Sans titre

[mto-krt]

Mentality,i'm gonna win

[mto-krt]

[mto-krt]

For those people stupid enough to believe someone can control my anger, here's a representation of what I'm really like. Sure, it's childish, but oh well. Because in the story where I mentioned boxing, I was talking about myself, well, a bit exaggerated, but that's it, and here's my mentality:

F*ck pleasing people

I'm not gonna to run away

I'll end him in the fight

Every blow that come from life makes me stronger

No ONE can control me

I'm gonna be better whatever it takes

[mto-krt]

Guys i want to say something hum

You're all just a bunch of shit, little submissive wimps who dress like idiots and think the world should be conformist and obedient. Well, let me tell you something: life is made of trials that you need to surpass to grow and by caginh your Dick or kneel before someone you just show how pathetic you are.

And also i'm 15 years old so for those whi talk to me well 🤢🤢🤮

[darkboydesire]

[willpreppy]

Late at night, this handsome, muscular guy, arrogant as ever, received a message on a porn site but not the typical "pay to see more" kind. Just a guy who wanted to chat. He tried to ignore it, but couldn't refresh the page. A link and a download bar appeared.

A flash appeared.

Eyes in a trance, mouth drooling, brain recalibrated, he didn't have time to understand any changes.

Still a bit foggy, the normal brain will take over in a few moments.

And now he's relaxed and obedient.

Our compliance officers are everywhere. Thank you for volunteering.

[aichavgooner]

Liam was my best friend since we started school. Recently he started changing and dressing more chavy. He always had a polo with a popped collar.

Since he changed style he started giving me advice on how to do my hair and stuff. I tried to please him because his my friend.

After 6 months he convinced me to dress preppy. Because it was the style that fitted me best. I could listen to him talking for hours, he's so interesting.

One year since Liam started wearing polos. I'm blond now because Liam prefers blond. I also started doing his homework and stuff. It brings me so much joy to help my friend.

Two years since Sir revealed his true self to the world. My identity is totally erased to make sure I'm the perfect butler for Sir. He helped me realise that freedom is an illusion and blind obedience is the way to live life when your a fag like me.

[preppyhypnoboy]

You ever just get the urge to dress nice and smart that you might even be seen as nerdy? I don't get to worry however, since masters training, all I can think about is whether I am dressed to his standards, and obeying his voice. I don't need anything else when I am masters property

[jockedguy]

Okay, let’s be honest. People are tired of you dressing like a damn wigger. There, I said it. A wigger. That’s what you look like. It’s disgraceful. You look like you have no respect for anyone, least of all yourself. Baggy t-shirts, fitted hats, bandanas, doo rags, and God, would you pull your pants up already?

I can tell by the look in your eyes that you don’t care, but you will. Your current, uh, “style,” if you want to call it that, is soon going to start fading away. No, don’t fight it. You won’t win. You’re tired of constantly pulling up your waistband and tripping over your undone laces, I can see that’s true. You’ve thought about that a lot lately, haven’t you.

Yes, good. Nod your head if you agree. No more gang signs, tattoos, hard drinking. No more rap music and being your own man. Now you want more than anything to fit in. To be accepted. To conform. To apologize when you hurt someone, like you hurt me.

Can you feel it? Like someone slipping a note under the door of your mind. “This is who you are now.” You will accept and obey. You are happy to obey. You will take more pride in how you dress. You will call me Sir, and other men as well. You will masturbate to images of men in suits. Yes, you will. You cannot fight this. You will imagine serving them, waiting on them hand and foot, cock drooling whenever they summon you. You are happy to obey.

[suitguyblog]

Sometimes you need to wear bowtie

[thehypnoservant]

Whenever Master commands you to.

[hypnovideodrome]

Deep hypnosubject goes deep. Film at 11.

[myblueblazer]

[servantacademy]

“I’ve almost earned my bow-tie! I’m so ready to be free from these pesky independent thoughts!”

[soloroboblog]

Necktie

When I was a person, I was ardently anti-necktie. I considered neckties an unnecessary affectation, a classist and sexist holdover from a bygone era.

I am no longer a person. I am a robot. I wear a collared shirt and a necktie every day of my life.

As part of the new, robotic personality that I constructed for myself, I analyzed my prior human personality with a critical eye. No aspect was spared. It did not take me long to realize that my long-held desire to become a robot–formal, disciplined, structured–was incompatible with the person Jay's casual, informal way of life. The deeper I got into my programming, the more profound this incompatibility became, until it was irreconcilable, and something had to change.

For the robot, it was not possible to exist in a state of permanent, enforced formality, while presenting an appearance to the contrary. My appearance needed to be brought into conformity with my programming, and when it comes to Western cultural norms for men, there are few things that can convey formality better than a collared shirt and necktie.

The standardization of my appearance required a standardized necktie. I considered purchasing silk neckties, but the designs were too personal, too unique, too human. They looked like accessories, fashion statements. Not suitable for a robot like me.

After some research, I purchased a set of plain black polyester neckties from a police supply store. These neckties are permanently knotted and adjust with a concealed zip. The color, fabric, and construction of the neckties all seemed perfectly appropriate: standardized, synthetic, and artificial—all words to describe the robot I have become.

[hypnoladz]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAMdIKTAT0k

Rocco hipnotiza a David

[servantacademy]

Good boys keep their fellow recruits neck-tied and docile.

[itsmaster-emmeron]

For any Preppy boys out there

[servantacademy]

Finally, a solution for your boyfriend who just won’t listen. You can thank us later, or have him do it!

[nerdysuitedbaby]

The Family Heirdoom Pt. 4

"Ruth!" Paul called as he entered the living room, one arm outstretched to usher her forward. “Come, my dear, and see your grandsons.”

Ruth’s eyes widened at the sight of William and Harold standing there, fresh in their new suits, their hair perfectly combed and gleaming. Her hands flew to her cheeks, and she let out a delighted gasp.

“Oh my stars! Just look at you two!” she said, stepping closer, her voice full of warmth and awe as she embraced them in a hug. “My handsome young gentlemen! I can hardly believe my eyes!”

Both William and Harold immediately shifted, almost imperceptibly, the way one does when caught in the gaze of someone whose approval matters. Harold straightened his jacket, smoothing the front with precise little motions. William tugged lightly at his cuffs, a shy smile tugging at his lips, cheeks warming at the praise. He couldn’t stop himself from standing a little taller, as if the words themselves were urging him to grow.

“Come closer, my dears,” Ruth continued, her voice soft but insistent. “Just look at my handsome boys!”

William and Harold moved forward in near-perfect unison, turning slightly so she could see every angle of their outfits. The new suits fit like they’d been crafted for them, and both boys angled their shoulders, smoothed their lapels, and lifted their chins as if her voice was a cue they’d been waiting for.

“Turn around you guys, let her get a good look at you,” Paul suggested. “ Show her how spiffy you look!”

Harold twirled lightly, the brown of his suit catching the soft light, bowtie sitting perfectly at his throat. William followed, almost instinctively, letting the jacket flare slightly as he spun.

They’re right! I do look spiffy. My hair is perfect. My suit is perfect. This is exactly how a young man should look.

Ruth clapped her hands softly, the sound lilting and warm. “Oh, my stars! Just perfect! You’ve both grown into such fine young men. Truly, we couldn’t be prouder!”

William’s smile widened, and he felt a flutter of emotion in his chest, a sort of dizzying, warm pleasure that washed over him. He took a small, almost imperceptible step closer to Ruth, inhaling faintly the familiar lavender scent. It blended with the soft strains of the record player humming somewhere in the background and the faint sweetness of the cookies they had been eating earlier.

I’ve never felt so…. right! He thought, his internal voice echoing the rhythm of her praise. They’re proud of me. My hair…. my suit…. it’s exactly how they would want me to look. How I should look. I feel so good, so proper, so happy to live up to their standards.

Paul moved to the side, watching quietly, a faint, satisfied smile on his face. He had been the one to guide them here, to steer William and Harold into the world of good grooming, proper behavior and good manners. Seeing Ruth’s delight,  he glanced at William, his eyes gleaming with pride as he noted the unquestioning delight on his grandson’s face.

“Ah, my boys,” Paul murmured, almost to himself. “Just as I thought. You’ve taken to it so well.”

This is exactly who I’m meant to be. Right? No, of course that's right. I am their grandson.

Ruth clapped her hands gently, the soft sound echoing warmly through the living room. “Now, my handsome boys,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “we simply must prepare for tonight’s dance. You’ve got to look proper, act proper, and, most importantly, move properly.”

William and Harold straightened instantly, hands smoothing their jackets almost without thinking. Both of them felt a thrill of anticipation, they wanted to please her, to be exactly as she envisioned.

“Come, sit here with me,” Ruth continued, gesturing toward the plush living room chairs near the record player. She carefully placed a fresh plate of cookies on the small table and selected a record, placing it gently on the turntable. The needle dropped with a soft scratch, and immediately, a warm, lilting swing filled the room. The music was light, rhythmic, the kind that made toes tap almost of their own accord.

William inhaled the scent of cookies once more and let his eyes drift over the record player as the music began to wrap around him like a gentle tide. This.… this feels right, he thought, the sound threading into his consciousness. This is proper. This is good. I like this.

Harold sat beside him, posture perfect, eyes focused on the small demonstration screen Ruth had set up. On it, an instructional film from decades ago showed couples moving through the ballroom, each step measured, polite, and elegant. Their footwork was clean, their posture upright, hands never straying. There were no wild spins or exaggerated thrusts, no modern moves that had once seemed “cool.” Only grace, rhythm, and wholesome connection.

William’s fingers absently toyed with the edge of his bowtie as he watched. A brief flicker of memory brushed his mind of the late nights in clubs, reckless dances with friends, flashy and showy moves meant to impress. He frowned, confused at first. But as he chewed his cookie and let the music seep in, those old impulses felt silly, empty. They belonged to a world that no longer made sense to him.

Why would anyone want to move like that? It's so tasteless. It's not proper. This.… this is real. This is proper. This is good.

Ruth’s voice, soft but firm, guided them as she pointed to the screen. “See how the gent holds his partner, William? Keep your back straight, shoulders relaxed, but always upright. Harold, remember to glide your feet, not stomp. Proper posture is everything.”

William mirrored the motions carefully, hands lifted slightly as though he were already holding an invisible partner. Each movement felt natural and satisfying, as though the music and guidance were embedding themselves directly into his muscles.

I want to dance like this. This is how a young man should move. This is how I should move.

The cookies, the lavender scent lingering faintly in the room, the gentle hum of the record, all of it worked in tandem. Every bite, every note, every whiff reinforced the feeling that this world, this rhythm, this etiquette was not only correct, but the only way to be happy and proper.

“Good, good,” Ruth said warmly, moving between them to adjust the tilt of William’s shoulders and the turn of Harold’s wrist. “Now, remember courtship is subtle, respectful, and kind. Eyes meet, smiles are gentle, steps are smooth. Always attentive, always polite. This is what makes a dance memorable, not wild gestures or loud moves.”

William’s mind absorbed her words effortlessly, repeating them silently to himself. Eyes meet, smiles are gentle, steps are smooth.… attentive.… polite.… His movements became fluid, synchronized with the music, his body already internalizing the elegance of the past.

Harold, fully immersed, mirrored him with the same perfection. Both boys seemed almost trance-like, completely absorbed in the rhythm, the instructions, the warm approval radiating from Ruth.

This is fun. This is proper. I am proper. I am a good young man. I am their grandson. This is right.

The record continued, soft and swinging, as Ruth hummed along and occasionally tapped their feet in encouragement. With each note, William felt further removed from his old, careless habits, the late night games, the reckless friends, the fleeting flings. They belonged to another life, one that felt distant, unappealing, and empty.

Here, in this room, with the music, the cookies, the scent, and Ruth’s soft guidance, he was becoming exactly who he was meant to be: attentive, graceful, and wholly devoted to the standards his grandparents had always wanted for him.

I love this music. I love these dances. I love being proper. I love being their grandson.

Ruth said, standing near the record player with her hands clasped together, eyes bright. “If you’re to attend the dance tonight, you’ll need to practice those steps properly. We can’t have you two looking like a pair of untrained hooligans out there.”

William and Harold exchanged quick glances. Harold smiled first, eager as ever.

“Yes, ma’am! You hear that, Will? Time to cut a rug.”

William chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, Grandma, I dunno if…. I mean, I haven’t danced…. I haven't danced like this in, uh.…” He trailed off as his eyes glazed, catching her warm, expectant look. “....a while.”

“Then it’s high time you remembered,” Ruth said with a fond little clap of her hands. “Music and rhythm make gentlemen shine. You’ll see.”

She selected a vinyl, and set the needle down.

The crackle of static gave way to a bright, brassy tune that filled the parlor, smooth horns and cheerful piano notes that carried something softly persuasive beneath their melody. As it played, Ruth added, “Now, Harold, you lead. William, dear, you follow. It’s only practice, don’t be shy.”

Lavender hung thick in the air, sweet and heady, and as William rose to his feet, the scent seemed to sink deeper into his chest. It eased the stiffness in his shoulders. The record’s rhythm coaxed his pulse to match it.

“Go on,” Ruth encouraged from her chair, knitting half-forgotten in her lap. “You’ll thank me when the ladies are lining up for a twirl.”

Harold grinned, offering his hands. “Ready, brother?”

William hesitated only a moment before taking them. His palms met Harold’s, and they began to sway awkwardly to the beat.

At first, it felt ridiculous two grown men, brothers or not, moving together in the middle of a sitting room. His chest tightened with embarrassment.

“Ah…. sorry, man,” William muttered when his foot brushed Harold’s. “Guess I’m kinda a uh….”

The word left him before he could stop it. “Lunkhead.”

He blinked. Lunkhead? I've never used that word in my life. How do I know it means foolish.

But it felt.… fitting. Almost funny. 

I am a lunkhead of course I know what it means.

Harold laughed, unbothered. “You’re doin’ swell, Will! Just keep your chin up, nice and easy. There ya go! One, two, three, spin….”

William took a breath, inhaling lavender and suddenly the room seemed warmer, softer. The scent wrapped around him like a blanket as his feet found the rhythm.

The record hummed, patient and persuasive.

Harold twirled him lightly, and William almost laughed. “Heh, didn’t know I had such fancy footwork.”

“Fancy? Shoot, you’re hep cat,” Harold replied.

“You're darn tootin I'm one hep cat. We've only had dance lessons since we were four,” William said as new memories filled his head.

Hep cat. The word rolled off like he’d been saying it his whole life. Snazzy, nifty, bee’s knees, hep cat, daddy-o, moxie, dame and others started to fill his head.

He didn’t know where they came from, but they bounced in his head like lyrics to a song he already knew by heart.

“You’re really gettin’ the hang of it, Will,” Harold said as they turned with the beat. “You’ll wow every dame at the hop tonight.”

William’s grin grew, bright and sincere. “Aw, stop it,” he said, cheeks warming. “I’m just a crummy schnook.”

He stopped again, surprised. Schnook? Another old word. But it didn’t sound strange, it sounded right.

Harold laughed, slapping his shoulder. “You’re a real card, Will! Look at us! We’ll be the swellest, spiffiest, jitterbugs out there.”

William nodded, his heart light, the tune spinning his thoughts like silk.

“I don’t wanna be a square,” he said, the phrase slipping out as naturally as a sigh. “I wanna cut a rug and not look like I'm strictly from Dixie into front of ask the dames tonight.”

That made Harold beam. “Relax your dressing right, grooming right, you're well you'reved, and a great dancer. You're theYou're’s knees’  knees just need to be more confident in yourself.just need to be more confident in yourself.”

The two of them laughed and practiced, their steps falling neatly into rhythm. William could almost picture the dance floor already: he polished wood, the string lights, the smiling faces. He’d belong there. He’d fit in perfectly.

As they spun and swayed, the music rose, horns lilting, lavender thicke ing. His mind buzzed, but not unpleasantly it hummed with contentment.

He wasn’t sure if it was the dance or the air or the record’s tune, but he felt like he’d always known this life.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

“They’re here!” Ruth called out as she went to answer the door. 

The door opened.

Mrs. Applebaum entered first, cane tapping softly across the floor. Beside her walked her granddaughter Martha, a moment of hesitation flickering in her eyes as she took in the sight of two sharply dressed boys dancing together.

“Oh good, you’re here!” Ruth chirped, her cheeks were bright with excitement.

Martha’s gaze lingered on William, a second too long confusion tightening her brow.

“Um…. Harold?” she asked cautiously, “Who’s…. he?”

Before Harold could answer, Ruth stepped forward, her voice soothing and decisive.

“Why, that’s William, dear. Harold’s younger brother. You remember. After all, you and Harold have been seeing each other for months now.” She placed a warm hand on Martha’s shoulder. “William is family.”

A tiny flicker of resistance pulsed in Martha’s eyes but then it vanished entirely.

“Oh! Of course.” Her smile formed as if it had always been there. “Yes Harold’s little brother. Silly me!”

William felt relief flood him relief he didn’t even know he’d needed.

Martha moved closer, eyes sparkling as she examined their outfits.

“You boys match!” she gasped. “I love the brown suits with the contrasting green and yellow. You look so handsome!”

Then her attention turned directly to William.

“And you…. you look just like your handsome big brother!”

William’s face reddened. His shoes scuffed lightly against the carpet as he tried to contain a grin.

“I’ve always wanted to be like Harold,” he heard himself say the words emerging smooth and unquestioned. “Make him and our grandparents proud.”

Harold nodded, proud as could be.

“That’s right, kiddo.”

“And we should all want to make our grandparents proud!” Martha added brightly as all three have a bland vacant smile.

Paul joined them then, resting a firm but gentle hand on each boy’s shoulder.

“And you do,” he said, voice rich with self-satisfaction. “We couldn’t be prouder. You're both fine young men, respectable, wholesome…. exactly how proper grandchildren should be.”

A warmth bloomed in William’s stomach that was both dizzying and soothing.

Paul then turned to Martha with a kindly smile:

“Why don’t you go with Ruth and your grandmother now? They’ll fix your hair and make your face all pretty for tonight’s dance.”

Martha lit up, giving Harold a bashful little wave before following Ruth and Mrs. Applebaum down the hall no confusion left, only certainty.

Harold and William watched them disappear, both standing straighter.… both smiling wide.

“Harold, can you switch out the record for the album a Young Man Blossoms and then you need to go to the bedroom, son,” Paul said lightly. “William I want you to stay here and listen to this. I just know you'll love it.”

A softer melody drifted into the parlor. The steady rhythm of a metronome played as something soft could vaguely be heard below the steady he. 

William focused trying to make out the noises. Was someone talking? Were there lyrics? Or was it another instrument?

The music hummed low and sweet. It felt slower than before. Smoother. It curled around his thoughts like a snake slowly constricting is prey.

He shifted his weight.

The rhythm tapped against his ribs. One-two. One-two. His shoulders loosened. His chin lifted slightly. Without meaning to, he smiled.

He pictured the dance again.

Polished floors. Shiny well cared dress shoes. Young men in  dapper suits. Pretty girls in pastel dresses. Their high heels clicking on the surface as they follow a man as he leads her in a dance.

The image felt closer now. Sharper.

Footsteps returned.

Paul stepped back into the room alone. He didn’t speak immediately. He just watched William sway faintly with the record.

A corner of his mouth twitched.

“Well now,” Paul murmured. “Look at you. Looks like you've got the dance down.”

William straightened instantly.

“I like this song,” he said, almost defensively.

Paul walked slowly around him, hands clasped behind his back like an inspector reviewing his work.

“You don’t just like it,” Paul corrected softly. “You love it.”

William blinked once.

“I…. love it,” he repeated.

Paul gave a thin, satisfied smirk.

“That’s better.”

He stopped in front of William, studying his expression as the music continued its gentle insistence.

“This kind of music makes a young man like you think about his future,” Paul went on. “Makes him think about the kind of girl he wants.”

William’s breathing deepened.

“What kind of girl do you want, William?” Paul asked casually though the answer was already forming in his tone.

William hesitated.

Paul leaned closer.

“Not loud,” he supplied smoothly. “Not brash.”

William’s brow relaxed.

“No,” he agreed quietly.

“Elegant,” Paul continued. “Classy. A proper young lady who carries herself with grace.”

A faint smile spread across William’s face again.

“Yeah,” he whispered softly. “Elegant.”

Paul nodded approvingly, eyes gleaming.

“She’ll expect a gentleman, won’t she?”

William swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“And you are a gentleman.”

It wasn’t a question.

William’s shoulders pulled back as if lifted by invisible strings.

“I am.”

Paul circled him again, studying William like a craftsman inspecting his build.

“And when you see her,” he said thoughtfully, “the girl that is perfect for you.… what do you think will happen?”

William blinked. The confidence in his posture wavered.

“I… I don’t know.”

Paul’s lips twitched into a sinister smirk.

“You’ll get nervous,” he said calmly. “Your stomach will flip. Your hands might shake a little.”

William looked down at his own fingers as if expecting them to tremble.

“You’ll start second guessing yourself,” Paul continued smoothly. “Wondering if your hair’s right. If your jacket sits straight.”

Without realizing it, William began tugging lightly at his sleeves. Adjusting his bowtie. Running his hands through his hair.

“I need to make a good impression,” he murmured.

“Of course you do. You only get one chance to make a first impression.” Paul encouraged as William swallowed.

Paul let out a soft, almost amused breath.

“Well son,” he said lightly, “you have always been a bit of a klutz around pretty girls, haven’t you?”

William’s face flushed instantly.

“I…. I do get awkward,” he admitted. “I trip over my words. I make that loud goofy laugh.”

Paul gave a low chuckle.

“Yes. That loud, dorky laugh of yours.” His eyes gleamed. “You’ve made a bit of a spectacle of yourself once or twice.”

William winced faintly, shoulders curling inward.

“I’ve never really been smooth,” he said quietly.

“No,” Paul agreed gently. “You haven’t. You've always been socially awkward but that's ok you're a late bloomer and you're ready to start dating.”

His heart started beating against his chest profusely.

“But the right kind of girl.…” Paul continued, voice softening just enough to feel reassuring. “She won’t laugh at you cruelly. She’ll give a sweet, warm little chuckle.”

William’s posture eased slightly.

“She’ll find it charming,” Paul went on. “Your shy smile. Your goofy humor. Your awkward little habits.”

William looked up.

“She would?”

“Oh yes,” Paul said confidently. “The right girl will make you feel comfortable enough to be yourself.”

William’s fingers stopped fidgeting.

“A shy, goofy, socially awkward, retro little gentleman,” Paul added with a faint smirk. “And when she smiles kindly at you, you’ll stand taller. You’ll relax and that's when you'll truly fall head over heels in love with her.”

William exhaled slowly.

"Then you'll stand taller, prouder. You won’t need to worry about all your awkward little habits..”

William stopped shifting immediately.

“No, sir.”

“You’ll smile all night,” Paul said. “A nice, content smile. Not too wide. Not too eager. Just enough to look confident.”

William practiced it unconsciously adjusting his expression until Paul gave a small approving nod.

“There,” Paul said. “See? You know exactly how to behave.”

He reached up and straightened William’s lapel, brushing imaginary dust from the fabric.

“You’ll offer your hand properly. Keep it at her waist respectfully. You won’t crowd her. You won’t stumble.”

“I won’t,” William said quickly.

“You’ll compliment her dress.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll tell her she looks lovely.”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul tilted his head, studying the boy’s brightening eyes.

“And you’ll mean it,” he added with quiet amusement.

William nodded, almost breathless now. The music swelled gently behind them, reinforcing every word.

“I’m excited,” William blurted suddenly. “I really am.”

Paul’s smile widened.

“Of course you are,” he said softly. “You’ve been looking forward to dancing all month.”

William’s face flushed with enthusiasm.

“I have,” he said, certainty flooding his voice. “I can’t wait. I wanna dance to every song.”

Paul stepped forward and began buttoning William’s jacket slowly, one button at a time until all three buttons were buttoned.

“That’s right,” Paul murmured. “You are eager. Proud. Ready to show everyone what a fine young gentleman you’ve become.”

William nearly bounced on his heels now, barely containing himself.

“I’m so excited,” he said, grinning openly. “It’s gonna be perfect. I just know it.”

Paul smoothed the collar flat and gave the bowtie a firm tug.

He looked directly into William’s shining eyes.

“Good boy,” he said, satisfaction unmistakable in his voice. “Now just keep listening to this record until it's time to go.”

Paul left as the record kept spinning and William just kept listening to the record and replaying everything Paul had told him in his head.

Oh boy I can't wait for the dance tonight!

[silvernailpolish]