This was mainly due to his flirtatious attitude and newfound sense of freedom, after having been dumped by his boyfriend only a week before. The two had been going at it for almost a year, but after six days of grieving Jax was ready to be reborn. With a glittery crop top and tight black jeans, Jax was to have fun.

The night had luckily provided him with what he needed. Jax’s typical shy, romantic personality was ditched after a few shots of tequila, instead adopting a more flamboyant, slutty nature. Jax rubbed his body against any male figure he could, no matter how attractive. He was feeling easy and sleazy, a look that suited his 5’5 lithe frame quite well. His friends even commented on it, encouraging him to embrace his more feral side. And they were the ones who encouraged him to go home with Malik and Martin.

The pair had bumped into him on the dancefloor. Jax had first started grinding his perky bum up against Malik, the shorter and tanner of the two. Martin approached shortly after, sandwiching Jax in between their bodies. Both well over six feet, Jax melted into himself, the pure walls of masculine meat like heaven. His own meat, a solid 4 inches, displayed his ecstasy. He quivered as he realized the two massive sausages poking at either end of his exposed torso were not even hard yet.

“How about you come home vith us,” Martin requested in a slightly accented English.

“Yes,” Malik agreed, his English notably rougher. “Ve give you good time.”

After a confirming nod with his friends, Jax left with the pair. They rented a house that even in the night appeared desperate for some renovations. Jax’s heart was pounding as he entered the home, trying his best to disregard the unkempt space. The place reeked of sour food and musky men, each floor painted with an array of unwashed clothes and unknown stains. And he would not even try to discuss their intellects–Jax was not that picky but he at least wanted a guy who could hold a conversation. Yet he reminded himself that he was here for one good time, not a relationship of many.

“Let’s see vat ve are vorking vith,” Malik chuckled, helping Jax remove his small shirt. His pale, beautifully thin torso often led others to assume he was years younger than his actual age of 22.

“Ah yes,” Martin began rubbing one of his thick mitts along Jax’s bare skin, examining him. He had removed his own shirt to reveal two sculpted pecs and a muscular build gifted by the gods. “Zis vill do nicely.”

Malik smiled, “I agree, big money.” Malik’s own revealed torso was just as marvelous.

“This is insane,” Jax replied giddily. “You two are built like pornstars.”

The pair looked at each other before laughing, “Zat is because ve are.”

Jax gulped, “Really? What site do you guys work for?”

“StraightShot” Malik said. “Have you heard of it?”

Jax nodded slowly. He had never actually seen any videos from the site, but he was familiar with the name. He remembered thinking it was clever, assuming it to be some joke on forceful ejaculation.

Martin noted the concern in Jax’s face. “Do not vorry, ve are both clean.”

“Yes, very clean,” Malik added. “Very talented too.”

Jax began to feel the downward slide of his adrenaline, the logic and doubt he had tried so desperately to force back seeping in.

“If you are vorried, ve can give you aid for fun.” Malik suddenly voiced, extending a hand slowly to cup Jax’s bulge. Instantly, his softening cock began expanding once again.

“‘Aid’?” Jax questioned.

“It is vat producers give if we have off day, are nervous,” Martin answered. “Vould you like some?”

Before he could answer, Malik dug the hand fondling Jax's dick up and into his skinny jeans, his rough calluses completely rubbing erotically against Jax's skin. Jax moaned a little in response, rolling back his eyes as Martin opened a drawer beneath the sink in front of them. Inside was a stack of syringes, each filled with a hazy white liquid.

“W…wait,” the sight momentarily broke Jax out of his glazed state. “What is that?”

“Do not fear,” Malik cooed, tightening his grip on Jax’s shoulder and dick. Martin's giant hand landed on Jax’s shoulder, their combined strength suspending him.

“Guys?” Jax’s voice cracked nervously. “What is going on?!”

“Just relax,” Martin notched the cap off of a syringe. “Zis vill take one second.”

“No, wait, I don’t consent-!”

In a flurry of action, Malik yanked Jax’s dick out of the tight jeans while ripping down his jeans with the other hand. With Jax held still, Martin jabbed the syringe into Jax's hard dick and slowly released the milky liquid. The pain was incredible, paralyzing Jax until the last drop had entered his system. Once he was finished, Martin slowly removed the needle and tossed the syringe aside. The pair then released Jax, watching carefully as he collected himself.

“What the…” Jax started slowly. “What did you do to me? What was that?”

“Zat vas ze Straight Shot,” Malik answered.

“The what?”

“Ze Straight Shot,” Martin over-emphasized each word dramatically as if Jax did not understand what they were literally saying.

Jax backed out of the bathroom naked and in disbelief, the two carefully following. The muscles Jax had previously wished to be wrapped up and tangled in were now frightening to his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Malik and Martin did not know how exactly to respond, and luckily, they did not have to. With a groan, Jax felt his dick stiffen up again. Unlike before however, his boner was more intense, more demanding. It was so stiff and rigid that Jax could have sworn it was bigger. It globbed out a spurt of precum, and to Jax’s shock, his dick grew. The previous 4 inches had plumped up into to 5.

“What the-” but Jax did not finish his statement. He groaned again as another drop oozed out of his head. Only this time, the growth did not only come from his dick. Slowly, his bones creaked and extended as his height was altered. His legs were stretched out, torso lengthened, and even his midsection was vertically pulled. More precum began pulling out, only fueling Jax’s ascent until he reached Martin’s height, a glorious 6’5.

Jax’s height was not the only thing affected by the steady trickling leaking from his current 6-incher. Across his body, Jax’s skin began to inflate, as if filling with cotton. At first, Jax thought it could be some temporary allergic reaction, but after some painful recognition he realized it was quite the opposite.

Jax's thin frame was bulking out with muscle rapidly. It was granting him biceps the size of footballs and quadriceps the size of watermelons. Calves with steel tendons, triceps carved by intricate valleys, gigantic hands built for cupping gigantic pouches. Even his buttocks had discovered a new harder, tighter curve. In the back of Jax’s mind, he reckoned it would be harder to bottom now.

Another groan showcased Jax’s new voice: a deeper, gruffer tone. It made him sound much older, his vocal color introducing him as a more experienced person. Through the agony of his transformation, Jax realized his voice was not the only thing that aged. His body proportioned itself differently–a more even distribution of his muscle mass, tighter skin, a sharper jaw that was covered quickly by a luxurious beard.

Body hair instantly followed, dusting Jax’s pecs, pits, and coating his legs all the way down to his new monstrous Size 15 feet. The skin around his face grew a little taut, plumping out his longer nose and larger brow. With one hand on his 7-inch pump, Jax ran his other giant mitt through his taller, lusher quiff, just barely feeling the new age lines upon his forehead. No one would ever assume he was younger than 22 again.

“You are almost zere, brother,” Martin cheered.

“Yes, so very close,” Malik encouraged. “Ze viewers will love zis, love you.”

“‘Ze viewers’?” Jax questioned, his rich bass now also tainted with their same accent. “Vat you mean by zis?”

Jax followed Malik’s and Martin’s eyes, discovering a phone had been propped up onto a stand to his right the entire time. Its screen mirrored himself back. His entirely new, muscular, naked frame was currently gracing the audience of their livestream. And according to StraightShot's numbers, the audience had just hit four digits.

“I am being live streamed?”

“And later, your video vill be published on our channel,” Martin grinned.

Malik added, “You vill join our content house.”

“But vat if-'' Jax grunted, thrusting his hips forward. “Vat if I don’t want zis? I liked being tvink!”

“‘Tvink’?” Malik questioned, as if Jax had just spoken a foreign language. Jax stared at Martin for help, but was met with the same dumbfounded expression. That was what he was, or at least what he had been. Any gay man should have known what a twink was.

Jax blinked. Even through the pain, the unwanted ecstasy, and the fear, he now began to fully grasp the scene before him. StraightShot was not some pun on ejaculation, it was a literal conversion drug. And the signs had been there all along. Malik and Martin's continuously soft cocks, their inspection of his body, their unfamiliarity with queer terms.

“Does zat mean…” Jax moaned, his 8-inch dick throbbing and quivering. “...you two…you two are straight?”

The pair chuckled, with Martin replying, “And you vill be too.”

Jax’s heart skipped a beat, the rush of despair clouding his judgment. He did not even recognize his guard faltering, lowering just enough for the ecstasy to completely override his system.

“Oh god,” Jax tried to protest in agony, but he had already lost. Both of his hands were working him towards release, one pumping his long, girthy cock and the other cupping the succulent, drooping sac that had already removed all of its former homosexual occupants. Jax held himself for just a moment before releasing his head back, the pleasure overpowering his will.

"ICH KOMME!" The roar was that of a mighty manly beast, accompanied by hot, sticky cum. After a few labored breaths, the new man settled back into reality.

The young, romantic, little gayboy Jax was gone, now splattered across the room and even partially onto the phone in front of him. Malik, Martin, and their subscribers were now presented with Maximillian. Bolstering 32 years, 200 pounds of pure muscle, and 9 inches of pure heterosexual meat, the newest member of Malik’s and Martin’s content page was bound to rack up views and money.

Maximilian’s memory of his past and transformation had been erased, along with a notable chunk of his intelligence. Now lacking the certain motor skills he had once looked for in a partner, he simply began to flex for his fans in front of the camera, still covered in sweat and the afterglow.

“Hey,” Malik whispered eventually, breaking Maximilian out of his mindless haze. “Time to sign off.”

“Vat?” Maximilian growled. “Zey love me.”

Martin winked, “Zink of ze slutty babes zat vill love you more.”

To the delight of his viewers, Maximilian’s massive dick instantly sprung up. To their dismay however, he grabbed a pair of tight black undies and covered his package. Flexing one last time, he confirmed his departure quickly with the pair before addressing his audience.

“It is time to go,” Maximilian remarked matter-of-factually. “I’ve got to StraightShot into some chicks!”

Maximilian signed off, ignoring Malik’s and Martin’s comments that he would have to work on his English to create a better closer. As they left, the pair began discussing how they could catch their next content creator. Maximilian did not listen however–he needed pussy and he needed it now!