New File! Horny Party Bro

New File! Horny Party Bro

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H0rny Party Bro | Jockout

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(I don't know how seriously Tumblr takes bad words so I'm afraid, lmao. Excuse the l33tspeak hereafter.)

The file name is a deliberate throwback to that era of 2010-2015 files on WMM which always had that format of "Adjective, Adjective 2/Noun, Masc Noun": i.e, "Big Dumb Jock", etc etc. This is a new exploration of the masculinization concept wherein I take advantage of your brain's implicit biases and knowledge of stereotypes to make you act a certain way.

Here's how it works. if a guy works out, it's likely he does other stuff we associate with that cliché: eating clean, getting his steps in, watching sports... even if he didn't do those things initially, his social brain gradually influences him to perform other behaviours related to that new facet of identity over time, to help him find a tribe. In this way, like links in a chain, your knowledge (and lust) for masculine stereotypes is exploited here to drag you further along it, making you more the man you wanna be. Because let's be real... you don't wanna be complex. You wanna be a trope; a caricature of masculinity. A big, buff, physical dude with nothing on the brain besides hole, sports, partying... etc. The platonic ideal of a man is a lusty, impulsive frat boy after all.

So enjoy. 😉

(As a NSFW release, this file is locked behind a paid Patreon subscription.)

Content warnings for this file:

Increased libido/sexua1 impulsivity.

Suggestions to disregard doubt/fear about this change and embrace it in full, with appropriate safeties.

Increase in baseline ar0usal at all times to substantiate this change.

"Lowered standards" in that you're more open to partnering with people of varying body types, etc.

Suggestions to begin falling more in line with other masculine clichés - because you think with your ahem, it's natural you act like a man's man in other ways too. Body language, speech, interests, etc.

Specific references to partying and alcohol. YMMV, this will be flexible enough to work even if you perceive the masculine ideal here to be clubbing vs house parties vs a tipsy barbeque... Etc. They'll all strike the same chord.

The file doesn't contain dumbing but is dumbing compatible, and could potentially enhance that programming in you if it's already there.

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When I'm not dropping myself or others, I'm off being a mystical forest bro in the wilderness of Ireland. But I am always available for commissions if you reach out via DM. My flat rate is currently $60-100, but you can check my pinned Tumblr post for more up-to-date info. You can also support me with a one-time tip either via Paypal or Ko-Fi... or by subscribing to me on Patreon! Keep listening, bros.

"Dudes, you gotta try it. Like just one pinch of the powder added to your drinks and BooM, no more nerd bod." "Best part is you get the both Brains and Brawn" "Come on guys, you gotta try it out" "It feels fantastic to have all these muscles"

I watched as the group of nerds took the little satchels and added the powder to whatever they were drinking. I was getting hard at the thought of the new Alpha males that would replace them. It had taken two days of torture to convince these pansies to join me. I had to make them think I was still the smart, sweet, kid they had always known and trusted. In reality he is long gone, the alpha that replaced him is in charge now.

The babies started to whimper, while they clutched their tummies. Each of their dicks engorged to superhuman proportions while their balls filled with precious testosterone that would fuel the rest of the change.

The sounds of cracking bones fills the air, followed up by wet squelching as they grew taller and their organs shifted. They were all moaning in pain and fear as their bodies started to spasm. Layers of muscle tissue built underneath their skins streaching the outer organ till it is paper thin. The final physical change was their heads, some lost all of the baby fat and gained a sharper jaw line. Others had started out super thin so their heads broadened with masculine features.

They only had a few moments to admire what they had become. Each of them stumbling around as they got use to their new mass. It started with a smile, their expressions changing from open astonishment to sly grins. The look behind their eyes changed, gone was the innocent nerds, what replaced them was pure Alpha confidence. They stood up straighter and puffed out their chests, discarding any clothing that had managed to survive. Any shred of the former teenage wimps was replaced by a cadre of muscular men all getting hard at the sight of so much masculinity.

The Orgy that followed was fantastic, all of them, the new Aphas were competing to see who was the best.

Watching their transformation only made me want more. I think its time to gather all the small fragile students and turn them into cocky studs.

Head Rush

Patreon had this one in July! Thanks to the support of my patrons, I've been able to produce many more stories in a shorter period of time - please pledge if you'd like to continue to see my output increase, both in the written word and onstage flexing.

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“I’m not going in.”

At this proclamation, Patti Frazier stopped mid-exit from her car and turned around to look at her son in the passenger seat. “It is 101 degrees,” she said, looking at the nearby bank sign displaying the temperature. “You’re not sitting out here, you’ll cook like a turkey.”

“Guess I’ll die then.”

“JEFFERSON. You are coming inside.”

“No. One of the guys could see me and they’ll think I’m gay.”

“That is the most stupid…” Patti’s teeth locked together. “Just tell them you had to wait for your mom to get her hair cut.”

“That’s gay too! It’s obvious I wouldn’t be there for myself.” He ran his hand over his black buzzcut. The short hairs stood on their ends like the bristles of a toothbrush, tickling his palm.

“You just said--” Patti’s face turned red, and it wasn’t just from the heat. “Come. Inside. Now. You are making me late. Or I will pull you off the football team.”

It was Jefferson’s turn to redden. “You can’t do that! I’m an adult!”

“You remember that little slip of paper you signed at the start of the season? You still live under my roof and I absolutely can.”

Jefferson groaned obnoxiously and opened his door. “I’m not sitting by the window.”

“No one is going to see you. You’re being an idiot. Getting your hair cut is not gay!”

“SALONS are gay. Waiting for your mom is gay. Waiting for your mom in a salon is really gay.”

The last two words were said just as they walked into the salon, and both women in the waiting area looked at them. Patti smiled at them, then turned to Jefferson and hissed, “that’s enough. Now sit.”

Jefferson didn’t. He walked up to the desk with his mother as she checked in, his nose wrinkling at the smell of hairspray and chemical treatments. He looked around and confirmed his fear: he was the only guy in the entire place. “Is there somewhere I can sit while she’s back there?” Jefferson asked the receptionist. He flashed a cocky smirk at her, well-practiced in the halls of school. His face still had lingering baby fat, but girls said they liked his smirk, so he used it a lot.

She gestured to the open, airy lobby. “Of course, anywhere you like-”

“I mean somewhere where people can’t see me.” Jefferson jerked his head to the modern floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded the waiting area.

“Um…hm,” she said, brow furrowing. “No one’s ever asked that before! Let me see.” She stood up and walked through the cutting area, out of sight. Jefferson smirked triumphantly at his mother, who was staring daggers back. If she was going to drag him to this gay place while his car got fixed, he was going to make her pay.

The clack of heels announced the receptionist’s return before she rounded the corner. “There’s an old dryer chair in the back hall that we’re getting rid of, if you wanted to sit back there? We can’t allow you in the break room, unfortunately-”

“-he can sit up here like a normal person-” Patti chimed in, but Jefferson cut her off.

“Dryer chair is great.” He took off and clomped straight through the cutting area, drawing stares from the hairstylists. He stood out, which he liked. This was not a place where he had any desire to fit in. Everything was white and gold and gay looking. Lots of flowers. Pop music on the radio. Women chattering about the Kardashians. Jefferson was glad he’d worn his workout stuff for that extra “jock” look. Gray football t-shirt and big Under Armour shorts with Nike sneakers that squeaked as he walked.

The receptionist wasn’t kidding when she called the dryer chair old. It was sitting in a side hallway and looked straight out of 1950, way different from the modern ones Jefferson had just walked past. The leather seat was cracked, and as Jefferson clomped his weight on it, he noticed the padding was worn to nothing. It wasn’t comfortable. But it was hidden. He popped his over-ears on and lay back, letting NLE Choppa soundtrack his thoughts. God, he was going to be stuck here for an hour at least. So fucking boring. At least it smelled nicer back here. There was still that hairspray scent, but it was mostly covered by lavender and mint or whatever the shampoos nearby had in them. Kinda made him sleepy, actually...the din of his music felt further away. His eyelids were heavy.

Man, it smelled so good…

Jefferson shut his eyes and sat back, his head under the hairdryer. The world sank into silence as the young jock fell asleep with his hands folded over his stomach. The soothing scents drifted in and out of his nostrils with each deep breath he took. They swirled around him, almost visible in their strength.

The dryer turned on.

It was on a low setting, just a gentle whirr that soothed Jefferson even deeper into sleep. Air tickled his ears and made his hair flutter. The halo of lightbulbs around the rim of the dryer were on too, but their ancient status made the color look off - almost blue, and then it would flicker pink.

Blue.

Pink.

Blue.

Pink...

Jefferson relaxed even deeper, his mouth slack, hands plopping down at his sides. An erection sprouted in his lap and tented his shorts. It pointed straight up the ceiling as if it were waving hello.

Blue.

Pink.

He lay there for ten minutes, inhaling the fumes and enjoying the air, until he suddenly snored and woke himself up. Jefferson sat up surprised and bonked his head against the dryer, slapping at it as he confusedly took in his surroundings. His boner flopped down between his legs, but he wasn’t worried about it - he was more embarrassed that the dryer was on. He reached to pull the plug out of the wall...and found it was already unplugged, despite the flickering lights and churning fan.

“Ooookaaayy…”

Jefferson stood up, and the chair immediately shut off. There was a second plug somewhere, obviously. He couldn’t see it, but there had to be. It wasn’t like the thing was magical. Still, he was creeped out enough to walk back up to the front. Better than hanging back in this dim hallway alone.

As he walked into view, the squeaks of his sneakers drawing attention, the hairstylist cutting his mother’s hair turned and said: “Well THERE he is! It’s about time you came out.”

Jefferson’s cheeks burned red. “Came out?!”

“From back there. Rhonda said she saw you fell asleep.”

“Oh...oh…” Jefferson took a deep breath. “Sorry, I thought you meant...y’know...came out.” He punctuated these words with a limp wrist and a sassy pop of his hips.

“Jefferson!” Patti hissed.

“It’s no big deal, babe, we’re on the same page now,” Jefferson said crisply, hitting every consonant extra hard. There were no gay guys around, so he could make fun of them. It made the stylists laugh, too, so Jefferson tossed his head to the side like he was flipping hair over his shoulders. And although there was no hair that long on his head, his hair was suddenly longer. The buzzcut burst out from his scalp and flopped down over his forehead and ears, turning into a shiny shag. Jefferson clucked his tongue disapprovingly and batted at his bangs, really pushing the effeminate act. The more he fussed with them, the longer they grew: down over his eyes, stretching past his nose, forcing him to part his hair so he could see.

“Jeffy?”

“Yes hon?” Jefferson snapped his head to the side as his hair lengthened down to his chin. The woman addressing him was the stylist cutting his mom’s hair. Daniella, that was her name. He wasn’t sure why he remembered it but his mom must’ve said it in the car. Jefferson walked to her, and the mirrors reflected how he did so: hips swaying, wrist dangling in front of him. He hadn’t meant to walk like that, so he made sure to make it look so stereotypical that they’d know it was a joke.

“He haaaates being called Jeffy,” Patti said to Daniella as Jefferson minced over. When Jefferson didn’t respond to that, she gave him a withering look - he knew she knew what he was up to, and she was mad about it, which made him want to do it more.

“I’m saying we should go lighter with the color this time and Patti doesn’t think she’s ready,” Daniella said. “What do you think?”

“Why on earth would you ask him about-” Patti started to say, but her son interrupted her.

“Totes lighter, babe,” Jefferson said, running his fingers through his mother’s hair. “I’m just looking at your skin tone and the color of your eyes - you see how going lighter would make them really pop?”

“That’s what she said,” Patti laughed, arching an eyebrow at Jefferson’s assessment. “I’m just not sure…”

“Baby, please,” Jefferson said, holding up a hand. “I promise you will look so STUNNING! Hubby will be taking you out to show you off. I wouldn’t set you wrong. I mean, I know a thing or two about hair dye!” Jefferson tossed his hair and felt it pour from his scalp, now draping over his shoulders. He loved how it looked, but he needed to stop acting like this - and why was he saying all- “You will look FIERCE!”

That was when he noticed the jewelry. He had chunky silver bracelets on his wrists and a variety of rings on his fingers. He held his hands up and noticed his nails were shiny and trimmed - it looked like he’d had a manicure. Maybe someone gave him one while he was sleeping. He reached up and fussed more with his long hair - it was so thick, he could feel it weighing on his head, and the lights of the salon made it shine. It was gorgeous fucking hair, and every time he looked at it, it was more voluminous, a big sexy blowout that reminded him of Thor. It was so wavy and beautiful, and now it reached mid-chest… “Girls, I think something’s happ-”

Jefferson’s statement was cut off by the ring of the salon phone. “Oh, Jeffy, she’s in the bathroom - can you grab it?”

There was no fucking way he was going to- “Sure thing babe,” he heard himself say. Fuck! Jefferson’s body moved on its own, sashaying to the front of the salon, hips bouncing side to side. Once again, it wasn’t on purpose, and Jefferson really played it up to cover his tracks. Plus he heard his mom tut disapprovingly, which let him know he was on the right track.

As he walked, the squeaky sound of his sneakers was changing - firmer and shorter, a clack. He felt himself surge up in the air, nearly falling as three inch inch heels grew out of the bottoms of his shoes. He caught himself on the wall with a cute “Oops!” then strutted to the phone, his new heels slapping crisply against the hardwood. The shoes continued to change with each step, as the laces and tongue merged into the tops of shoes, which themselves were stretching up over his ankles. Jefferson’s new boots were white and shiny, with pointed toes and high heels that made him feel so tall. In fact, he was feeling taller by the moment, like he was stretching. He didn’t mind that at all as he picked up the phone and answered it, standing up tall as his spine elongated. It felt good, like a massage. He didn’t realize he was growing in stature, now a lanky 6’4, nearly 6’7 in his heeled boots. But he did hear himself lisp, “Head Rush Salon, this is Jeffy,” and made a mental note to go back to talking normally, and not call himself Jeffy.

“Ohmigod, hey boo!” said a very gay voice on the other end of the line. “Didn’t think you’d answer. It’s Scotty. Listen, I’m flying to Palm Springs for the weekend now, so I need to cancel my appointment. I’ll make a new one when I’m back.”

“No problem babe,” Jeffy said. “Which day was it?”

“Saturday, so I’m still allowed to cancel it without you running that no-show fee scam on me!”

“My time is money bitch!” Jeffy said, and though the words sounded right, the delivery was all wrong: flirty and giggly. “Don’t waste it!” He opened the appointment software - for a moment he wondered how he knew how to, but it was just labeled ‘Calendar,’ so of course it was that - and found Saturday while Scotty rambled about getting railed in Palm Springs. There was the appointment, a 90 minute cut and color, right under…

‘JEFFY F.’

“I gotta go, bye girl,” Jeffy stammered, slamming the phone down. Why was he listed as a stylist at the salon - that was impossible, right? He was being stupid. Of course it was another Jeffy F. He didn’t even go by Jeffy, he was Jefferson. Jefferson didn’t know shit about cutting hair. He didn’t even tell his barber what to do. Just went in and sat there and the guy did whatever, then he paid him 10 bucks. This place had to cost, like...way more.

He was tempted to delete all the Jeffy appointments for that day just to be sure no one was confusing him for some gay-ass hairdresser, but he knew he was just being dumb. If anyone needed a hairdresser, it was him. His hair was crazy long. Down to his chest and perfect enough to book a shampoo commercial. And it was so fucking blond. That had to just be the sunlight, right? He had black hair. But this hair really looked blond, plus it had highlights in it to make it even blonder. There was so much of it, too. Gently tousled waves covered his shoulders entirely.

Jeffy set his palms on the reception desk, ignoring his beautifully manicured nails, and shut his eyes. “Nothing is wrong with you, babe,” he whispered to himself. Your name is Jefferson and you’re the man. “Your name is Jeffy and you’re that bitch.” The words covered an odd stretching sound emanating from Jeffy’s baggy shorts, which were lengthening down his legs all the way to the tops of his flashy white boots. The material of the shorts was changing as they grew, turning synthetic and stiff. As it tightened around Jeffy’s long legs, it lightened to the same blinding white as his footwear. The heeled boots were a perfect match for the white pleather pants he now wore.

Jeffy felt somewhat better when he opened his eyes, though he didn’t consider himself in the clear yet. Especially not when he moved to walk back to the cutting area and found himself using the same sensual strut as before. He added a booty bounce and a limp wrist to it to make sure the stylists knew he was kidding.

“I just need all you girls to know that I am 100% not gay,” Jeffy announced to the room as he rounded the corner, snapping his fingers sassily to punctuate the last two words as he popped a hip to the side. But his pronouncement was met with laughter, and his cheeks burned pink. He turned to Patti. “Tell ‘em, Mama!”

“He’s not,” Patti said.

“See! A gay guy would be in here talking about, like...I don’t know...Drag Race.”

“Okay but did you see Laganja’s lipsync?” Daniella interjected. “Girl.”

“Girl,” said another stylist laughing.

“GIRL,” Jeffy squealed, dancing over. “That neck snap thing she did. I was living. I was gagged. But everything Laganja does gags me.” Jeffy felt stupid for starting with Drag Race. He loved that show. He’d seen every episode from every season and he followed his favorite queens on social media. He quoted it incessantly. Maybe not the best example of his not being gay. “But see, I don’t have to talk about it all the time. Like how you girls are always talking about your star signs.”

“Do you even know what your star sign is?” Patti asked from her chair.

“Of course babe, I’m a Leo. We’re the most flamboyant,” Jeffy giggled. “We loooove to be noticed.”

“I’m a Gemini,” Daniella volunteered.

“Explains how FAKE you are!” Jeffy joked.

Daniella pretended to be supremely offended as the rest of the stylists laughed. Jeffy laughed too - this stupid airy giggle he suddenly couldn’t stop doing - and then, to his horror, he did a full twirl. He saw himself doing it in the mirror: hair flying, white pants squeaking together. Fuck, he looked gay--

But he wasn’t gay, he was just flamboyant! ‘Cause he was a Leo. A lion with a big mane, just like his long gorgeous hair. That explained a lot. It was written in the stars that he’d be like this. And it was because of that that he didn’t worry as much when he noticed his t-shirt was looking kind of shiny. Maybe it was made from something other than cotton. And the football team logo looked a lot lighter, like it was fading off…

“What are you smiling at?” Daniella teased in between snips of Patti’s hair.

Jeffy realized he’d been staring at his shirt in the mirror with a silly grin on his face. “Nothin’ babe,” he said, twirling back around. “I just thought my shirt looked kind of shiny for a second. I didn’t wanna look like a gay guy, they’re always wearing those tight shiny shirts.”

“Nothing at all like what you wear,” another stylist said.

“That’s right, honey!” Jeffy said with a snap of his fingers, as the material of his t-shirt finished transforming into shimmering satin. Buttons were already forming down the front of it as he tittered, “You know what I mean though, right? Their shirts are always so shiny and have those crazy patterns - like, what happened to dressing normal, am I right? I wouldn’t be caught dead in stuff like that.” Jeffy casually reached to tuck the tails of his shirt into his pants, not noticing how silky the fabric now felt, or that the remains of his football team logo were swirling all over the shirt, thinning into a swirling array of flowers and paisley.

“What WOULD you wear?”

“Now don’t get me wrong,” Jeffy said with a flick of his wrist, as a collar began stretching out of the top of his former t-shirt, “I love looking nice. I wear dress shirts every day. And I don’t mind standing out either, hon, I’m a flamboyant Leo after all.” The collar surged taller - extremely tall, in fact - there were three buttons stacked atop each other needed to close it, not that Jeffy ever would. “I don’t mind a little bit of bling, I just wouldn’t go crazy with it, y’know?” He ran his hands down over his shirt buttons, which were now rhinestones. The satin fabric on his fingertips sent a shiver through him. The growth of his collar finished with a dramatic explosion of his collar points, each of which stretched six inches wide to sit open atop his shoulders.

“I still can’t believe he wears stuff like that to school and football practice,” Patti sighed. “I don’t even know where he gets it from.”

“Not from you or Dad, that’s for sure!” Jeffy snipped.

“No, I mean, I literally don’t know where you BUY it,” Patti laughed.

“Just like, anywhere that sells-” Jeffy started to say, as he turned to look at his t-shirt. But it wasn’t a t-shirt at all anymore. It was the gayest shirt he’d ever seen. A long-sleeved button down made of azure satin, covered with floral paisley embellishments. The collar looked like it belonged on Elvis’ jumpsuit, and the buttons were fucking rhinestones. Jeffy wanted to tear it off and throw it in the trash. Instead, he saw his reflection pop a hip and smile, preening. He looked ridiculous from head to toe. That girly blond hair, the satin shirt, the white pants, the BOOTS...what the fuck was going on. He hoped when he got home all his clothes would be normal. He had a vision of all the t-shirts in his closet growing tall collars and wild patterns, that he’d be stuck looking like a gay Musketeer.

It annoyed him that the thought turned him on.

The salon’s front door chimed. Saved by the bell, he thought, since he had no idea where he got all his flamboyant shirts. Jeffy heard a conversation happening at the desk - the receptionist was back, thank god. He wouldn’t have to answer the phone again. Now he could just wait for Patti to finish up so he could go pick up his car, drive home, and make himself look normal again-

“Hey, Fy? Your client is here, are you ready for her?”

It took Jeffy a moment to realize he was the ‘Fy’ being addressed, as if his name needed to be abbreviated more. And his client?! Why would he have a client, he didn’t work here! “Bring her back, babe!” he chirped against his will, checking the tuck of his shirt and fussing with his hair.

A woman rounded the corner - she was older than Patti, but well-dressed and accessorized. Her jewelry said “wealthy” without her having to speak a word. “Fy!” she said, in an aristocratic voice. “I need your magic touch.”

“Hey gorgeous!” Fy smiled, bending down and kissing the woman on both her cheeks, like he was from Europe or something. He sat her in his chair - not HIS chair, he reminded himself, but the chair he was standing by - and began running his fingers through her hair. “Looking for some color today, too, right?”

“Yes, oh god yes. I need it badly, can’t you tell?”

“Well, I didn’t want to be RUDE, hon.” Esme, that was her name. It just plopped into Fy’s head and he was grateful it did. Why was he acting like he was going to cut her hair...he could barely cut a piece of wrapping paper. But he couldn’t stop. They were talking about what color she wanted, what sort of style she had in mind, how the hair would grow out and what she could do to maintain it. It was like they’d known each other for years.

The salon had a shampoo assistant, so Fy didn’t have to worry about washing Esme’s hair himself. He sent her back to the sinks and stared at himself in the mirror, wondering how in the hell he was going to cut this lady’s hair. He’d always been interested in hairstyling...right?...but he’d never gone to school for it. He only did his own hair. But his hair looked amazing, long and voluminous. So he could cut Esme’s hair. She seemed to think he’d done it before - and maybe he had! Maybe he’d just forgotten.

Seeing Esme’s wet hair as she returned from the sinks increased Fy’s confidence in his haircutting abilities. He could see the parts that needed trimming and was able to visualize how the hair would look when it dried. That was a relief. So he picked up his scissors and began snipping, running strands through his fingers and finding the split ends to trim off. He was able to tap into an autopilot he didn’t know he had, whipping his hands through Esme’s hair and shaping it to her liking, just like a sculptor did. His confidence in himself grew. He felt like he’d been cutting hair for years, and he couldn’t believe how much he enjoyed it. It was soothing, and he enjoyed the interaction with a client. He told Esme her skin looked amazing, because it did, and they started to discuss skincare routines. As Fy’s command of his hairdressing abilities grew, he was also becoming much more knowledgeable about grooming in general. He recommended Esme a couple products he used himself, and he noticed in the mirror how well they worked for him. His skin was so tan, and it glowed. He looked like he didn’t have any pores.

“Do you ever wear makeup?” Esme asked.

“Of course not, babe, I’m a man!” Fy said as he trimmed away. “Just bronzer, and maybe a little foundation sometimes. Concealer absolutely. And I sometimes fill my eyebrows in if they look too light…” Fy chattered away as his reflection continued to morph, brows threading themselves into perfectly symmetrical arches, skin smoothing and buffing itself to perfection. “But what’s YOUR secret?” he asked Esme. “You don’t have a line on your face!”

“Oh, stop lying,” she laughed. “But Botox helps.”

“YES, honey!” Fy squealed, his forehead tightening, cheeks turning glassy-smooth. “Love a little Botox. How’s this look for you? Good length?” He held a strand out as Esme inspected.

“Oh, it looks perfect. You know exactly what I like.”

Fy smiled, his teeth suddenly so outrageously white that it was hard to differentiate between each one. The expression faltered when he noticed it in the mirror. He looked plastic. Like a doll version of his face. Orange-tinted skin, too-perfect eyebrows, blinding teeth...all his friends were going to make fun of him for looking like this. Not to mention his clothes...oh god… “Babe, do I look different to you?”

Esme pursed her lips as she looked in the mirror. “Not really...should you?”

“No, just wondering.”

“I did notice you’ve lost a little weight, maybe? Though it might just be the shirt. I’m used to seeing you with those giant muscles. But you always look good.”

“Giant muscles?” On cue, the rhinestone button below Fy’s collar popped open. His shirt suddenly felt very tight. Pants, too, especially around the thighs and butt. “Gay guys like giant muscles--” he stammered nervously.

“I’m pretty sure all guys do,” Esme corrected.

Fy laughed his musical laugh as another button opened on his shirt. “So true, babe! What guy doesn’t want to be buff? I’d fully be a bodybuilder if I could…”

“I always thought you were one!”

“I wish!” Fy said, as the sound of stretching pleather filled the air. His butt was blowing up behind him - two giant spheres filled his pants to the brink and then some, the seams tearing open and briefly baring Fy’s new muscle ass. His eyes rolled back as all his nerve endings jangled from the growth of a gorgeous, high, round bubble butt. The only reason it wasn’t jiggling was because it was packed so tightly into the white pants as they mended around it.

Fy was breathing heavily as he focused on cutting Esme’s hair, his body temperature spiking from the growth of his muscles. His shirt stretched tighter, revealing new cuts between his shoulders and arms, an 8-pack imprinted on his abdomen, the mottled details of his back. His hands were briefly pulled away from his client’s head as his shoulders widened, stretching broad and flat with large capped delts on the end. His new V shape was getting more pronounced by the second, as his lats curved out and thickened, and his waist pulled inward, burning away any fat from a teenage junk food diet until it was composed solely of chiseled muscle. The tightening of his lower back made his ass look all the bigger.

Fy widened his stance to lower himself closer to Esme’s head, and it allowed his quads to inflate and his calves to firm up, the white pleather sinking deep in between the definition of his thighs. He was getting big - really big - which Fy noticed when he briefly looked in the mirror and saw a muscleman reflected back. His excitement made him straighten his back and proudly puff out his chest, and the button below his pecs came loose. Out from his torso grew two solid squares, wide and deep, his gold chains sinking between their cleavage. A trickle of sweat slid down over them, unimpeded by hair, which was shaved off to leave Fy as smooth as a doll.

It was hard to focus. His clothes were so tight, and he looked even bigger than he felt. His reflection turned him on - he looked like a fucking bodybuilder! Shit, he was a fucking bodybuilder! He couldn’t wait to show his buddies on the football team. His biceps swelled and his chest broadened just thinking about it. Even his neck was thicker. And yet he looked elegant -- graceful, even. His muscles rippled like they were dancing. It boned him up looking at it, a visible erection stretching out over his thigh. He didn’t care how gay he looked. He was so fucking hot…

By now, he was so enraptured by his own reflection that he wasn’t noticing how he’d taken on the skills of a master hairstylist. He moved with speed and efficiency, never missing a strand as he perfectly captured his client’s needs. What started as quiet confidence was now a healthy ego and unshakeable belief in his abilities. He was a supremely talented hairstylist, and the longer he worked on Esme, the more training poured into him. There was a framed cosmetology license bearing his name at the station now, and a stack of business cards. He’d found a new passion, and that passion was replacing football. He loved doing hair. He loved making people feel beautiful.

His heels clacked as he walked to the back and got the supplies needed to color Esme’s hair. No longer was he worrying about the sensual sway of his hips; his dangling wrist; his extravagant clothes. He needed to focus on his client’s needs. So even though he could feel his back grow wider - now barely fitting through the archway leading to the back of the salon - he’d worry about it later. Even when his hands thickened up from weightlifting, they maintained their grace as they brushed color onto Esme’s hair and rolled it into the foil. Once her hair was fully in foils, Fy smiled in the mirror. “Let’s let that settle, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

He strutted to the back area of the salon, long hair fluttering behind him like Superman’s cape, and walked into the employee restroom to pee. Finally a moment alone time to gather his thoughts, he thought as he unleashed a stream into the bowl. He’d managed to cut a lady’s hair and not embarrass himself, and he was looking jacked too. Once he cut off his long hair and washed his face, he’d be such a hot stud. He looked like exactly the kind of guy he liked. Well, not liked - wanted to be. A tall, well-groomed, stylish bodybuilder. Fuck, guys like that were so hot.

Fy stepped over to the mirror and smiled at himself, his veneers whiter than the porcelain sink he was using to wash his hands. He looked at the stylishly undone buttons of his satin shirt and pulled the sides further apart, baring his nipples. He looked at them, grinned, and pinched one with a little giggle. It felt good, so he did it again, then start squeezing both of them as he boned up. Just playing with them for a few seconds made them look bigger. He loved having his nipples played with, and he loved how big they were. He thrust them toward the mirror with a leer and tugged on them, marveling at how much space they took up on his pecs, how sensitive they were. Fuck, he loved his chest. It was so broad and powerful. It fit his frame perfectly, exactly symmetrical with the rest of his muscles. But with his huge nipples, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if his pecs were bigger too. It would maybe make him look out of balance, a little, but he didn’t really care. He loved chests. He wanted a big chest. A huge one.

“Get bigger,” he sighed dreamily, groping at his chiseled pecs, feeling their meat fill his palms. Muscle squeezed between his fingers. He wanted tits. Big fucking muscle tits. He wanted to burst the buttons off his shirts - actually, he didn’t want to be able to button his shirts at all. “Get bigger...I want you bigger…” he groaned happily, squeezing and groping and wondering if his pecs were really growing like it felt like they were. That would be impossible, of course...there was no way mass was layering itself over his chest, rounding out his pecs, turning them into a bulging shelf that bounced when he walked.

The fourth rhinestone button on his shirt pulled open, and out spilled an enormous amount of cleavage, as Fy’s pecs swelled into perky jugs that nearly touched his chin. “MmmmYEAH...get...bigger...I vant you bigger…” That was why he wore satin shirts so much. They felt so fucking sexy slipping and sliding all over his fat muscle tits. He yanked the sides of his shirt further open, pecs and nipples hanging out over the sink like a pair of udders - he wanted them sucked so bad. Fuck, he had such a hot chest. Big fucking tits… “I vant zem bigger!”

Fy clapped his hand over his mouth with an embarrassed giggle, though it was quickly forced away as his pecs shoved out further in front of him. It sounded like he had an accent! But that would be- “Zilly. Zat’s zilly,” he mumbled, lost in his own pec fetish. It was only when he felt his cock preparing to pump a load that he stopped, leaning over the sink and feeling his huge jugs dangling beneath him. He had a client to finish before he could nut. Didn’t want to be unprofessional. He made a half-hearted attempt to button some of his shirt, but none of them could pull together now, so he emerged from the bathroom with a neckline plunging past the top of his abs. Fy loved showing off his muscle cleavage anyway. His monster rack bounced up and down as he slinked back to his chair, the feeling of his shirt nearly sliding off him almost enough to make him cum right there. His nipples were barely covered, with part of his areolas peeking out from the edges of the open buttons.

Fy looked around and realized he had the biggest tits in the salon. Not bad for the lone guy! They stuck straight out below his collarbone and blocked his view of the rest of his body...it was so fucking hot and sexy. “How’s zis coming,” he asked Esme, inspecting her foils. “Takes foreffer, hm?”

“Hey, Flo?” One of the stylists asked, looking at Fy from across the room. “Want to come over and give this a look?”

Flo? His name was...well, whatever, it was a weird day. Flo wasn’t sure why he was being asked to inspect a haircut, since he didn’t work here. But the stylist was pretty junior, he knew, and he was a lot more experienced. In fact, out of everyone in the salon, he’d been cutting hair the longest, which he was proud of. So, he walked over, giant tits heaving as they pulled him forward. He inspected the client’s style, made sure it was cut properly. “Looks great to me, hon. Is zis vat you had in mind?”

The client nodded and said she was really happy with it. “Zat's enough for me zen!” Flo smiled, giving the stylist a high-five. Then he swished back to his own client, wondering why he was talking so strangely. The answer seemed to appear in the form of a small German flag plopped in a cup holder as his station. His accent really did sound German - it was light, Americanized, but present. He’d probably seen the flag and just adopted some German traits in his speech. That...happened, right? It was like psychology. He’d worry about it later.

For now, he had Esme to attend to. He worked on her hair for another hour, revealing the refreshed color and perfectly structured hairdo he’d constructed. Through it all, they chattered and gossiped, as Flo’s skills continued to grow. He was an expert in making a client feel at ease. He was great at building relationships. And he was a really, really fucking good hairdresser. He’d won awards for it. He’d taught masterclasses. It was evident as he fluttered around Esme’s head, hands moving like a magician’s, his long elegant fingers gracefully commanding each strand of hair. “You are red carpet ready, sis!” he said to Esme, snapping his fingers three times. She laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulders and back again, then smiled.

“I love it!”

“‘Course you do, hon, I did it,” Flo winked. He twirled, snapped his fingers over his head, then helped Esme out of the chair and led her to the lobby. Everyone always stared when he walked into the waiting area - he was used to it. He was very tall, he dressed outrageously, and he had a rack like a fireplace mantel mounted to his torso. He was used to the gawking. What he wasn’t used to was seeing Trina Robespierre sitting in the lobby, looking right at him.

No no no no - she was from school, she’d tell all the guys! He wanted to run and hide, but he couldn’t just ditch his client at the last step, so he awkwardly angled himself away from Trina and hoped he looked different enough for her to not realize who he was. He forced a smile down to Esme as she checked out, his sparkling veneers grinding together. The pressure of the grimace locked up his jaw, which hurt, so he popped it free - and with a small snap, suddenly it doubled in width. Flo’s jawline broadened so dramatically it made his whole face readjust to its mass. His nose looked smaller, and his skin stretched tighter over his cheeks, chiseling out the bones. The filler at his jaw angles made them unrealistically severe, and the nose job he now remembered getting had carved the tip into a precise angle. He’d taken his already handsome features and morphed them to cartoonish perfection, a caricature of a man instead of the real thing.

And then, beneath the filler and the Botox, his features hardened, baby fat draining away to reveal a hunk in his late thirties. His muscles plumped up with the maturity, solidifying his brawn. He could barely feel Esme as he hugged her goodbye - she was so slight, and he was so fortified with muscle. She handed him a $100 bill as a tip, which he slid into the pocket of his white pants with a charming smile. “You’re a miracle worker, Florian,” she said.

“Don’t be zilly!” Florian said back in his lilting accent, waving his hands theatrically. “Look at vhat I have to vork vith, gorgeous!”

Florian went back to clean up his station, satisfied that Trina hadn’t recognized him in the lobby. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself much either. He felt alarm at the sight of his sculpted face...why did he look older? And so big...his chest was fucking ridiculous...it turned him on, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t ridiculous.

Panicked but in a fog, he tore himself away from the mirror and noticed Daniella next to him cutting another woman’s hair. “Vhere’d...vhat vas her name...uh, Patti go?”

“She was done like an hour ago,” Daniella said.

“But she...we were supposed to…” Florian stammered, though he couldn’t quite recall what he was supposed to do with Daniella’s client. Just...something.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine, babe,” Florian said, breaking out into a huge smile. “I just need to sit down for a mo, I’m tired.”

“Go sit in the back! You don’t have anyone for a little bit, right?”

“Right…” Florian’s mind was racing. Was he a hairstylist? He wasn’t supposed to be. That’d be gay. But the guy in the reflection of the mirrors as Florian headed to the back of the salon...that guy looked gay too. Long hair, colorful satin shirt, big muscles, huge ass, even bigger chest, and that swaying feminine walk. He looked so fucking hot.

Florian eased back into the old dryer chair, hoping some rest would set him right. Just needed to clear his head and think straight. That made him giggle as he dozed off...think straight...because he was acting so gay…

...even though he knew he wasn’t…

The dryer turned on, soft and gentle, making Florian’s gorgeous mane flutter over his huge chest. His hands wandered up to play with his nipples through his silky shirt, a small smile on his hunky face.

“Mmmmm…”

All his homophobic thoughts bubbled to the front of his brain - all the fears he’d be seen, all the tactics he used. He could feel them dancing frantically around his head, jostling for his attention. Didn’t want to look gay, didn’t want to sound gay, didn’t want to dress gay…

Florian pulled his shirt further open and fondled his huge tits. They swelled bigger at his touch. He moaned.

...didn’t want to act gay…

...act gay…

...gay…

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

...gay...gay...gay...gay...gay guys...big muscles and hard cocks...wanted to dress gay…

...he wanted to dress like a gay guy...wanted to act like one…

Florian’s erection was rock hard and straining against his pleather pants. Sweat pooled between his cleavage.

...wanted to be gay...loved being gay…

Florian writhed and bucked his hips, groaning happily at the feeling of his sexuality changing - the conversion made his eyes roll back in his head, his lips part in his well-practiced O face. His tastes were changing - his interests - his talents. He loved it. He wanted to be gay. He wanted to be even gayer. He loved being a gay man, and he loved having sex with men - he loved feeling a thick cock in his ass…

He wanted a boyfriend - it’d be so fucking gay to have a boyfriend - he had one. César. A hung, hairy, muscular top. Exactly what he wanted. They loved exploring together. Exploring the world, each other, and other men. Being gay was an all-you-can-eat buffet. He loved being gay. He was so proud to be gay...he wanted everyone to know he was gay…

He loved to play with César...he could visualize their penthouse apartment by the water, full of his shiny shirts and workout equipment and sex toys...it was César who’d turned him into a bodybuilder. He’d always had a good body, but César taught him so much about fitness and transformed him into a living, breathing fantasy. He’d always felt comfortable with his body, and always loved to show it off - after all, he’d been a stripper when he’d first moved to the US from Germany. He went to cosmetology school in the daytime, and that’s where they met - César came in for a free haircut - he hadn’t been able to believe that Florian was just a student, because Florian had such a natural talent...

FUCK, he loved being queer so MUCH…

“AHhhhhh…”

Florian’s heels scraped against the floor as he thrashed, the throes of transformation pushing him to the brink of orgasm. He’d become everything he’d never wanted to be, and he loved it - he fucking LOVED it - gay guys loved to fucking CUM -

“Mmmmuhhh!”

Piping hot cum soaked his underwear. The huge German bodybuilder thrust up and down, sighing with lust as he shot out his homophobia and turned himself into the pinnacle of homosexuality.

The dryer’s last act was to gently cleanse Florian of all the sweat that accumulated as he finished his transformation. His shirt dried, his chest sparkled. When he stood, the only thing glistening was the makeup on his face and the body oil he applied daily to his muscles.

He strutted out feeling like he’d won the gay lottery. Fabric rippled like water around his giant frame. His tits bounced with each step. His ass looked ready to bust through his pants, it was so big. “Hey girlies!” he said to the women around him. He’d built up a good crew. He was lucky, when he’d opened this place, to find so many talented stylists right off the bat.

One of the assistants had tidied up his station for him, which he appreciated. The floor was swept, the counter organized. In a cup holder were three flags: German, American, and gay pride. The things that had made him him. Next to them was a small framed picture of him and César kissing. God, he loved that hairy stud. He couldn’t wait to go home and get fucked, but first he had work to do, and he loved his job almost as much as his man.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Anyone ever tell you you look like Fabio?” Daniella’s client said. The whole salon laughed knowingly.

“Every day,” Florian grinned, bouncing his pecs up and down. And then he headed to the waiting area to greet his next client.

So, you want to dominate your hypnotist?

Having read plenty of hypno stories (and written a couple), I know that the idea of a "turnaround", meaning the sub taking control of his tist or dom, is hot. Ludicrously hot. And, to be sure, I've met a few subs who've tried to do that to me. Most of them were unsuccessful.

In this post, I'll show you one strategy for getting to dominate your dominator or hypnotist (there are almost certainly others).

1. Prerequisites

Do not even think about attempting a turnaround before you've dominated at least several other subjects.

You should have an understanding of the nature of domination (see my post on this and the series of posts that follows).

Finally, you should have a trusting, comfortable relationship with the hypnotist in question. One consequence of such a relationship needs to be that you don't just trance, cum, and part ways. That you can have a conversation too, even if the subjects of such conversations are often hypnosis-adjacent.

2. Bi-modality and context

Next, we'll need to define a couple of axioms that underpin not only this turnaround technique, but the nature of all dom-sub relationships.

1. Nobody is submissive all the time or dominant all the time. No matter how dominant or submissive someone appears to you, no matter how dominant or submissive someone makes you feel, you can be certain beyond all doubt that there are people and/or situations that trigger entirely opposite feelings, thoughts, and behaviors in that person.

2. Context over personality. Since everyone is capable of experiencing both dominance and submission, what determines which side faces you? Is it the person's nature or personality? While everyone has predispositions, context plays a far more powerful role.

For our purposes here, we define context as the set of all assumptions, attitudes, beliefs, thoughts, and emotions that one person experiences in the presence of another. How you act in the context of a hypno session is very different from how you act in the presence of a parent, a partner, a teacher, a boss, or a stranger. Without even thinking about it, you not only present a different set of boundaries toward each of these people, but you actually experience those different boundaries. While many subs are perfectly comfortable disrobing for a tist, if someone pressured you to get naked at your job, you‘d not only feel intense discomfort, but your mind would likely block you from doing it. (If you work in the adult entertainment industry, just pretend you work in a law office for the purposes of this example).

Building a new context

So how does all this apply to executing a turnaround on your tist? You can confidently assume he is able to experience submission in the right context, but the context in which you are his sub isn't the right context.

To build a new context, you'll need to have a conversation in which you can talk about your experience dominating other people. What you did, how you made them feel. You're not making an offer to the hypnotist (yet), you're just a friend sharing a story. Stories are very powerful creatures: in order to immerse yourself into a story, you have to accept its premises. Thus, to immerse himself into the story of your domination, the tist will have to accept the premise where you are the dom, in control of the session and capable of creating intense pleasure and submission in the sub.

It's important that while this story is clearly from your perspective, it is easier for the tist to experience it from the sub's perspective. For example, the few subs that came closest (or succeeded) in a turnaround with me know my attraction to muscle (as if I hide it), so they made references to flexing their muscles to make the sub feel horny or fascinated.

Once you've used these kinds of conversation to establish a new context with your tist where you can be seen as a successful dom, the idea of the tist surrendering to you may seem far more natural than it ever was before. But before you get too excited and start messaging your tist, there's a critical minefield we must prepare you to navigate.

3. Fear of losing control

The need or desire to feel in control is what attracts at least some, if not most, hypnotists to the craft. This was true for me, and I know for at least some others. Famous British hypnotist Derren Brown has mentioned in numerous interviews that the feeling of being in control of the interaction is what attracted him to what he does (he also spoke quite fondly of hypnotizing athletes in college, so...) Of course, as we hypnotists come to understand hypnosis and suggestion better, we learn how little control we actually have, both over others and over ourselves. But the impulse of needing to feel in control and the corresponding fear of losing control remain even when we understand at a rational level how illusory this control is.

What this means for you is that if a hypnotist perceives that you're attempting to dominate him, even if deep inside he wants this to happen, he may very well shut you down. And those of us who have gotten accustomed to slipping in suggestions and narratives into minds of others will likely (though not inevitably) catch on to you trying to do the same. And when that happens, we can shut you down in such a manner that, unless you are particularly brazen, you will no longer feel comfortable even thinking about it again.

So... how do you keep this from happening? One obvious (and wrong) answer is to ask for consent. Don't get me wrong - you will need consent at some point - you will (and should) get nowhere without it. The problem is if you ask for consent before establishing a context with you as a powerful dom, you'll likely get the wrong answer. You may be a very effective and caring dom, but the tist will not be prepared to see you that way yet.

Instead... the entire conversation that creates the domination context needs to start with an explicit ruling out of you dominating the hypnotist.

An example:

He: Been doing any hypno lately?

You: I dominated some guys... got them to obey, follow my suggestions, get horny and unable to resist... cum when I said so... This one guy I dommed was a hypnotist himself*, oh, and just in case, I promise, I'll never dominate you unless you want me to.

*Only say this part if it's true. Saying that you've dominated a tist or other doms can make it easier for the tist to see himself surrendering to you, but if the tist suspects you of lying (and we tend to be at least a little perceptive), your dominance in this context will be shattered.

The important thing here is the clause in bold. Let's look under its hood, shall we?

I'll never dominate you - implies that you can dominate him, you just won't.

Unless you want me to - implies that it's ok for him to want you to dominate him.

I promise - two implications. First: implies sincerity and points toward your established relationship. After all, strangers don't typically say the words "I promise" to each other because there's no underlying relationship that would make them expect the other to keep their promise. Second: implies that you actually could dominate him if he didn't want you to, but you won't.

Just in case - clarifies that you're not actually expecting him to feel insecure in his dominance based on your story, thus eliminating another vector for resistance.

You can then proceed to tell him your story about how good you made someone feel through the kind of dominance you most expect your tist to enjoy. Make sure you include something about aftercare and caring for your subs in general - having a connection beyond dominance itself is a powerful salve for fear of losing control.

What if he catches on?

That's fine. At this point, you've eliminated any vector by which he might feel his security threatened. He may say that he's not interested in you dominating him. This is not a failure or an action not fulfilling its purpose because you never expressed an intention for him to say yes. The goal all along was to create a context where he could make a safe, comfortable choice in full awareness of how much pleasure you can create in someone as a dom. Him availing himself of that choice is the intended purpose.

Yeah, but what if he accuses me of trying a turnaround?

If he expresses his rejection as an accusation, chances are you've tripped one of his insecurity defenses. Here's one way to navigate this:

You: ...oh, and just in case, I promise, I'll never dominate you unless you want me to.

He: Why would you think I want to be dominanted?

You: I think everyone does at some point. I'm sorry if I made you feel threatened. (An apology, but also frames continuing the accusation as an admission to feeling threatened - something people with insecurity tend to avoid doing)

He: I don't feel threatened, it's just not something I'm interested in. (Now provides a yes-or-no answer on your terms, without an accusation

4. Now what?

So, suppose you just made your non-offer offer:

...just in case, I promise, I'll never dominate you unless you want me to.

What might you hear back?

Yes

A response of "yeah, I kind of want you to" is not the likeliest, but if you get this response - congratulations! You're one conversation away from succeeding with your turnaround. You now need to talk about his turn-ons, his boundaries, and how him being a sub will impact your current relationship with him hypnotizing you. Keep in mind that hypnosis does not require domination. He can be your sub and still hypnotize you even though you can have the dominant position outside of hypnosis. Just make sure you're both comfortable and safe.

And fellow tists, if you find yourself in the position of being offered a turnaround by a sub who is caring, respectful, and attracts you in all the right ways, it's ok to say yes. To be sure, this is a far greater leap than the one you took when you became a tist, but you're not offering yourself to a stranger. Your sub has already taken the same leap to be with you.

I remember a total of three times when I allowed subs to do turnarounds on me. I regret none of those times.

Non-response

The most likely response from someone who's turned on by the idea of being under your control is to laugh it off or to change the subject. He doesn't want to say no, but he's not ready to say yes. If this happens, simply finish your story. Down the line, find opportunities to bring up your dominarían without intimidating or annoying your tist. Some ideas:

Share new domination stories

Ask him for advice. (This has a side effect of deeper entrenching him in the dominant position in your context. This can be helfpul if he felt intimidated or uncomfortable by your turnaround attempt)

When you go under for him, ask him to give you some suggestions to help you become more irresistible as a dom. (The process of coming up with suggestions may force him to imagine you as a dom and contribute whatever he feels might be missing. This is one case where the placebo effect on the hypnotist may be as powerful and valuable as the placebo effect on the subject)

Ask directly. If he's consistently non-committal but unwilling to shoot you down, it could be that he's waiting for you to ask directly. If you do go this route, don't beat around the bush. Don't downplay the question. Know everything you have to offer. Know what attracts him to you enough to keep him coming back to doing sessions with you. And with all that in your mind, ask him both confidently and respectfully.

No

Remember that cliche about "no" meaning "no"? Yeah, that's still true. You might reply with:

Thanks for being upfront. (Frames that your prompt achieved its intended purpose: getting a response). I'm glad to have you as my tist either way. (Reinforces your standing relationship to protect it from harm with the new context)

Over time, comfort levels and preferences change. If months or years later your relationship with him is still growing strong, you might infrequently speckle in a few of the ideas from the No Response section just as a reminder of what you're willing and able to do for him should he choose to reach out.

Above all else, if your connection with another person, whatever its nature, is a positive force in your life then maintain that connection without imposing additional demands on it. If being with a tist makes you feel good, don't pressure him to become something more to you than he's prepared to be.

I hope this post helps both those who are looking to dominate their tists and those who are getting helplessly aroused by the idea. In fact, if you have a sub who you crave would dominate you, you're welcome to see him looking deep into your eyes, see his power sweep you off your feet like a tidal wave, feel the strength of his arms bring you to your knees, see his cock swaying in front of your eyes like a hypnotic pendulum, whispering you deeper under his control... go ahead, kiss his hypnotic cock. You may whisper "I obey you, Master" as you cum.

Auditory Alteration

“This is supposed to do what?” Luis shouted as the recording blared over the headphones.

“Don’t worry about it!” Carlos answered back loud enough so his friend could hear him. He wouldn’t be worrying about anything soon, now that the recording was working its magic, making Luis dumber and dumber but also larger and larger.

Luis just shrugged and put the headphones back on. He was beginning to feel lightheaded, and he leaned back to stretch. As he stretched, his chest and arms swelled at a quicker rate and the ridges between his abs deepened and grew harder. Even his face was changing, growing sharper and more angular and handsome. The only thing was that his eyebrows became more slack and his eyes looked distant, though he had a developing smile spreading across his face. He absentmindedly reached down to scratch his crotch over his shorts and Carlos could see as his crotch jostled with each scratch that his package had also grown considerably.

“You want me to suck it?” Carlos shouted so Luis could hear. Luis raised an eyebrow in question and Carlos pulled one of the headphones away and spoke closer to his ear, “I said, do you want me to suck it? Your cock?”

Luis just lazily nodded his head and widened his grin. Carlos could never have been so direct with his straight friend before this, but it seemed as though Luis had reached the stage of himbofication where he realized that sexuality doesn’t matter and that a mouth is a mouth.

Carlos excitedly obliged and knelt down to remove Luis’s shorts, which Luis stepped out of as he dumbly bobbed his head along to what he was listening to. His package had indeed grown, as Luis’s new 9 incher sprung out of his shorts and slapped Carlos on the cheek. Carlos flipped his hat backwards and guided Luis’s cock to his mouth. Whoever was watching them on their roof was about to get a show. He greedily started bobbing his head up and down on it like a champ, sucking and licking, when he suddenly felt two meaty hands land on each side of his face to hold while Luis started skull fucking him.

Carlos was in heaven, finally being dicked down by his longtime crush while he bulked up obscenely above him. He reached into his pocket and turned up the recording on his phone and Luis started bucking against his face with more ferocity. Carlos could feel Luis’s cock swelling bigger and bigger in his mouth and throat and could feel the same occurring with Luis’s balls as he fondled them. Finally, Luis moaned loudly and bucked with a few more final thrusts as he fired a huge, steaming load directly into Carlos’s guts.

Luis let go of Carlos’s head and Carlos dislodged Luis’s cock from his throat with a few gags and was surprised to see a wrist-thick 10 incher come sliding out of his mouth. He didn’t think he could take that much. He looked up at Luis and… woah. Perhaps he overdid it. Luis was towering huge and tall over him, sweating and panting, bulging all over, looking like a Latino Dolph Lundgren.

“Thanks bro!” he shouted with a dumb grin over his headphones.

Carlos quickly stood up and reached up (damn, they used to be about the same height) to pull the headphones off Luis’s head, who gave him a quizzical look in return.

“Any time, babe,” Carlos responded as he stood on his toes to kiss Luis’s open mouth. Luis grinned down at him but furrowed his brow and pointed at the headphones. “Oh, no, no, it’s over dude. How did you like it?”

“That was a good fuckin’ song, bro,” Luis slurred with a dumb grin.

“Yeah,” Carlos said, thinking, “Yeah, I bet.”

He felt up Luis’s rippling bod as Luis posed and flexed for him, letting out dumb laughs. Carlos squeezed Luis’s ass and, looking up at Luis, licked his fingers abs boldly stuck a few between his crack. Luis’s expression slightly changed, his body unfamiliar with the sensation, but remained grinning. Figuring he had come this far, Carlos gulped and pressed his fingers against Luis’s hole, feeling his middle and index fingers slip in and rub the walls inside. Luis looked down at Carlos and bit his lips, and Carlos could feel his cock rising back to life against his legs.

“You like that, stud?” Carlos asked.

“Uh-huh,” Luis replied slowly as he started grinding his giant body against Carlos.

“You wanna try something?”

“Fuck yeah, bro.”

“Alright beefcake. Bend down and spread your legs.”

Luis quickly obeyed and got into position while Carlos worked his way around Luis, ridding himself of his t-shirt and shorts and tugging his already turgid cock. Carlos used his feet to push Luis’s legs wider, giving him clear room to enter and a magnificent view of Luis’s new ass and massive thighs. He spat between Luis’s crack and on his own shaft to lube them up as best as he could.

He gingerly pushed his cock against Luis’s hole until his mushroom tip slipped in and then slowly fed the rest of his length in while Luis moaned with combined pain and pleasure. Before he went to work on Luis’s ass, he noticed the headphones laying on the table next to his phone. He reached over, grabbed the head phones and put them on, restarted the recording, cranked the volume on his phone all the way up, and started pounding away on his friend’s ass. As he fucked, he felt Luis’s hole growing tighter around his swelling shaft, he felt himself becoming taller and heavier, he felt his body growing thicker and thicker, and he felt his mind becoming duller and duller—only concerned with fucking his bro deep and good and keeping his bod tight at the gym.

From Country Boy to Gogo-Slut

Daniel was a Latino boy raised in the countryside in a conservative catholic family. The labours in the farm developed his body, even though he was too shy to see himself as an object of desire. Daniel was always intrigued by the amount of muscled boys who used to visit the waterfall, going up  the river close to his farm, always good looking, always and somehow mindless. He was in the waterfall and in the river close to the farm a lot of times, and yes it was a nice place to stay, but not like to have a bunch of muscle boys of the city going there.  One morning he saw one of those muscled boys the going up the river and decided keeping the distance and without his horse to follow him, he was curious to see, but always shy product of his strict catholic parents.

From a discrete distance the muscled boy finally arrived the waterfall and there he encountered with another guys who him called coach. Daniel was hiding but he wanted to know what are those two doing, he had to come closer to can depite of the sound of the waterfall hear the conversation. getting closer he could hear the words of coach my words, saying some words about relaxing, breathing, feeling good, the muscled boy just answered yes master coach. That didn’t make much sense, but somehow the words were captivating him and the sound of the waterfall started to get more and more comfortable. He just wanted to hear more of those words and even without noticing he started to get closer and closer.

He realized that he wasn’t actually hiding anymore, and even though he thought about going back it just feel so good to hear the words. He felt lightheaded, no realizing what he was doing, he was standing up in front of coach, he couldn’t think anymore, even if he was following the muscled boy and it could be embarrasing, daniel was feeling so good from coach words that he didn’t care anymore, and somehow he knew it was right, being with me and the muscled boy at the moment was so natural and the he find himself also answering yes master coach to every word I say. when I said that the clothes he was wearing weren’t appropiated for a sexy muscle boy like him, he should be wearing a speedo he just had to take them off.

and then there was he exposing his body, with two other guys he didn’t knew before. He put the speedo I gave to him and started to flex, finally enjoying having that trained body, as he heard coach wanted him even bigger, even sexyer, he felt a rush of adrenaline, he wanted to satisfy my desires, he knew he was mean to be bigger, he was pretty decent for his age, but bigger was better. Flexing was alway too cocky for his old self, but with coach flexing was so natural and felt so good. He would never be ashamed anymore of having a sexy body, daniel now was decided to make his body even more desirable, even fuckable, it was good being objectified, it was just the right thing for he.

After a long day of posing with coach and his muscled bro, he found himself alone in the waterfall flexing mindless. he kept the speedo on, and he found firstly weird but then he noticed that actually wearing something like that felt much better. As soon as he arrived home, he took a laptop and without knowing why he looked for coach’s blog, being so happy so arroused by the blog’s entries. Finding himself as the jockslut he wanted to be. it was too late he was already not a shy boy anymore he was an OBEDIENT MUSCLE BOY. it was ritual and he kept visiting the blog each day.

Daniel Found himself training his Body, wanting it to be more muscled, more sexy, SWOLE jockSLUT. His clothes got tighter and sluttie. he was especially invested on training religiously his Legs and Butt. it was so pleassureable to see himself in the mirror making that Ass grow into a nice round beefy bubble butt.  

He didn’t knew why but he headed to the city and got a fuckboy haircut, one his family wouldn’t allow him to have. Tehn he got to the gay disco of the city and without knowing why he knew where was the stage of the gogo boys, his name was already there with some slutty clothes. He got extremely excited and as soon he putted them on, he couldn’t help but taking selfies for coach, feeling happy of being good for me, making me proud.

then came the final test, as soon some sexy music started to sound he put the sluttier things that he could find and got to the dancing stage. He was a sexual object a dumb muscled gogo boy, and he enjoyed each second of it. He couldn’t help the most he hear the music, the more he was being stared as a sexual object the more sluttier he got.

He still be a cowboy on the days, he knows coach love him as a manly country boy as well, but as soon he receives a message from coach, daniel know is time to be the gogo slut he loves to be. The tips he receive are religiously invested on him being even a better boy, suplemments, equipment, gear and slutty clothes. He will be a huge piece of muscled fuckmeat for coach. and probably reading this blog you just realized you want to be exactly like he.