Dont Look

Don’t Look

One year. One whole fucking year, you’d been trapped in this hellhole. One whole year of weights and shakes, supps and bros, grunts and flexes, and that constant arrogant son of a bitch that made you into the MUSCLE GOD you are today.

...

Damn it. You can’t even think like you used to anymore. Bro was clever, for a dumb pile of meat. No sooner do the words cross your mind than your body acts on its own. You hear that deep husky chuckle as your voice echoes and rebounds through the gym. You hardly even recognize it anymore. It just sounds so ... dull, so empty.

Didn’t used to like him. Hell, like never came into it. You loathed him. Kept strutting his stuff, showing off, bringing home girls and bros alike at all hours of the day and night. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. You had a schedule to keep, damn it. You had to WORK OUT.

...

WORK OUT

...

WORK OU--

Damn it! You had to go to your job. You had to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX.

...

It’s so hard to fight this thing. Your head jumps tracks every time you try to finish a sentence, to think about the old life. Everything just jumps right back to the GYM and WEIGHTS.

“FUCK!” you snarl. You wish you’d never worn those stupid AWESOME HEADPHONES.

You remember when you blew up at him. The look on his face, the blindside, the anger, and a glimmer of something else. Curiosity? Intrigue? Or had you just imagined that?

Mmm ... you’d love to imagine some hot a--

NO! Can’t give in to base instincts. That’s what he wants.

Though that one blonde, ... damn was she fine. Her voice. Her hips. You’re ashamed of what you did, but ... at the same time, ...

“I want more,” you whisper. You clench a hand into a fist. “Damn it....”

You remember the gift. He said to consider them an apology, a way to compromise, so you could, “sleep deep, bro.”

The dumbbells clack with every lunge you take now. Your body follows a set rhythm that you cannot break. Those words, those thoughts, those actions. Carefully planned, every last one. And you didn’t realize until it was too late.

Your headphones became your collar, its white noise your leash.

You’re still not sure what was real and what was dream. Strip clubs, health bars, gym work, muscle ache, kneeling, listening, a shadow, a phantom figure posing you like some giant mannequin.

It takes a moment to realize you’re now reflecting that exact pose in the mirror.

“Damn it,” you swear. “I’m such a dumbass.”

You feel your body shudder at that word. You know your programming approves, and he would, too.

You can’t remember when you first found out the truth. You just remember the anger and rage boiling inside, followed immediately by his crisp command. And suddenly, you were on the floor doing pushups. The anger was fueling you to break your last plateau.

You look down at your swollen arms.

You broke that plateau, all right.

Every move you tried to make against him, he would counter neatly, as a chess master would a novice.

You lost your job.

“Numbers are too hard for a dumbass like you.”

You lost your friends.

“You’ve got, like, nothing in common with them anymore, bro.”

The library banned you. You’re still not sure why. Maybe he greased a few palms. Big bro was hella rich.

“Who needs books, when you’ve got weights, bro?”

He blocked the channels with a password, so you could only watch athletic events.

“Come on, bro. Big game’s on. You know you wanna watch it....”

Even the beard was his idea.

“It’ll make you look like a total rugged badass, bro! Who wouldn’t want that?”

You were completely surrounded.

“Let me introduce you to some of my best bros...”

Always watched.

“Here, let me spot you, little bro.”

Stripped.

“You need some new duds, bro.”

Dressed.

“Aw, hell yeah. Now that’s what I call ALPHA!”

Fed.

“Chicken and rice. Gotta get your lean proteins, bro.”

... Programmed.

“Time to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX, bro. Got something new for ya....”

And you let him. The plastic sheath on one of the machines creaks and groans under your muscular grip as you grit your teeth, all while the white noise continues to play, pushing you, motivating you to work harder and grow your meat. The bulge straining in your crotch would have left you embarrassed at one point. Now, all you can do is stare at it blankly and chuckle, like it’s all some sort of game, and you’re winning.

... But how much have you lost?

Then the static cuts off. You hear the ringtone from your cell phone.

Your neck strains as the muscles you’ve spent so long developing pulse and writhe under the skin. There’s only one person who’d call you this late anymore.

And you hate his guts, even as his words push you to obey and respect him.

“‘Sup, bro?”

His voice on the other end is smug. “Just checking in on my new best bro.”

You try to bite back the glow of pride swelling in your chest. You don’t succeed.

“Was just getting in some extra sets before coming home. I’m fucking starved. What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite.”

You moan. “Ribs?” Damn him for using your love of barbecue against you.

“I figured you deserved a reward, after all your hard work.”

You flex, as though he were there. It’s natural, automatic. It’s ... how you react to a lot of things now, actually.

“It has been a whole year,” he noted. “And I wanted to celebrate with you. We’re pulling out all the stops. Hell, I’ve even got a special gift lined up for you, if you want it.”

“Don’t I have to accept all your ‘gifts,’ anyway?”

“Was that a note of bitterness I detected?”

“Maybe just a little,” you admit. You can’t lie to him. He made sure of that. Bros before hoes. Bros don’t keep secrets.

“So, you’re still not happy?”

“You should know. You are my roommate.”

“I thought you would’ve warmed up to it by now. You flirt like a champ, tackle weights like a beast, and you practically baptized yourself with beer at the superbowl party.”

You shrug your titanic shoulders. “I’m a bro, bro. You kinda m--. M--.” You furrow your brow. You can’t say the word.

“I made you like this. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You nod.

After a period of silence, he spoke up. “You do realize I can’t see you, right?”

The sound of your hand slapping your forehead was enough to set him off laughing.

“Fuck you,” you snarl. S’not funny!” Finally, a loophole in your programming you can exploit.

He was silent for a time. “No, I suppose it’s not. It wasn’t funny when you challenged me either. You killed my date that night. Not cool, bro.”

“And that justifies putting me on a training regimen?” You couldn’t outright call it brainwashing or hypnosis. Those words had been forbidden.

“Considering all the names you called me that night, yeah. I wanted you to see just what it was like to be a bro, to think like a bro, to act like a bro. I wanted you to know just how it feels to have society judging you every second of every day for your choices, always thinking you’re just some dumb musclehead waiting to show off. Never taking you seriously, never giving you the time of day. I wanted you to see the sacrifices we had to make to get where we are with the whole world laughing in our faces. So yes, I think your ‘training regimen’ was well deserved.”

You could practically see his glare over the line.

“I may be a dumbass and a jerk at times, but at least I own it. I told you what I had planned. I let you know in advance, and you never said a word to me, not one word. Did you really think I wouldn’t have listened, if you’d just pulled me aside in private and asked? But no, you were too scared to. You thought the big bad alpha bro was gonna beat you up the moment you stepped out of line. You’re not scared of me now, are you?”

“No.”

“And why do you think that is?”

You grit your teeth again.

“Judging by your silence, you know the right answer. You’re angry at me, but you’re not scared of me, because you’ve gotten to know me.” He was silent for a time. He didn’t have to worry about you closing the call. Only he could end the conversation. “I’ll tell you what. It’s clear enough that you’ve learned your lesson, even if you’re not willing to admit it. Part of that is the pride I helped build, and part of it is the pride you had before I even started helping you. So, I’m going to give you a choice, or rather, a chance. If you want to be your old self again in every way, you just have to do one little thing. I’ll even make sure to pay you back for all your troubles and losses.”

“... I’m listening.”

“All you have to do is keep yourself from admiring yourself in the mirror. No flexing, no posing, no standing still to look over your changes. If you can keep that up for the rest of your workout time without doing any exercises or fitness-related stretches, then I’ll reverse everything I’ve done in your head. Fail, though, and you have to pay the price.”

“Which is?”

“You get to say goodbye to your old self entirely of your own free will. You’ll accept being a bro, embrace it, love it, revel in it. The bro will be you, and you will be the bro. You’ll become the dimwitted musclehead you feared. The gym will be your home, your fellow bros your family. Sports and weights, muscle and shakes, and letting your meat do all the thinking for you will be your new norm, and you’ll love every second of it.”

“And if I don’t accept?”

“Then we continue as we have.”

“Let me get this straight. So, it’s either try and possibly be free, or don’t and wind up with the failure option eventually happening no matter what.”

“Exactly.”

“... You’re on.”

“Excellent. Good luck, little bro.”

The call cut off. The static returned, and you took your seat as you reviewed your phone. Just had to keep distracted. That was all.

The first few minutes were a breeze, but after that the restlessness set in. Your body wanted to move, and you knew the recording was reinforcing that need to egg you on. You leaned forward and pulled up your phone’s apps. Your brainwashing had forced you to delete the entertainment apps and left you only with fitness trackers and camera.

You clicked into the camera app and scrolled through your selfies from the start to now. Big bro had done a good job. You had to admit that. That uncertainty solidifying into a cocky smirk. The clothes shifting to large, then extra large, then XXL. Sleeves being torn. Seams burst. It left you feeling breathless. You squirmed in your chair as you felt another surge of instinct scream at you to act, to move, to work out.

Your chest heaved as your triceps contracted under the sudden shift in your posture. You looked desperately down at your dangling necklace swinging back and forth. The chain was designed to highlight the amount of muscle you’d built in your pectorals. Surely, it could help keep you distracted for a few more minutes.

You fiddled with the chain, listening to its links hiss and chink as you hefted and manipulated it. You dug it into your skin a few times to try and distract yourself from that gnawing urge. Toes tapped, heels bounced. It was so difficult!

Why?

Your fingers played with the exercise band to keep your mind occupied, but that didn’t help. Your phone glitched, and the appc losed out. You opened the camera again, and caught a snatch of calf between all the weights.

Your breath became shallow as your hand shook.

Come on. You’re stronger than this. Think about the consequences. Think about ... about ... what were their names again? 

You could barely recall the faces of your former friends. They were more blurs than proper images. Blurs that slowly hardened into thick, square jaws and piercing eyes. The familiar impact of dice rolling on the table was replaced with the equally familiar clank of weights smacking against one another and the retort of guns on the shooting range.

Clapping hands became back slaps. Hand shakes were fist bumps. Exultant cheers and jubilant hugs were replaced with grunts, roars, and chest bumps.

That’s ... that’s not....

Tackling.

I...

Videogames with wrestling.

Can’t....

Soda cans replaced with beer.

No....

Delicate hands brushing over your beastly arms. “Hey there, stud. How about a gun show?”

Your legs are spread wide, your eyes unfocused. Weight and bars and chicks and muscle and posing and wrestling and ... and ... and....

“Heads up, Bro!”

The camera flash had been so intense back then. You blinked. You heard a shutter click.

You gaped at the image on your phone. Your thumbs moved on autopilot. You hit send.

Back at your apartment, your Big Bro smiles at the image and its accompanying text as he pulls the ribs out of the oven.

Better have those fucking ribs ready, Bro. I’m starving.

I said I might do this, and I decided I will this time. Here is the entire Patreon story I published a premier for earlier this month. I hope you all enjoy. If people are interested, and you haven't already, feel free to visit my patreon  and subscribe for multiple benefits and to give me the freedom to write more of these great transformations for you all.

A Costly Boast

Jackson smirked as he finished posting on his tumblr feed. Sure, the pic had been more of a joke at the time, but he did look good, and he knew his watchers would want to see more of his sculpted body and rugged features. He was a magnet for both men and women, after all.

I’m the biggest gorilla in the forest.

He’d added the caption at the end for the sake of the persona he’d developed for his web posts. And, he had to admit, if did feel good to show off.

With his work finished, he shut down his computer and grabbed his cell phone. It was time for another nature walk. He strode out in his cargo shorts and grinned up at the sun. Winter had passed at last, and the sheer amount of green was enough to make anyone’s head spin. It was simple enough to pass along the trail behind his house and admire the view it afforded. The sight of the river and buildings in the distance always left him in a pensive state of mind.

After he’d spent enough time musing over the view, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone.

Might as well check for any replies.

Jackson smirked at the number of likes and reblogs. His body was definitely a popular commodity. Then he scrolled down to the comment and frowned.

A user named Goodf3ll0w had written, As you boast, so shall it be. A special gift to you from me.

Jackson frowned and scratched at his head. “The hell...?” he muttered.

He put his phone away and continued his stroll through the forest. The trees clustered together on both sides as the trail became rough. Bird calls became more frequent, and he suddenly felt an increase in the humidity. He puffed his chest as he strode along a particularly steep incline that he didn’t recall passing before.

The foliage thickened as fronds and other low lying bushes sprouted with thick leaves to obscure the view beyond the path. Moss and lichen spotted trees that seemed almost to tower into immensity. Oaks, palms, redwoods, sequoia, and who knew what else. He breathed heavily and a wave of dizziness overcame him as a pungent sweet odor struck his nostrils.

Jackson groaned and leaned against a tree to regain his sense of balance. The dizziness eventually passed, but the sweet smell remained. He didn’t feel so good. He turned around to go back, but when he did, he found no sign of the previous path, only a network of barely worn trails branching through the trunks.

“What the...?” He blinked blearily and strode toward one of the paths. He felt the rough remains of slippery roots and dried leaves crunch and squash beneath his soles. A curious series of hollows had formed naturally between the roots, and long-dead leaves and other greenery lay in an approximation of a nest of sorts. What kind of animal would need to build a nest that large?

Jackson grunted and scratched at his chest as he continued his journey. Better not to stay and find out. He thought he heard the tinkling of laughter, but when he turned his head to find the source, the laugh would jump to another part of the woods. He let out a low growl of frustration, then decided to finally let the noises go. Instead, he huffed along a random track. Surely, he’d be able to find a proper way out eventually. After all, he’d taken this forest track hundreds of times before. He knew it like the back of his hand.

He rubbed at his ears with his fingers when a dull tingling decided to tickle at the skin along the surface, then shuddered at the sensitivity.

“What’s wrong with me?” he murmured to himself as he let his hand drop and furrowed his brow. He trudged through the path as the foliage thickened and began to brush against his skin.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been going on. He’d been walking for what felt like hours, but the sun still filtered through the canopy above with the same light.

“I need a break,” Jackson said as he dropped onto one of the larger tree roots to the side of the road with a heavy thump. He hunched forward to catch his breath. His skin was sleek with sweat, and his feet were covered in a layer of dirt. His stomach complained with a loud grumble. “And now I’m hungry. Great.” He grunted and tried not to think about his current situation, until something hard bounced off his head.

“What the--?” he growled and rubbed the place where he had been struck, then looked down in some surprise. The fruit was long and curved, like a boomerang. Its green flesh was tough, but yielded slightly to the touch. A series of silver patches gave the peel an almost metallic glint that caught at the eye. “Now where did you come from?” He looked up into the canopy, but found no signs of the fruit in question. Either it was too high up there to see or someone was deliberately playing him. He didn’t like either prospect.

All the same, he was hungry, and the food was there. He weighed the pros and cons, turning the fruit in the light all the while. It seemed almost like a mutant banana. Could the silver have been mercury? If so, it was poisonous in the extreme. But that didn’t make sense. Fruits didn’t develop mercury in them. It would have been filtered by the roots of the tree, and probably would have killed the tree itself. ... Right?

He furrowed his brow and scratched at his head. “Should I or shouldn’t I?”

A more violent protest from his stomach soon answered that question. Jackson sighed as he peeled back the flesh the same way he would the store-bought variety. The fruit itself seemed to glitter in the filtered light. Drops of what looked almost like rock candy were interspersed in a series of criss-crossing patterns over the flesh to give it a gem-encrusted appearance. The scent of the flesh was sweet and strong. Jackson’s mouth watered as he gazed at the tip, where a silvery patch in the shape of a star stretched down in segmented lines over the rest of the fruit to refract the color through the studs that bedecked the rest of the flesh. He swallowed, then took a bite.

The fruit was one of the richest he had ever tasted, putting its cousins back at his house to shame. Jackson let out a low moan, then devoured the rest eagerly. When he’d finished, he looked down at the peel in disappointment. He wanted more.

Suddenly his tongue felt thick and lethargic. He moved it about his mouth a few times, but his jaw didn’t seem to want to function. His arms grew heavy, and his body began to droop. He felt so ... sleepy. Dust sifted down from above, a gold dyed green by the sun’s filtration through the leaves. He breathed, and the sweet scent of the banana or whatever the fruit was still lingered.

The forest began to spin as he stumbled to his feet. “Wh-wha—?” He didn’t get far before he fell to the ground. The world continued to whirl around him, despite his immobility. The last thing he remembered was the distant sound of child-like laughter.

Jackson blinked blearily as he slowly came back into consciousness. He groaned as he worked his arms under his body and pushed himself up. He paused and held that position for a time. Whether out of habit for a morning workout with planks or something else, he wasn’t sure. He looked around the path, then slowly got to his feet. He felt ... strange, bloated. He heard the sound of fabric creaking and straining and patted at his waist and legs to probe for the problem.

Everything ... felt okay. Sure, the waistband was a little tight, but he was used to that sensation. His thighs brushed the edges of the shorts’ cuffs as he walked. He breathed deeply to steady himself. His nostrils flared. He smelled water mingled with that strange fragrance from before. He wasn’t even aware when he’d started moving. He felt the dust in his throat, though, and knew he needed something to wash that sensation away as soon as possible.

The roads had long since become impossible to track. Everything looked the same in these woods. Occasionally, he would stumble and have to catch himself on a trunk or brace himself for a shock against a nearby root. It wasn’t until he’d walked a good half mile or so before his groggy mind finally came up with a more sensible solution. He reached into his pocket and fumbled in the tighter space.

The fumbling soon turned into a groping, then a frantic search followed by a violent yanking that tore the seams holding the pockets in place.

“Shit!” he swore. The phone was gone. His one chance at calling for help or using GPS to navigate out had disappeared.

He knew he had two options. Either he could stay there and keep grumbling about it or he could actually find that water and save himself from potential dehydration.

He chose the latter.

Every few minutes, he would turn his head to strain at the direction of the flowing water. Sometimes it would be louder. At other times, he would have to double back and try another path. Eventually, he arrived at a heavy incline layered with interwoven roots that matched the gabled limbs overhead.

“Damn. Wish I had my phone for this. It’d make one hell of a picture,” he said as he marveled at the natural structure, before he leaned over and began his climb.

The roots were slippery, and he fell on his face more than once in the struggle. The arch in his feet ached from how heavily he’d leaned on them in his climb up. He had to rely on his upper body to get him through the last of the climb. His shoulders and neck throbbed, and his torso felt taut as he finally pulled over the last hurdle to reach the top of the natural obstacle course.

He was soon rewarded. The surging ripple of water over rock echoed through the boughs as Jackson looked on the riverbed. The water sparkled in the light, and he smacked his dry mouth in longing.

The trip down was almost as hard as the trip up. His bare soles throbbed and complained with every step as he worked his quads, hamstrings, and adductors. He huffed breathlessly as the waistband on his shorts cut into his torso and the fabric began to squeeze against his engorged muscles.

“It’ll be worth it,” he said between grunts. His back was sore from all the bending, but he knew he would make it. And then he could wash the aches and burning away in the cool water. The grit of the dirt beneath his feet had long since become little more than a distraction to him, so he didn’t really register when he hit the ground at first. It wasn’t until he found himself staring at his hands pressed against the grit beneath the roots and felt the trebling in arms that he knew he had succeeded. He panted as he thrust himself to his full height again. His arms hung limply and swung lower toward his waist as his shoulders slumped and he hunched forward from the exhaustion of his trek

He gasped as the shock from the water hit, but carried on, until he reached closer to the middle of the bank. The waters were deep enough that he could immerse himself and sooth his aching muscles, not unlike the ice baths he had used once when he participated in football.

He lowered himself under the water and used his hands to grip the sides of the riverbed to avoid getting swept by the current. It was a relief to wash the sweat and grime off. As an extra measure, he opened his mouth to swallow some of the flow. True, the water may not have been purified, but he needed that substance to survive. The hike would leave him severely dehydrated, otherwise.

He didn’t realize just how thirsty he had become, until he felt the water flowing down his throat. The cold liquid dripped off his face and flowed down his chest in rivulets, while his shorts shifted helplessly in the water’s current.

“Man, that felt good.” He huffed as he waded to shore and laid himself out under the sun. His stomach sloshed heavily and his eyes drooped yet again as he laid his hand over his stomach and scratched lazily at his core.

Jackson groaned as he opened his eyes to the darkness. The crickets, frogs, and cicadas chirped incessantly. The night air blew over his recumbent form, but he hardly felt any chill. He reached up to scratch at his head and yawned. How had he managed to sleep the whole day, away?

He stretched his arms, legs, and toes to work out the kinks, then stumbled to his feet. The soreness was worse, and the material for his shorts must’ve shrunk, because the waist band and pant legs both clung tightly to his body. He stumbled to the water to soak his feet and get another drink. His nose felt thicker as he pulled the water off it and across his leathery lips.

“Damn things must’ve been tanned by the sun,” he grumbled. Then he sat in the bank and let the water wash over his sore feet for a while. The way the current played with his toes and soles felt almost like a massage, and Jackson welcomed it. He leaned back on his hands and let out a low deep groan of satisfaction and relief.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there when the music finally reached his ears. His eyes snapped open and he strained with all his might to listen. His head rotated back and forth like a search light as he struggled to triangulate the sound. Finally, he caught the faintest glimmer of light on the other side of the bank, far back in the trees. After spending so long in the dark, it was a simple matter to triangulate the spot for a point of reference.

Jackson didn’t even think about it. The water surged over his calves, then his arms, then his whole body as he launched himself off the riverbed and into the current. The swim against the water’s flow was perhaps one of the most exhausting workouts he had ever performed. His arms and legs burned. His core clenched. His breathing came in animalistic grunts and pants as the water flowed around his meaty hands. Jackson didn’t care. He was about to reach civilization at last, or at least some camper that could help him get out of this place and back into civilization again.

The mud squelched between his hands and toes as he finally made it to the shallows on the other side. “Almost there,” he panted huskily.

The trees and brush were no obstacle to his determination. He bull-rushed leaves and foliage and shoved limbs and branches aside. The music grew louder, and he laughed at the loud pop one of the branches made as he shoved it past its breaking point in a curiously fitting percussion that slid right in with the reedy sound of pipes, the vibration of strings, and the steady thrum of a harp that cascaded like water over a stream bed.

Finally, he thought. He crashed through the last of his obstacles and broke into a clearing filled with … nothing.

Fireflies danced and flickered as the moon’s light shone down on a series of bulbous glowing mushrooms. Strangely grooved rocks dotted the clearing at various points. A series of holes strategically placed within them caused the chorus of whistles as a breeze blew through.

“No…” Jackson fell to his knees. “No.” He clenched his hands into fists to uproot some of the thick turf. “No!” He roared as the world went red. He came to panting on all fours in the heart of the clearing. The mushrooms pulsed gently as his chest heaved. His brow furrowed in a scowl as he puffed out his lips. Fragments of the stones lay in a mess over the overturned earth. Heavy gouges showed where strong hands had torn up clods of dirt and root with the turf. His chest felt taut as he breathed heavily.

“My, my. What violence.” The soft baritone was playful as it whispered in Jackson’s ear.

“Who said that?” Jackson growled. His throat vibrated as his voice grated from is overuse just moments before. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed through swollen vocal cords.

Another laugh echoed. “Poor little lost thing. That was very rude, you know. We were having such a lovely party, until you showed up. And after all the trouble I went through to invite you as the guest of honor.” The disembodied voice tutted chidingly. “For shame. Don’t worry, though. Our invitation still stands, and you clearly accepted by coming here, so all will be forgiven. No need to worry your tiny brain about those troublesome details.”

Tiny? “You did this? You took me from my home?” The anger rose again, and Jackson clenched his jaw in anger as the laughter echoed again. His face tingled, but he didn’t care. He had a bone to pick with this stranger.

The music began to pick up again as the man laughed once more. “You left your home and wandered into our lands. It isn’t our fault that you chose that path. Ah, but never you mind. We have such a special gift in store for you.”

“… Gift? What gift?” he snarled.

“What gift, he says.” The clearing echoed with a chorus of laughter as the lights returned to bob and float in dizzying patterns. “Why, the gift of reality, of course, stupid boy.”

Jackson growled and bore his teeth at the lights. “Reality my ass,” he rumbled. “You did something. Tell me. Now!” He felt a heavy impact on his chest and looked down with a furrowed brow. All he saw was his open hand. Had … something been thrown at him? The clearing spun as he turned to try to face his tormentors. The more he turned, the dizzier and more frustrated he became. “Show yourself!”

“Ah-ah, my pet. Not yet. Not yet.” The voice laughed again. “Goodfellow isn’t finished with you. Oh, but it is so much fun to watch you struggle. You can’t keep up with what’s been happening, can you? You poor thing. You’ve eaten our food, drank our water. That was stupid. So very stupid. But what more could be expected of the biggest gorilla in the forest, hmm?”

Jackson gasped. “You!” His breathing grew labored as his eyes rolled around in their sockets to try and track the lights. Surely, there had to be some sort of pattern here, some means to trace the source of his torment.  Some … how.

His stomach rumbled.

“Ah, the beast is hungry. Shall we supply him with something to eat, my friends? What say you?”

The laughter rose to a fever pitch, and Jackson’s ears tingled and rang with the chorus of voices that burst through. Some called to let him starve. Others to play with him some more. Others still said they wanted to make him dance. So many voices. So loud. Jackson growled and clapped his hands over his ears.

“Ah, poor thing. We’re overwhelming him. Softer now, my friends. Softer. Let us ease his simple mind with a little music. That is what drew him here in the first place, is it not? Surely, some piece of him will enjoy a new rendition. And I’ve just the verse.”

The clearing rebounded with mischievous laughter as the reeds, pipes, strings, and harps picked up again.

“As you boast, so shall it be. ’Tis what I said. ’Tis what I see. A wicked snarl so dark and grim would only suit a simian. You followed us. You heard our song. And childlike, you played along, Unknowing of the spells we cast, to draw you to our realm at last. The faery fruit and gurgling stream did seal your fate, or so it seems, As spinning, spinning, your world regressed, No pressing thoughts, save food and rest.”

Jackson growled and huffed as he tried to keep the voices out. They were annoying him. They made his head hurt. “St-stop,” he rumbled as his cheek bones began to push out and his chin receded. His lips pulled back as thick sharp canines protruded menacingly.

“Simpler, simpler, simpler still as music shapes and bends your will. You seek to rule. You seek to lead. The alpha’s role, the general’s need. You wear no crown upon your head, but two great crests are borne instead. Your arms begin to swing and drape to suit the command: Get into shape.”

Jackson huffed and grunted as his arms grew heavier. The annoying lights brushed against him and left his skin tingling with every piece of contact. He increased the pressure, determined to overcome this annoying song. Whoever this was was messing with him, and he didn’t like it one bit. “No. Won’t … win.” He winced at the tingling in his jaw and above his skull. A shudder passed through him as he felt the bones pressing against his hands. But no, that couldn’t be right. He had to be hallucinating. Yes. That’s it. This was a dream, some sort of … of, uh….

He furrowed his brow as the ridge began to jut forward over his eyes, then reached up and scratched at the top of his head in confusion, revealing the ear that had pressed closer to his rapidly changing skull and now remained in that position naturally. He knew the word. Why couldn’t he remember it now?

The longer he scratched, the more powerful the tingling became, and a dull sense of pleasure soon followed. A deep rumble emanated from his chest as his forehead gradually flattened and his skull began to push back against his scratching fingers. The pleasure continued to mount, until he let his other arm drop uselessly to his side. He was too lost in that dim happiness to care about the words that flowed into his newly transformed ears.

“The fellow has an itch to scratch, and soon he’ll have the wits to match the form for his most costly boast as pleasure overwhelms its host. Let magic flow and have its way as body swells and music plays. As brain is overwhelmed by brawn, ’tis hands and feet you’ll walk upon. Let knuckles drag across the ground as we await that glorious sound of human remnants blown apart by every changing body part.”

Jackson squatted in a patch of dirt and felt something unpleasant cutting into his waist, squeezing at his rear and thighs. He let out a dazed grunt. “Hurt … stop….” He reached down to rub at his belly and felt the ridges of his abs comfort him as he ran his broad palm and thick fingers over them in a curve. His breathing came hard, but he could still manage for now. The tingling spread with each stroke, and his breathing became more steady as the slabs were slowly consumed by the mass that grew there, followed by the stimulation of new hair follicles. With each breath, his mouth protruded farther as his skin began to darken. He hardly even heard the pop as the seams on his shorts burst open to reveal red skin that rapidly sprouted a forest of coarse hairs.

“Bigger bone and leathery skin will help you match your ancient kin. Head and neck now realign to fit the structure of your spine. Your shrinking brain and broadening back will soon develop what you lack. A big dumb ape, you now must be. Now shed your last humanity. With lack of thought comes lack of speech. Dumb apes like you hoot, growl, and screech. Too stupid now to disobey or keep my little prose away. Forget. Submit. Do as I say. Our silverback you now shall stay. From now on and forever more, you’ll roam across the forest floor.”

At last, the pressure on Jackson’s waist eased with a final snap. He grunted as he let his knuckles rest on the earth and snorted through his nostrils as they flared and retracted on his new muzzle. His skin darkened as his eyes lost their light, while the black hairs thickened into a massive coat of fur that covered him from his head down to his hands and feet. True to the words of the singer, his back swelled into immensity with broad shoulders and a large rear with squat legs thick as tree trunks. His feet cracked as they expanded into broad flat hand-like appendages, while the large toes adjusted into another set of opposable thumbs. The moment he stood on all fours, his neck and skull snapped into alignment, making it a natural position for him to stand and navigate in. He felt a dull itch on his back and reached behind to scratch at it, oblivious to the bright silver that developed there.

He blinked tiredly at the lights, and soon saw the strangest figures. Tiny little hairless things danced in the grass or the air. Some scampered with tilting red hats that smelled of blood. This made him uneasy, but the blood was not his, and he didn’t want to move for some reason. A strange creature stood in their midst holding a bundle of tiny sticks woven together. It smelled of a creature he hadn’t encountered before, with its hairy legs and hard no-feet. Yet, it seemed … familiar somehow. He grunted in confusion, until it offered him the shiny fruit. He sniffed it experimentally, smelled the sweet juices inside, and took it. It was a simple matter to peel with his meaty hands, and he quickly consumed the food, his concern for the strange creatures forgotten in his hunger and his primal desires.

One of the redcaps chuckled throatily in malicious glee. “Well done, Puck. Well done, indeed. Now that’s what I call a show!”

The satyr grinned and bowed to his audience. “I thank you, kind sirs and madams, for your patronage. It is this humble servant’s hope that he has provided some measure of entertainment for his fellows that will prove enjoyable for many days to come.” He grinned at Jackson as the gorilla laid down to sleep off his transformation and let the magic in the fruit seal the binding. The scraps of clothing he left behind soon degraded into so much cotton and flora, leaving only the metal button behind. Time would take care of that monstrosity, and there was no fear of repercussion from the former human. He was too stupid to piece together his past life. Yes, this was a fun little game with little consequence to the human world. He would have to play with another human soon. And he would hate to see the new toy get lonely.

He stroked his chin and smirked. “Perhaps we’ll give him a troop to play with one day. Now won’t that be fun?”

I’m the biggest gorilla in the forest.

The Builder

“Framework is coming along very nicely,” you complimented your foreman as you looked over the joists and beams that had been nailed together and inserted into the foundation. “Wiring and plumbing seem to be going well. How soon until the basics are finished?”

“Another couple of weeks. Had to get a special distributor to fit the client’s specifications for a green building.”

“Let me guess, recycled material?”

He nodded. “You know how people want to focus on the environment now.”

“Protecting the environment, I understand. Insisting on using materials that may not be the same quality, however, just seems like a crime to me.”

“Sometimes, you just have to work with what you have. Speaking of which, I think someone wants a word with you.” The foreman motioned curtly with his head.

You turned around to stare at your latest work in progress. The lad had grown a great deal since he helped with the last house. A sleeveless tank clung to his bulky frame as his nipples stood out against the tight material. Veins ran down his arms in rivers as a set of dog tags jingled and clinked in the gap between his pectorals. A shiny white helmet obscured all signs of the lad’s hair, but you already knew he’d buzzed it down at your request.

“What did you do to me?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Excuse me?”

“What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged. “Employ you, train you, pay you. Was there anything else you wanted to accuse me of?”

“What did you use on me, steroids or something?” he growled as he stepped closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’m a builder, not a drug lord. All I did was remodel you for the job, the same way I would any house. It did the trick. You’re adhering to the rules of the site and performing your job admirably. Thank you for actually wearing your hardhat today, by the way. It suits your hard head, a head so thick and square, so well defined. Why, I’d even go so far as to call it a block. Yes, a hard hat on a block head.”

“Wh-what’re you--?”

“A hard hat making it so hard to think. A block head blocking those pesky thoughts. Built like a brick, built like a wall, a wall that only I can pass with my words, my key.”

He stumbled and swayed. “S-stop--.”

“Yes, stop talking. Stop thinking.”

His hands clenched as he trembled. “No,” he practically whimpered.

“No thoughts, no worries,” you continued relentlessly. “No pesky doubts. Just my voice. It’s time for an inspection, Blockhead.”

His shoulders slumped. His arms rested lazily at his sides as he stared blankly ahead at you. “Ready for inspection,” he said in a dull monotone.

Your foreman whistled. “Damn. I never get tired of seeing that.”

“You think that’s special, wait till you see what I have in store next.” You smirk as you look at the young man. “You’ve been building nicely. A strong foundation is important in any building project.” You brush over each of the man’s muscles, testing for resistance, mass, and fat index. “Strong walls,” you note. “You built them sturdily and well. A little more strength never hurts, though. Let’s make them a little bigger, shall we?”

The workman rasped as his jaw snapped and cracked to gain greater definition, while the tanktop rode up higher and tighter under his armpits. His shoulders broadened as his biceps, triceps, and flexors swelled alongside his pectorals.

“Those walls need a firm foundation.”

A few seconds later, the workman grunted as a bulge began to press against the toes of his work boots. A brush of your hands over the footwear, and they expanded by two more sizes to fit the new broad feet they housed.

“Now for the plumbing. A proper house needs good strong pipes and a powerful pump for the well.”

The worker’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as he groaned. More veins spread over his musculature, creating a vascular spectacle.

“Such a deep, deep well. So full. So deep.”

The muscles in the workman’s neck thickened as heavy cords became more apparent. A thick lump jutted out midway down his neck, while a bulge pressed slowly against the crotch of his jeans and continued to expand with every breath.

You nod in satisfaction. “Now, more importantly, it’s clear we need to work on that faulty wiring. You’re too suspicious of me. That needs to change. After all, I’m your boss. I want my workmen to trust me. No more worry about changes. All you need know is that I’m the boss. You do what I tell you, because of that. From now on, you’re a proper member of my work crew, understand? No need to question the builder’s renovations. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m a builder, so i know what I’m doing. I’ll even install a dimmer switch for the lights upstairs, so you can think more clearly on the important tasks with my permission. Aside from that, though, you’re going to stay my big lumbering blockhead, got it?”

“Yes, Sir, Boss....”

“Good boy.” You snap your fingers and watch as he blinks. There’s a definite dullness about his eyes as he stares at you for a few moments. “Yeah, Blockhead?” you ask.

He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Uh ... you need me to carry more stuff today, Boss?”

You shake your head. “No, but Taft here bet me fifty dollars you won’t be willing to put on a gun show for us.”

He blinked slowly, then raised an arm and flexed it as he furrowed his brow. A subtle protrusion began to form in the bone structure over his eye sockets as he did. A few seconds later, he beamed at you. “Do I get to split it with you?”

You smirk. “Sure, big guy.”

He chuckled. “Then let’s do this.” And with that, he began to flex, straining his clothing to its absolute limits against his new physique. The whole time, he bassooned a deep husky chuckle. “Huhuhuhuh....”

It didn’t take long for the other workers to respond in kind. You sigh contentedly at the sound.

“I do love my blockheads,” you say. Then you chuckle. “And that’s why you never mess with the builder, Taft.”

Taft chuckled. “Don’t gotta tell me twice, boss.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remodel you, too.”

The Muscelhaüse Part 1

Charlie scratched his head as he looked over the directions on his phone’s GPS for what had to be the fifth time. He’d circled the walkway far longer, but when he’d tried to ask anyone in the building nearby, nobody would answer. The place seemed deserted. The skeletons of trees and vines crawled along the support poles and wire fencing that had been laid along the sidewalk leading to a wooden fence.

“Charles Walker?”

Charlie nearly dropped his phone at the sound of the voice. The heavy clunk of thick-soled boots beat repetitively on the sidewalk slabs. He looked up to behold one of the most aesthetically pleasing males he had ever seen.

The man had to be at least six-one, maybe taller. He wore a set of darkened shades that emphasized the subtle squareness of his cheekbones, while preserving the general egg shape of his face. His chin and lips were ringed by carefully groomed black stubble. A patch of well kept hair rose in style with a high-and-tight look that left his sides faded to join the top. The sun threw the definition of the man’s bare torso into a work of art akin to the ancient statues of Greece and Rome.

No, he’s buffer, Charlie thought.

A fitbit tracker was strapped to one wrist, and a simple wristwatch to the other. A hole had been torn in the black jeans that clung so tightly to the man’s frame.

“Who wants to know?” Charles asked.

“The name’s Gabriel. I was sent to help you get to your destination. The Muscelhaüse is difficult to find on one’s own, even with the assistance of a GPS. Since you kept circling the same place, and happen to be rolling a suitcase behind you, I figured you were probably him.”

“You’re from the Muscelhaüse?” Charlie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Gabriel shrugged. “I was just getting off shift. Figured I’d help you get there, since I needed to get some cardio in before my workout. It’s not far. We’re that big purple building over there.” He pointed behind him at the empty lot behind the wooden fence, only this time it wasn’t empty.

“How...?” Gabriel started.

“Yeah, we get that a lot. Come on. We’ve been waiting for you to check in for the last hour.” He reached down and seized the suitcase from Charlie’s weakened grip, then turned. “You’re going to love it there.”

Pledge

He didn’t remember what happened last night. He didn’t remember how he got there. All he knew was his head was killing him, and his whole body ached. He groaned.

“Bro, what the hell happened last night?” He blinked in surprise. Had his voice always been so deep? He felt the warmth of sunbaked stone beneath his arm and turned his head as he stretched one of his arms up to his head and felt the fabric of his snapback. He didn’t remember putting it on.

A big house stood in the distance. Someone was standing on the porch. His sleeveless muscle tee clung to his gigantic pectorals, and his square jaw accented the broad shoulders and clenching abdominals of his torso. A few seconds later, his chiseled features blocked out the sun as he peered down at the prone figure.

“You seriously fall asleep out here, lil’bro?”

The man on the grass blinked blearily. His bicep tingled as he stared up at the behemoth looming over him. “I, uh ... I guess?” He furrowed his brow. “I ... don’t really remember, bro.”

“Big.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Big Bro. You’re my lil’bro, and I’m your Big Bro.” He lowered a hand. “Got it?”

“Uh ...” He seized the hand. “I ... guess.” He was on his feet in seconds. “Thanks, uh ... Big Bro....” He shuddered, then groaned as his eyes rolled back in his head. Wave upon wave of pleasure plowed over his body. “Uhhh.. Huhuhuhuh....”

“That’s right, Lil’bro.” The big man twisted the cap around so the bill sloped down Lil’bro’s neck and exposed his face. He sneered as he watched the man’s legs swell in the boxer shorts he was wearing. The fabric creaked as a distinct swelling began in the crotch, and a full beard grew in on the man’s face as the hairs thickened on his swelling pectorals, then spread down in a treasure trail through the shallow trench that was the beginnings of a defined six pack. “Just enjoy the ride. Let it happen.” He rubbed the man’s growing bicep and grinned. “Damn, you are gonna be huge. Think I’ll call you Swole. How’s that sound, Lil’bro?” he asked as he curled an arm around the man’s shoulders and led him closer to the house.

“Swole....” he parroted as his swelling feet smacked against the stones leading up to the porch.

“Just a big, dumb, swole bro, Lil’bro.”

“Yuh....”

The big man grinned as he pulled his hand aside to reveal a large 86 on Swole’s bicep. He flexed his own bicep to show off the giant 01 that had been inked there and watched in satisfaction as the light left the half-naked man’s eyes. “Yeah, you’re gonna fit right in, Pledge.”

“Whatever you say, Big Bro....”

The frat president sneered as the front door creaked open to reveal row upon row of muscle men posed in identical double bicep flex to salute their president, each sporting a large number on their left bicep. “Damn straight. Now go join the line.”

The Pendant of Somnambula

The Pendant of Somnambula is a curious artifact, and one of my favorites to give away to customers. Each one has to be fashioned from a stone that I’ve grown steeped in a magical solution to get just that right swirl. I also have a lovely garden one of my workers tends to water the stones with a similar solution as they develop in caves underground. Once the stone has developed to the size and potency I desire, it’s a simple matter to polish and cut it, then mount in a framework engraved with the runes necessary to bind the pendant to its host and channel its innate magic.

Once bound to a host, the pendant is able to support its carrier by subtly increasing charisma over time. The bearer will become more convincing and enticing to various individuals with whom he has regular contact. The longer they are near the stone as the buyer wears it, the more they will fall under his or her influence.

Of course, the stone also wishes to please its host. As such, its influence will also reach out to the very individual who wears it. Take this customer for example. He started off much smaller than this. He wanted something to help boost his confidence in the gym, so he could reach his goals in peace.

As you can see, the man has clearly reached and exceeded them. The pendant whispered to his mind and heart in his sleep to drive him with greater motivation. Over time, he developed relationships with various other muscle men in the gym. They serve beneath him now, and as you can see here, their constant interaction acted as reinforcement for the entire group to focus on building their muscles. He’s a personal trainer now, and does a fine job of it.

More often than not, my customers go into trance after taking pictures of themselves with their pendants. But don’t worry, there’s a failsafe to ensure no harm comes to them from it. And, of course, as part of the payment for the service my pendants provide, I am able to call upon the buyers when necessary for various jobs and purposes. Whether it be to act as muscle, an escort, a contact, or something else, they are only too eager to listen to my voice and follow my commands.

Don’t you look at me like that. I most certainly am not an abuser of that fact. The pendants may be bound to obey me, and thus their bearers as well, but I don’t treat them like slaves.

However, I will admit that as a writer, I do enjoy having the more muscular ones send me pictures with various poses in their progress for me to use in my stories. There’s something enticing about such images, wouldn’t you agree? Here, let me show you.

Now, now. It’s perfectly safe. Go on. He’s waiting for you. Don’t be rude.

A thick meaty hand supports you by gripping your arm as you stumble through the portal into the poorly illuminated locker room. Thin black strips stretch down to barely conceal the nipples on the man’s massive chest. A deep voice rolls smoothly from the bearded lips above that giant muscled torso as your eyes lock onto a pulsing golden stone that writhes like a galaxy in motion.

“Hey there, little guy. This gym’s for meatheads only. Let’s see what we can do to help you fit the part....”