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The School of Buff Jocks Part 4

At the request of a new Patron, instead of a custom story, he desired the next chapter in this commission series to be published. In accordance with that request, I am now publishing the next chapter of The School of Buff Jocks.

If you would like to support me and my work, please join my patreon. For $3.00 a month, you get to enjoy incredible transformation, muscle, and hypnosis content. Or if you go for a higher tier, you can also get a custom story. Thank you for your patronage! Details to be found on each tier. I look forward to writing more for you all soon. Please, enjoy the chapter. Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

---------------------------------------------------------------- “Great job!”

“You’re doing great!”

“NICE AND SLOW. KEEP PUSHING.”

I furrowed my brow as I finished my set at the leg press and passed over to Andrews. “Is it just me, or does Jim sound … different?”

“It’s part of his design,” Andrews explained as he logged in. “The better you perform, the bigger he gets and the deeper his voice becomes.”

The avatar for Jim that appeared looked more like Atlas or some other giant. His skin or whatever that surface was called looked shinier and seemed to have gained more graphic definition. Had there been a patch recently?

“Welcome back, Coach Andrews. Are you ready to resume your teacher training?”

Andrews shook his head. “Another time, Jim. I’m here to work out.”

Jim nodded. “Linking to machine now. Please don’t forget to finish your module. It is important to learn and grow, so that you may better teach.”

“I won’t forget,” he promised. “Remind me when the workout is over.”

“Your reminder is set. Now let’s get to work.”

“So, when am I sup-posed to notice the difference?” I rubbed my throat and drank some of my protein shake. Those cracks were happening more and more often.

“You’re not,” Andrews said as he pushed against the press. “At least, most people don’t. Either that or they don’t care. I’m not sure which. Stone explained it to me once. It’s basically meant to help students adapt to the idea of their voices deepening as they get older. The farther along they get in their education, the bigger Jim gets, the deeper his voice becomes, and, as a result, the more natural it feels for them to let their voices drop when the time comes.”

“Because they’re talking to someone else whose voice is deepening with them?”

“Exactly,” Andrews said. The veins on his legs had begun to stand out as he continued to push. “In other words, you don’t have to worry so much about social awkwardness.”

“What about late bloomers?”

Andrews shrugged. “They get there when they get there. You know how strict we are here about bullying, Derek. We don’t like it and we don’t tolerate it in any form. We’re all part of one big team. Players who don’t understand that will either learn or get tossed out. It’s that simple.”

 ----------------------------------------------------- 

Stone’s smirk was smug as he folded a leg casually and peered at me. “Forgive me for sounding so juvenile, but I told you so.”

“Look, Mister Stone—”

“Please, call me Coach.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Coach Stone. Just because I made friends with Kyle doesn’t mean I’m over what happened to me before.”

“But you haven’t had any more of those nightmares since,” he noted. “And even if you haven’t completely overcome your past, this is a definite sign of progress. You’re beginning to see one of the most important truths any of you children can learn, the fact that people are people, and each should be judged on an individual basis, rather than being lumped into a social stereotype or clique.

“Take you, for example.” He pointed his pen at me. “You would be considered the stereotypical nerd. You enjoy things like anime, comics, manga, videogames, and other products of that genre. You do relatively well in school, and you don’t cause trouble. However, lately, you’ve also been branching out into other areas, like the gym and outdoors. And you’re comfortable wearing more than just baggy clothes. Your stereotypical nerd wouldn’t be able to do that, or rather wouldn’t have any desire to. And yet, you seem to enjoy it, or at least not hate it so violently as your stereotype would suggest.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that those stereotypes have roots in truth. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be stereotypes in the first place.”

“Perhaps, but it also doesn’t change the fact that in this case, in this time, that stereotype has yet to fully apply, and you know that and acknowledge it on at least some level. It’s that simple.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me.” I shook my head.

“Then it seems to me that the next stage of your therapy is clear. Observe. Look at the behavior of the ones you mistrust, these stereotypical jocks, and see if they really do act in the way you’ve been treated previously. If they don’t, then you’ll see that the stereotype is far from absolute, and hopefully have less aversion toward being in the same space as them on your own.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”

Stone smiled. “I think I can manage.” He lowered his pad. Anyway, that’s it for our session today. I have another appointment who should be—” A knock sounded at the door. “And there he is. We’ll pick up again next week. Don’t forget to try what I suggest, Derek. I think you’ll be surprised at what you may find.”

We shook hands, a ritual Stone insisted on as part of his attempts to bond with me. Then he escorted me to the door. You ever heard of getting caught between a rock and a hard place? Well, I got stuck between a Stone and a beef Frank. The guy had to be at least half a foot taller than me. The school’s logo strained against his swollen thigh as a pair of sweatpants clung to his legs. His torso took up most of the doorway, and his hair had been cut down to a short stubble with sharp angles that emphasized a masculine jawline and brow ridge.

“Hey. I’m not too early, am I, Coach?” His voice sounded congested, a sort of forced low that was part diaphragm and part cold, only this guy looked healthy as a horse. Hell, he could’ve been a bull with how thick that neck of his was!

“You’re right on time, Francis,” Stone said mildly. “Derek here was just leaving.”

He blinked slowly and looked down at me with murky green eyes. “Oh.” He stepped aside to let me pass. “Sorry, bro.”

“No problem.” I strode into the hall as Stone ushered the behemoth in. For such a diverse school, it seemed we were getting an awful lot of buff students on campus. I waved briefly to the office staff on my way to the main door. Tight button-up shirts strained as they waved back. Their stubble glistened under the fluorescent lights. Again, with the buzz cuts. I hadn’t noticed it before, but a lot of the staff seemed to follow that style. A few of the kids were sitting in chairs waiting for their turn to meet with Stone or some other official in the offices. Some chugged shakes. Others were running through their homework modules. Others still were reading intently.

“Got it. Finally,” one of them hissed in triumph as Jim issued his congratulations and the familiar tone of his module absorption.

One of the bigger students smiled. “If you’ve got a problem, go to Jim.” He chuckled and scratched his crotch. And like the contagion of a yawn, I felt a sympathetic twinge of my own building.

“Huhuh. Yeah, it’s good to go to Jim,” the kid replied and smiled.

The others nodded or added their own affirmations as they popped caps off their bottles and drank deeply. My brow furrowed as I thought about it. The green stuff was supposed to be for the team players, wasn’t it? So why did everyone else seem to be carrying a bottle? Even the secretaries had some at their desks.

All that drinking and gulping left me feeling thirsty. I reached to the side of my backpack for the familiar bottle. Off came the cap. Pop went the seal. Down went the drink as I walked out the door. I smiled as I scratched my crotch and my muscles tingled. I’d ask about it later. It was probably nothing. “Huhuhuh….” The anxiety left me, and I smiled as my biceps tensed and my shirt perked. The fabric slid out from under my belt as I took a deep breath, exposing skin to the cool air of the school for the briefest of moments. I shuddered, and for the first time, I took the time to simply zone out and focus on how my body felt. My legs were taut, the cuffs of my pants exposing the ankles of my school socks. The jockstrap was tight against my legs and rear, and the polo I now wore strained against my chest when I breathed. The changes had been so subtle, but now that I took the time, it was obvious. “Looks like I’m going to need a new uniform soon.”

I heard it before I saw it. The locker room door slamming open, followed by the rip of shredding fabric. A curly redhead with shamrock eyes strode bare-chested, hefting the rags of his former shirt like a trophy as he walked toward the Nurse’s office. The pump on his arms was immense. His body was built specifically to take heavy blows and never budge. He was a walking pile of meat. As for the talking, well … that was yet to be seen.

Truthfully, I don’t know why I followed him. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe I was just too buzzed to care about anything and going with the flow. Regardless, I trailed behind to see what came next.

My heart beat as heavily as my breathing as I waited outside the door. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hide. Was I embarrassed? Was it something else? Finally, I heard the razors buzzing to life from behind closed doors. I don’t know if it was curiosity or what, but at that point, I just … moved. One minute, I was outside, the next I stood there in the middle of the plain tiled waiting room. The buzz was coming from one of the examination rooms. When the door finally opened, the familiar stubble of the angular induction cut stared back at me. A compression shirt had replaced the polo that had once rested on the boy’s chest, and my chest tingled at the sight of the slab-like muscle tone that stood out against the spandex.

He walked past me without a word. And, honestly, I don’t think I was in a state to say anything, myself. It was sort of like when you’re dreaming and you want to talk, but you can’t, and you have to watch yourself move around, instead. The nurse stepped out with one of the aids and eyed me carefully.

“Another one for size change.” He sighed and rolled his eyes as he picked up a tablet. “Name?”

The word released me from the spell, at least in part. “Derek Jones.” The moment I finished, my mouth clamped shut again.

“Dorm?”

“26-B.”

“All right,” he said in a bored tone. “Let’s get your measurements.”

I walked out with a new pair of pants and a bigger polo shirt. The pants hugged in all the right places without being too tight or short, but the polo felt loose and baggy. I felt … I guess almost ashamed of that feeling. It was weird.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home in that shirt soon enough.”

I frowned. What did he mean by that? “Uh, okay, I guess.”

“Your new clothing will be delivered in the next few days with the next shipment. Let us know if there are any troubles with the fit, okay?”

I nodded numbly. My eyes drifted back to the open door. The floor was littered with curls surrounding a sturdy metal stool.

“Was there something else I could do for you?”

“I, uh, no. I guess not.” I chuckled again out of reflex. It was almost like a defense mechanism at this point. “Thanks for the new clothes.”

“You can thank Mister Stone. He’s the one funding all this.”

“You mean we don’t have to pay?”

The nurse shook his head. “No. Now how about you move along? I have the sneaking suspicion you’re not going to be the last one coming to me for a fitting today.”

Of course, he was right. It was time to move along. I’d gotten what I came for, even if I didn’t know that was why I’d come. But now I was immobilized by another question, and my head was thinking about as fast as molasses as it echoed over and over again.

Move along to where?

I didn’t know.

“Huhuh.”

Be comfortable.

Where?

I scratched my crotch.

Be comfortable.

Where?

Two hands guided me toward the door. My feet moved. My head was … full is the best way I could describe it. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think. I just … walked, like a wind-up doll put in motion. No real destination, just … moving forward.

Where?

Corridors yawned. My legs moved. Left. Right. Left. Right. I’d turn. I’d shift. I’d turn again. The question remained.

Where?

I don’t know.

Where?

I don’t know.

Where?

I. Don’t. know.

It took a while for me to realize my walking had taken on that same cadence, as if my whole body were answering my brain, shouting back in its own way together, defiant, resolute, and … something else.

I don’t know.

The question was dulling.

I don’t know.

Growing quiet.

I don’t know.

As though it had lost its voice. Or maybe lost the will to object? Or ... was it drowning?

I don’t know.

Just a fading echo, the last bubbles.

I don’t know.

The answer reverberated through my skull as the quagmire hardened and set. I was completely in my head. Or maybe I was completely out of it? Who knows? You can’t really describe it. It’s something you have to go through yourself to really get. Popular media would probably call it no-mind.

I don’t know how much time passed. All I know is that, finally, illumination struck, like a sledgehammer shattering bedrock. Like a wedge breaking open a mold to reveal something beautiful.

And it was.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know.

It was that I didn’t care.

“Huhuhuhuh….” My chest shook with the explosive force of the epiphany. The fabric of my polo brushed against my skin. The realization was so revolutionary, so lifechanging somehow, despite how simple it was. “I don’t care.” I grinned like an idiot. Or maybe like a stoner on a high? I definitely felt high.

“That’s right, smartass.” The voice was soft, gentle, … proud? My legs stopped moving. The setting sun blazed over Kyle’s face as he smiled at me, igniting his eyes with emerald lightning as the world came back into focus again. I’d somehow transitioned from the hallways to the track outside. My legs felt like jelly. And like a set of gears cleaned by WD-40, my brain cast off the rust and started to work again. I stumbled into Kyle’s waiting arm.

“Easy there, little bro.”

“What … happened?” I shook my head to dispel the last of the debris. My throat felt like someone had covered it with horse glue and squeezed it so tightly that only a straw could fit through.

Kyle shrugged. “You sized up.” Then he smirked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I … how did … what?”

He handed me a bottle. “Drink,” he said. “You’ve been walking a long time.”

No protein drink this time, just water. But the flood helped dislodge some of the cake that had built up. My voice didn’t croak so much when I looked at him. “Why did I—?”

“You said so yourself, smartass.” Kyle chuckled. “You didn’t care.” He guided me back toward the dorms. “Lucky for you, you’ve got teammates that do.”

“What?”

Kyle chuckled again. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you to your dorm, so you can sleep. And maybe take a shower.”

“A shower?” The wind blew, and I felt the cold patches as we hobbled along. “Oh.”

“Yeah, all that walking’s bound to break a sweat eventually. Your jock is probably soaked.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” I grumbled.

Kyle laughed. “Sure thing, smartass. Sure thing.”

I didn’t realize it then, but as I got my second wind, I matched Kyle stride for stride. That lumbering swagger I’d seen on Kyle, then on the football team, on Barry the baseball player, and finally that redhead from earlier, was mine now, too.

 ------------------------------------------------------- 

“You guys notice anything kind of … weird lately?” Slater asked as he squatted under Kyle’s careful observation. The layout of the bar was designed to allow him to stand inside a sort of rectangle while the weights were stacked on either side. That way, he’d be able to bend and rise with equal weight distribution. His thighs had grown in the last couple of weeks. There was a firmness about them that I hadn’t seen before. His calves jutted with hard, tense muscle that all but consumed the fat that had once been there.

“Weird how?” Jackson was busy pumping some dumbbells to strengthen his arms and upper body. The exercise also allowed him the freedom to observe Slater as he trained under Kyle’s guidance.

“I don’t know. Just … different, I guess.” Slater shrugged. “I can’t really put it in words. Things just feel … off. Sort of snug, I guess?”

“Snug?” Kyle smirked, but … I don’t know, it felt sort of … meaner. I guess … maybe it was a sneer? At the very least, it was smug.

“Shut up, dumbass,” Slater grumbled.

“Takes one to know one, Slayer.” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to weigh you.”

“Fuck off!” he snarled. The weights crashed to the ground, and the whole gym suddenly became quiet. All eyes turned on us. Honestly, I’m not sure who was more shocked; us or them. The only time we’d ever seen this side of Slater come out was when he succumbed to gamer rage in online matches. He’d never lost his cool in public before.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

I stiffened. We hadn’t even heard him approach. Yet there he was. Coach Stone towered over us.

Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled casually. “Slayer here’s just losing his shit, because he knows he’s going to lose a bet we made.”

“Is that so?” He set his eyes on Slater and folded his arms over his massive chest. “Is this true, Slayer, was it?”

Slater mumbled as he averted his eyes. “It’s Slater.”

“Well, Slater, it appears you’ve managed to silence the whole gym. That’s not an easy task.” He peered at the rest of the onlookers and raised his voice. “All right, folks. Nothing to see here. Get back to your workouts or get out of the gym.”

Like the flick of a switch on an assembly line, the gym began to move and breathe again. It seems I wasn’t the only one intimidated by Coach Stone. Those silver eyes lingered on me briefly, passed over Jackson, then shifted back to Kyle and Slater.

“Now what, exactly, is the nature of this bet to prompt that kind of reaction?”

Slater was silent. He still wouldn’t meet Stone’s gaze.

“I bet him I could get him over 240 by the end of a month, and that if I did, he’d have to talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team,” Kyle supplied.

“And if he won?”

“I’d have to take a cheat day and hang out with them for an anime marathon while we veg on snacks.”

“And this prompted such a reaction because…?”

“I teased him, Sir.”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “And has this teasing rendered you mute, Slater?”

“No, Sir,” he said softly.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Slater.” The rebuke was gentle, but the command was ironclad.

Slater did so reluctantly, though only just.

“Back straight,” Stone continued. “If you’re going to take criticism or punishment, you should do it proudly.” He leaned over and planted a thick hand on Slater’s shoulder. “I’m not here to punish you, Slater. No harm was done. No one is hurt. You just lost control of yourself. It happens to every boy at your age. Some yell, others fight, and some just lose themselves in a fantasy world. We all have our coping mechanisms. What matters is which ones we choose to keep and which ones we choose to replace.” He squeezed briefly and smiled. “Now I don’t want this happening again, okay? Yelling is fine, if you need to, but this equipment and the gym are expensive. And more importantly, if you’re willing to do this, then one day, you may get angry enough to hit someone with one of these weights. That’s not something I can let happen. So, from now on, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to arrange some meetings with you. Jim will alert you of the scheduled times.”

“But—”

“No buts, Slater. And I want your full name.”

“But—”

“Now, Slater.”

Slater slumped in defeat and gave up the name.

“Good. I’ll be expecting you on time in my office. Derek can give you directions.” His eyes flashed briefly as he returned to his full height. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Slater mumbled.

“And you. You’re Kyle Fredriksson, aren’t you?” Stone asked as he turned his attentions to the other party of the disturbance.

“Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“Did you push him to this?”

Kyle straightened and threw his shoulders back. “Yes, Sir. Though only a little,” he clarified. “Slayer doesn’t like to lose.”

Coach Stone turned his gaze on me and Jackson. “You two are the neutral party here. Is he telling the truth?”

Jackson nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Jones?”

I nodded. “He doesn’t usually get this angry.”

Stone nodded. “Then we’ll find out the root of that anger later. For now, carry on, gentlemen. Those muscles aren’t going to grow themselves.”

“Yes, Sir,” we all replied.

Stone turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Slater?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Next time, try laughing it off instead. You’d be surprised how much that helps.”

“Uh, yes, Sir,” he said awkwardly.

“As you were, gentlemen.” Stone waved behind him as he passed into the rows of machines and out of sight.

My whole body tingled as he walked away. I reached absently and adjusted my crotch, where the sensation felt strongest, then shuddered. Kyle grinned at me.

“You heard the man, Smartass. Grab some dumbbells and work those arms. If we can campaign together, we can work out together.

I rolled my eyes but obliged him. “Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Not a coach.”

“You’re sure acting like one,” I teased.

Slater smirked. “Point to DJ.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen coaching till you’re working out on an actual team. I’m just teaching you how to handle it.” Kyle chuckled. “Now how about you put that snark into finishing your set?”

“You did agree to follow the routine for the month,” Jackson pointed out as he curled his weights. “Stop now and you’ll forfeit, and you’ll have to talk with Andrews about joining the team regardless.”

Slater’s lip curled as his hands clenched tightly around the bars to either side of him and he pulled the squat bar back up. “Guys, I’m not in the mood for getting in trouble with Stone again, so could you just can it about the bet?”

“Or you could try his advice,” Kyle pressed. “Trust me, it works. DJ knows.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”

“Because you’re the smartass?”

That name was really starting to get old. Especially when Kyle used it for ammunition. But he did have a point. I had firsthand experience, and Slater would probably take it better from me than from the lug that was currently putting him through hell. For a dumbass, Kyle had a keen mind for strategy. I sighed, then turned to face Slater. “Look, it doesn’t work with everyone, but for me at least, it helps relieve my anxiety attacks, okay?”

“And you think I should try it?” Slater asked.

“I think you should use your own judgement.”

Slater chuffed as a hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “And point for you.”

“I wasn’t aware I was playing.”

He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Everyone’s playing the game, DJ.”

I cringed. “Why did you have to bring back that accursed meme?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“And with that stealth kill, Slater the Slayer finally takes his place on the board,” Jackson said in his best impression of a sports commentator.

A weak chuckle burbled from Slater’s lips. “About time.”

“Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear him laugh?” Kyle asked.

“Don’t push it, jock boy.” But despite his threatening tone, Slater smiled.

“Nah. I just push up, bro,” Kyle returned as he flexed his arms.

We couldn’t hold back at that point. The air filled with our laughter. Slater spread his legs a little wider and resumed his squats.

“Whatever you say, Kyle.”

Kyle grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, little bro.”

Credit to @musclecorps for this image.

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This story was written as a gift to a close friend of mine who loves a good greaser thug tf. I hope you all enjoy it, too. Due to length, I included a read more cutoff link for this one. Please read it all the way through. You won’t be disappointed.

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My Necklace, My Chain

It’s sort of like a half-remembered dream, this old place, old life. Or maybe I’m living a dream now. Huh. Living the dream. Hell yeah, I am.

Anyway, it started off sort of weird, I guess. I was a pathetic pile of fat and gristle. No job. No future. No motivation. The world beat me up so bad, and I was just … so fucking tired, bruh. Lost my girl, lost my money, lost my home. It sucked. And I just … I wanted to end it, you know?

…

I almost did.

That’s when this guy showed up out of the blue. This guy who just … sat there and smiled and listened. He didn’t see some homeless tramp. He didn’t see a pathetic pound of flesh waiting to be roasted on the pavement under blistering sun. He saw me. And he didn’t care how I looked. It didn’t matter that my clothes weren’t washed. It didn’t matter that I was scrabbled with a thick patchy beard. It didn’t even matter how much my breath stank or how I reeked of BO because I couldn’t find a place to shower and barely got the essentials using public sinks in a restroom.

He. Saw. Me.

He introduced himself. We talked. And like a parishioner to a priest, I confessed everything. My insecurities, my doubts, my anxiety, my history, my misfortunes, my losses. Everything flooded out in a torrent. And, eventually, after all the crap was purged, we got to the good stuff, the piece of me that still dreamed. That tiny, oh so fragile speck.

I don’t know how he got it out of me. I don’t know what tools he used, or what magic he had. And … I guess it must’ve been magic, cause, cause uh.

Uhh..

Uhhhhhh……

Wut were we talkin’ bout again?

…

…

…

Right. Right. My bad, bruh. It’s … a lot easier for me to zone out lately. I do it again, just give it a minute, okay?

So, this guy. He talks to me, and I talk to him. And it’s like, … I don’t know. He just … feels right to be around. You know, like that one guy who’s always nice to everyone, and you just want to protect him because he’s so good to people and you don’t want him to get hurt? That’s what it was like for me.

And that’s basically what he did. I told him my dream. And honestly, at that point, my only dream was to get some clothes on my back, a place to stay, a meal in my gut, a chance to clean up, and to be happy.

And you know what he said to me?

He said, “All right.” He grabbed my hand, and he pulled me. When I asked him what he was doing, he just smiled and laughed. “I’m granting your wish, silly.”

“Granting my…?”

“Let’s go.” He called me by my name, added some sort of weird word at the end of it. Think it was Japanese or something. I don’t really remember. I just remember the sheen of a black duckbill flashing under the intermittent sun as the clouds scudded overhead. Still not sure how he … knew my … name……

…

…

…

The hell am I thinking? Course he knows my fuckin’ name! He’s M—m’boss. Yuh. Boss.

…

I do wut he says.

…

I do wut he says.

Uhhhh … where were we again?

Right. Right. The duckbill. The pomp. The sun kept flashing off it and his eyes when he smiled at me. Hell, when the light shone on him, his skin practically lit up under that leather jacket of his. I thought he had a fuckin’ halo or something.

I also thought the guy might get sunburnt if we didn’t get some shade, so I did what he wanted and followed. He made it clear he’d wait for me to move till I came with him. What choice did I have, make him miserable with me? I couldn’t do that to him. I’d never do that to him.

Why? Because he’s the fucking boss! He made me what I am today! He made me a new fucking man, and I owe everything to him, okay?

OKAY?

Good. Now shut up and listen.

We started in a bar first. He said it was run by some friends, that they’d hook us up, hook me up.

And did they ever. Boss explained he was treating me. My stomach growled from the smells drifting out of the kitchen. Bunch of big men sat on either side, coated in leather. Jacket, pants, gloves, the works. Must’ve been some bikers or something. I … think I remember seeing their bikes parked outside.

Fucking beauties. Harley Davidsons. The rev of those engines, the power vibrating between your legs, the air roaring in your ears, the wind in your face. I’m telling you, there’s no better feeling. Well, except maybe when I work out at the gym or do the boss a favor. Or smoking a cigar. Or flexing.

Flexing feels so good, especially when I’m doing it for the boss.

It’s good to flex for Boss.

Hmm? Being with the boss? I don’t know, it’s … kind of like a drug, I guess. He’s just got that kind of personality, you know?

Well, if you don’t, you will soon enough. He knows everyone in this city. I’m sure he’ll find you when he’s good and ready.

So, you’d think it’d just be a basic meal, right? Nothing fancy or expensive, just enough to fill me up and send me on my way. A good deed for the day, right?

WRONG!

They gave me a steak. A fucking steak! And I don’t mean the cheap cuts. I’m talking about the real quality stuff. Boss said they imported it from Japan. Stuff was like butter in my mouth, only the best damned butter I’d ever tasted in my life. I don’t really remember how much I ate. I just remember Boss laughing. And it was like I just couldn’t stop. The more I ate, the hungrier I was. I was more like a machine than a person, the way I tore through them.

And Boss just smiled and encouraged me the whole time, like it was nothing!

Let me tell you, by the time I finally came back to myself, my jaw was aching so badly. I thought I might’ve dislocated it or something. The lights had come on, and the windows were black. The air reeked of smoke as big burly men lit up cigars and pulled on their beers. I felt … I guess loopy’s the best word. My head was spinning. Or maybe the room was? I guess I was buzzed. Or maybe plastered. I couldn’t tell if the number of empty mugs were because of blurry vision or that I’d actually drank that many. The only place that seemed clear, the only spot that mattered to my addled brain, were those deep blue eyes. They glowed in the light, or at least I thought they did. Was probably the beer or whatever I drank. But damn if I cared. I felt too damn good and too damn full.

And Boss took my hand and waved at the rest of the men in the joint. All of them acknowledged him one way or another. Nods, grunts, salutes, one or two even demanded a promise out of him. Well, maybe demanded is too strong a word. No one demands Boss to do stuff. He just … does it, like, like he knows what we want, and he does everything in his power to make sure we get it, whatever it takes.

He led me to a large pink motorcycle with heart-shaped metal accents. It roared as he ignited the engine, then purred gently as he stroked the handlebars and adjusted the mirrors. Then those same hands were extended to me again.

“Hop on,” he said. I blinked in surprise, and when I asked where we were going, he just giggled and patted the leather behind him. “I told you, silly. I’m granting your wish.”

The wind that blew through my hair was neither cold nor hot. It just was. Of course, I didn’t really have my eyes on wind. I was too focused on not falling off the motorcycle. So, instead, my eyes fell on Boss’ highlights. There were blue swaths that pulled back along the sea of oil on his head. Nah. Oil’s wrong again. I mean, it was black, like oil, but it shone more like … grease, I guess. Yuh. Grease.

I like grease.

Every streetlamp we passed made those highlights pulse with a rainbow of light. You know, kinda like a raven’s wing. It was beautiful. I didn’t even notice when the wind cut out. One minute, we were cruising through the city. The next, we were outside a big apartment building. The same hand reached out to me, and I took it. My legs felt weird from straddling the bike, like they wanted to stay spread, so my walking was sort of awkward at first, but I found a stride that worked while they readjusted.

Boss just smiled and led me up some stairs.

…

A lot of stairs, actually, now that I think about it. But anytime I started to flag, he’d stop and look at me and fix me with that smile. And suddenly I could walk again. I could breathe again, and my legs, well … I guess that wide stretch was sort of useful here. Made it easier to climb.

My legs felt different when we finally got to his door. Heavy, kinda tingly. Boss just smiled at me. “Welcome, Wilbur-kun.”

The apartment was more like a penthouse. The small entryway passed into a broad living room with a large leather couch and soft plush carpet. A giant flat-screen TV was mounted to the wall parallel to the couch. A few other pieces of furniture, like footrests and some easy chairs stood at either side. A kitchen sat off to the side with two entrances on either side of a dividing wall with a big hole cut into it, so you could see the kitchen and whoever might be cooking there.

“Harley, I’m home!”

A big man with broad shoulders strode out from the shadows of a far hall. His hair was like Boss’s, but his streaks were green, instead of blue, and his sideburns, eyebrows, even his goatee was the same neon green. Might’ve been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw his eyes glowing, too, just like Boss’s did. He wore a white tank top covered with a sleeveless black leather vest that complemented his dark skin. Black leather chaps covered a pair of blue jeans. He took one look at me, then fixed his gaze on Boss.

“Another stray dog, huh?”

“This is Wilbur. He’s going to stay with us for the night.”

Harley raised a brow. “One night?”

Boss blushed. “Well, I can’t grant the rest of his wish right now. It’s late, and he needs a place to sleep….”

I cleared my throat. “I, um … I don’t have to stay, if you don’t want me to. Paimon’s been very kind to me already. More than kind, really. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

I think it’s the first time I saw anything close to a hardening in Boss’s expression. Well, hardening is the wrong word. We’re hard, so Boss don’t have to be. It wasn’t hard so much as … determined, I guess. Boss never really gets mean. He’s perfect, and I love him for it. We all do.

“Nonsense. We have a guestroom all made up for you. Dom won’t mind. He’s on shift tonight, and he’s always glad to help when I ask him. He already said yes when I called him at the bar, so don’t you worry.” He smiled again and seized both my hands in his. “Won’t you stay with us, Wilbur-kun?”

The cocked head, the smile, the shiny sparkly eyes accentuated by the blue in his sideburns and goatee. He was every trope of sweet brought into one, and I was growing a mean sweet tooth, though I didn’t know it yet. My hands tingled. My heart beat fast. I couldn’t meet those eyes, so I looked down and muttered, “All right.” I allowed myself one glance, just one.

My heart nearly stopped. He beamed at me with a broad grin that was so innocent, so pure, so … perfect. Harley shook his head, but I saw the smile curving his lips as he folded his muscular arms.

Before I knew it, I was whisked into a room that reeked with the perfume of cigar smoke, leather, polish, and a hint of cologne. A massive king-size bed lay to the side, and a floor-length mirror had been attached to one of the walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling. I was a little wary when I noticed what looked like a switchblade on a side table next to the mirror, but Boss alleviated my fears by flipping not a blade, but a slick comb.

Flick. Click.

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

Flick. Click.

“Dom just really likes the aesthetic.”

Flick. Click.

A blush colored his cheeks. “So do I.”

Flick. Click.

“You don’t mind, do you, Wilbur-kun?”

Flick. Click. Flash.

I blinked dazedly as I looked into those eyes. “I, uh….”

Flick. Click.

“It’s fun, once you get the hang of it.”

Flick. Click.

“You should try it.”

Flick Click.

My fingers twitched. “I … guess I could….”

Flick. Click.

“Gentler. Slower. You’ll shake your whole arm off that way, Wilbur-kun.”

Flick. Click.

His hand was on mine. His other on my arm.

Flick. Click.

“That’s it. Relax. Let the switch go.”

Flick. Click.

“Let it go. And follow the motion.”

Flick. Click.

“Follow….” he instructed

Flick. Click.

“Good. That’s good. That’s right. It’s fun, isn’t it? Sort of relaxing.” He giggled. “Dom loves to do that when he’s fidgety. Well, that or flex. Tell me, Wilbur-kun, do you ever flex?”

Flick. Click.

I had the motion down by this point. I wasn’t sure when I turned to face the mirror. All I knew was that Boss was right. It felt good. I don’t know why, but it did. It still does. I raised my free arm and tensed the muscle there.

Flick. Click.

“Not really.”

Flick. Click.

“Don’t really got much to show.”

Flick. Click.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

Flick. Click.

My brain felt … sluggish, I guess. I felt strange. It was like that tingling had jumped from my arm to my brain. That’s why it took me so long to answer.

I’m lucky he’s so patient.

“I … don’t know.”

Flick. Click.

I took a deep breath. The smell wasn’t so overbearing now. In fact, it was almost like a meal for the nose, if you get what I mean. Sort of fruity and sort of bitter, like sweet and savory, you know? It just … worked. “I don’t know,” I said again.

Boss smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Flick. Click.

“Yes, Sir.” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think. But that’s when the record scratched. The rhythm broke. I stared at the switch comb and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The polished wood and metal clattered over the side table as I put it back hastily. The thing wasn’t even mine. And the reaction, I mean … sure, I was grateful for his help, but he wasn’t my boss. Well, not yet. I felt … anxious, wrong. “I mean, thank you,” I said hastily.

Boss just smiled. “Happy to help. You can find the spare towels in Dom’s closet. The bathroom is through that door there. Take all the time you need, Wilbur-kun. And like I said, don’t worry about it.” He waved gently. His biker gloves were still on after the drive, and his lock glinted as he turned toward the door. “We’ll be down the hall if you need us. Harley and I like to smoke from time to time, so just follow your nose if we’re not there. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”

I blinked heavily. My head still felt off balance, but it was clear enough for me to at least give a proper response. “Thanks.”

And then he was gone.

The towels were in these metal baskets stacked against the wall all the way up to the rods. The whole room was massive. I felt like a kid in the adult section of the department store. Bulky leather coats and massive black boots lined the closet. Out of curiosity, I peeked into a dresser that had been positioned elsewhere. The top drawers were full of accessories. Chains, padlocks, tags, rings, gloves, brass knuckles, and more greeted me from their various alcoves and padded slots. Needless to say, there was a lot of bling.

Below that, drawer after drawer of tank tops, socks, and underwear. The smallest size I could find on average was a XXL, and there were only a few of those. This Dom character had to be a big man to fill that kind of size. I’d find out later just how big, myself. Guess the big lug must’ve been sentimental or something, though, because I did finally manage to find a large tank top to use. Then again, maybe he just used it to show off all his muscle. Boss had said he liked to flex a lot.

The shirt looked baggy when I held it against my frame, but it would suffice for bed clothes. I took it and a ratty pair of sweatpants with an adjustable waistband into the room. I breathed deeply as I braced myself in front of the door, then pulled it open.

My mouth would have dropped to the floor if it could. The bathroom was a spacious master bath complete with some of the most advanced functions I’ve ever seen on shower or tub. Bath salts, air diffusers, incense burners, and loads and loads of hair product were distributed all over the room. Body wash, cologne, loofa sponges, the works. There were jets, oils, salon-brands of hair care products. And the materials that went into the actual room itself! Incredible. I’m talking marble, swanky tile, brass fittings, the works. The room screamed fancy rich boy.

And that fancy rich boy was just outside these doors in the apartment, wearing a black leather jacket and a duckbill pompadour.

My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I smacked my lips and forced myself to move. He expected me to shower, after all. It was part of my wish. The question was, did I want to shower or bathe?

This’ll sound stupid, but I felt too intimidated by the bathtub. I mean, I was a guest. This wasn’t my home. Using all those fancy salts and oils and bubble bath or whatever left me feeling too uncomfortable. Who knew how much he spent on them? He earned the best. Me? I just was a charity case he pulled in off the streets. I didn’t deserve those things. Not yet.

So, I went and used the shower, instead. The thing had massaging jets from every angle, and the whole space filled with steam to make me feel … well, I guess like I was in my own little world. The pressure helped seep the warmth into my muscles and wash away the extra grease and dirt I’d accumulated. The body wash and shampoo smelled like a mix of cologne and fruit. I guess the closest scent I could relate to it was Old Spice’s Wolfthorn from their Wild Collection. I could almost imagine what it’d be like, too, having a mascot for that brand.

A cute white wolf with a winning smile and deep, deep blue eyes….

A dizzy spell hit me, and I struck the marble wall. The cool surface helped to shock me back to a more wakeful state. If this was how I acted in the shower, maybe it was a good thing I didn’t choose the tub. At least, that’s what I thought then.

The rest of the shower went off without a hitch. I shampooed, conditioned, and lathered my body, rinsed, and finally disengaged from the shower.

The towel I’d borrowed was more like a bath sheet. The thing draped practically down to my ankles. And it was clearly designed for someone with a much broader frame than I had. This Dom character was a very big man. And let me tell you, big doesn’t do him justice. He’s swole, bruh, like, uh … just … really big, y’know?

I strode to the mirror, where a brief search through the drawers revealed disposable toothbrushes waiting to be opened, tubes of toothpaste, and another drawer loaded with custom switchcombs, each with their own unique prints and patterns for their handles.

The brushing was no problem. I had my face dried off in no time. My beard was unruly, so I took a set of electric trimmers and buzzed it off. My skin wasn’t entirely cleanshaven, but it looked a lot better, now that I had access to the right tools.

Then my eyes locked onto the hair products themselves. And a set of neon-blue eyes gazed back at me in a way that only a wolf knew how. It was a cartoon, yet it carried the same commanding presence in that stare. His lips were curved in a smile. Hands sheathed in black fingerless gloves held a comb and ran it through a pompadour as he looked at me.

Right at me.

…

I’m not sure what came over me. All I know is that I decided to try some of the stuff. Part of it was instinct, I suppose. And part of it was … something else. Don’t question it, dawg. You can’t understand it yet. Here. You wanted my story. Now you can spot me while I tell it. Dat recorder’s still workin’, right? Cool, bruh. If you still don’t get it when I’m done talkin’, you can ask again, and I’ll explain it to ya nice n’slow.

Now spot me, bro.

So, like I said, I just … had to try the stuff. It wasn’t a lot. I didn’t drain the whole can or anything. Just enough to sort of mess with my hair, help get it more organized, you know? It was too long to really do anything major with. I just wanted to keep it from getting all crazy, jutting into corners and stuff. And, well, you can’t get much stiffer than Pomcrete. My scalp was all tingly after I finished combing my hair. I almost forgot to screw the cap back on before I left.

I got dressed in the ratty clothes and strode back into the bedroom. The mirror was still there, and though the clothes left me feeling diminished, I could still see the hint of tone beneath the skin and bone in my arms. I … may have tried flexing again. It’s … sort of addicting, once you start, you know?

Took some searching to find the laundry basket. I was half-tempted to just throw the thing on the floor, but I didn’t want to be rude. After that, I turned off the light and crept silently to the bed. I’d never slept on a king before, except maybe as a kid. The mattress and sheets swallowed me whole, and I let them.

I don’t know how long I slept. It’d been so long since I’d actually had a bed. Or at least it felt like a long time. I came to slowly, sort of like an air bubble, you know? Not really solid, kind of wobbly, delicate, and easy to pop. I felt safe, warm, and … well, kind of empty up top. I guess it’s because it felt so much like a dream, and I didn’t want it to end.

Bruh, ah’m servin’ Boss. Ah’m livin’ the dream now. Now shut up n’let me tell m’story, dawg.

…

Good dawg.

So, this incense is going, right? And I walk out of the room all tired and sleepy, which is weird, because I blacked out and I’m pretty sure I slept all through the night no problem, but whatever. I stumbled into the living room, where a good four people were standing. Two, I recognized as Paimon and his roommate. I later found out they were married. The other two, I hadn’t seen before.

One was a big guy around the same size as Harley. He had purple highlights in his hair, and the eyes to match. I could see a lot of Paimon in him, so … maybe they were like brothers or cousins or something? I wasn’t sure. Then there was this hulking brute of a man. He was huge, and I don’t just mean muscle. The guy was a giant. His brow was thick and heavy. His shoulders broad as boulders, his face rough and chiseled with a black goatee sprouting from his chin. Black sideburns streaked down the sides of his face and part of his jaw to frame his head like a cinderblock. Streaks of scarlet broke the midnight of his hair in great bands. It’s sort of a family trait to them. If you’re part of their family, you have streaks, and you have pomps.

The man could’ve squeezed coal to diamond between those pecs. Though there was something funny about his eyes. I couldn’t really tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. They sort of … mulled together into one mass. A thick cigar was clenched in his teeth as he talked to the rest of the family, and the air reeked of his blend. Another pink cigarette smoked from an ash tray, blending the gentle lull of rose incense with the starker scent of tobacco smoke. The leather of his jacket creaked as he pulled out his cigar, looked down at me, and exhaled. I nearly reeled from the dizzy spell when the smoke hit my face.

“So, ’Dis is da guy.” I couldn’t help but notice the huge padlock that dangled between his pecs on a thick metal chain as he breathed. A pair of dog tags dangled beneath on a thinner chain. He grunted.

“Ohayo, Will-kun,” Paimon greeted cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

I blinked to try to clear the fog from my brain. My lungs were processing incense, cigar smoke, and cigarette smoke. It takes getting used to when it’s all at once.

“Uh, … hi,” I finally managed to say.

The big guy folded his arms and grunted again. I didn’t know if he didn’t like me or if the whole looming glare was just his default. “M—Boss asked yuhs a question, dawg.” His knuckles cracked ominously, and I couldn’t help but notice the metal bands he wore on each of his fingers. All ten of them. “Bettuh answer.”

I swallowed heavily.

“Dom, be nice,” Paimon chided.

The sudden change in demeanor was startling. The thug snapped to attention and jutted his chest forward. A very impressive display when all he had to frame said chest was a tank top, thanks to the fact he hadn’t zipped up his jacket. The shirt strained against his muscle to be put on prominent display. His pecs bounced a few times as he saluted. “Yussuh.”

Paimon giggled. “Why don’t you go freshen up, Dom-kun? You’ve had a long night.”

“Yussuh,” he slurred again. He lumbered past me easily. His heavy boots clunked against the floor, rattling the apartment with every step. The only sign of him that remained after was the miasma of his cigar. It seemed almost to hover in my nose when I turned back to the remaining members of the household.

“So, … that was Dom?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. He’s a big sweetie under all that muscle,” Paimon assured with another giggle. “Would you like some breakfast?”

I blushed again. Everyone else was already fully dressed, and I couldn’t help but notice the distinct presence of leather in all their gear. Not unusual in and of itself. It was more the fact I was barefoot in some ratty sweatpants and an old shirt. Makes a man self-conscious, you know what I mean? “Um, … yes, please.”

So, turns out the one with the purple streaks was named Lavante. He’s sort of an adopted son for the pair. I could hardly tell the difference between them, really. Age-wise, I mean. Guess they must’ve had good genes. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Kid had a padlock and a set of tags, just like Dom. I noticed Harley only had a chain with a ring tied to it. Lavante had size and mass from his father. That is, his bigger father. Or so the parents joked. His eyes, well, that, I’m not sure who he got it from. They were purple, but they had that sort of empty quality that invites someone to fall in and never come out again. They could be hard or soft in an instant, and there was a sort of … I guess a longing to look at them when I was eating. My gaze kept darting between Paimon’s and Lavante’s faces.

“You smoke?”

I blinked in surprise. I looked at my plate and found it suddenly empty. It was filled almost just as quickly. “Uh … haven’t in a long time,” I said. “Tried it once, got sick. Never wanted to again.”

Lavante frowned. “But you don’t look sick now.”

I shrugged. “Haven’t taken a direct hit since the first time I tried it. Like I said, didn’t really want to.” I was so hungry, but I didn’t understand why. I must have had at least four plates. Maybe, maybe more. The more I ate, the more dazed I felt. Not a bad sort of daze, just … different. Like … I don’t know. I … guess I was happy? Sort of? I guess the best way to describe it is a sort of in-between place. Not like a drug high or anything like that, but definitely not normal either. It was sort of a … I guess a dead space or a neutral zone.

Can’t remember much of what I said during that time. Must’ve said a lot, though, ’cause the clock said it was nearly noon by the time the meal was over. I’d been shoveling so much food, it was only natural when I brought my hand to my face again. My lips curved around. My teeth bit gently. I breathed, and warmth flooded my lungs. I didn’t want to cough this time. I didn’t feel sick. It smelled almost like lavender. Best way I could put it was it felt like my stomach had had enough, and now my lungs wanted something to eat, too. There was no coughing, no gagging, just … a smooth tingle.

“For a guy who’s only had one cigarette, you sure drag like a champ.” Harley was holding a lighter. He flicked the cap shut. A cigarette protruded from the corner of his mouth. Lavante smoked a purple one, and Paimon’s cigarette was the same rosy pink from the one I’d seen in the ash tray.

I pulled the thing away from me, looked calmly at it. I was surprised, but I didn’t feel that usual surge of adrenaline. My lips puckered briefly as I licked them, and my chest tingled as I breathed in the secondhand smoke the others were generating. I … I wanted more. And I wasn’t sure how to think about that at first. “I … guess I just needed the right brand,” I finally managed to say.

“Yuh,” Lavante said in a deep tone.

I dragged. My lungs savored every instant of the smoke. And then I let it go with an equally low, “Yuh…”

Harley didn’t say anything else. He just rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Paimon smiled kindly. Lavante, … Lavante sneered. And like a game of Simon Says, I felt my lips contorting in time, pulling aside to bare my teeth and match his look.

Paimon giggled in delight as I leaned back in my chair and spread my legs. I felt so good, so relaxed there. I don’t know if it was a high from the smoke, the food, or something else, but … I felt safe. I could be at peace there. I could live in a place like that. It wasn’t how I was raised, but it felt like home. Like I belonged there, could always belong there. I just had to… had to….

Had to what?

I shook my head. What … was I thinking? This wasn’t my house, wasn’t my place. I couldn’t live there!

The cigarette dropped from my lips. I fumbled, but I couldn’t catch it. The thing hit the floor and broke apart. Fortunately, it fell on tile, so the ashes were easy to clean, but the butt was ruined. And whatever fantasy world I was falling toward with it.

“S-sorry,” I said awkwardly as I stumbled to my feet. “I’ll clean it up.”

Paimon kept smiling. “Don’t worry about it, Will-kun. It happens.”

My throat was suddenly parched, probably from all the smoke. I guzzled a quick drink from the sink, then turned back to the table. “Um, where do you keep the broom and dustpan?”

It didn’t take long to clean up my mess. By then, it was time to clear the rest of the table, too, so I helped. I had to pay for my night there somehow, after all.

What happened after is sort of a blur to the extent that Paimon took me out to get cleaned up. Well, more cleaned up than I already was. We started at a barber. The owner was a big man who reeked of cigar smoke. He was a massive in every sense of the word, standing at what had to be at least seven feet tall with bulging muscles to match. His face was wreathed in gold that merged with his pompadour. Green stripes streaked on the left side of his hair, even going so far as to color part of his beard. A bold fashion statement, but this was a bold sort of man.

And one who took command in his shop.

He took one look at me, and I was in the chair with a cape tied around my body. I’d trimmed my beard just fine, but my hair was another story. Since I’d already showered before, he didn’t feel the need to give me the whole package. In his words, “This ain’t a fuckin’ salon.”

Paimon laughed and beamed that smile at me again. I could barely see it through the haze of smoke that started to fill the room. The barber wasn’t one for talking, but he definitely was for smoking. He chopped off the extra-long locks and rubbed something into my scalp that left it all tingly and cool. For such a big gruff man, his hands were surprisingly gentle. I wouldn’t say I fell asleep exactly, but … I guess my brain sort of shut off for a while. It was just so … relaxing, bruh.

He lathered up my face, anyway, and scraped the rest of the stubble down around my cheeks and lower jaw. Then he added some weird stuff to my sideburns and my chin before a hot towel treatment. That’s when I really blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was staring into the mirror while those same hands ran a comb through my much cleaner hair. Something felt … different, but I couldn’t place what. I just let it go. It was hard to think with all that stroking over my scalp, anyway.

I caught sight of a familiar cannister. A white wolf smiled up at me, this time proffering a rose while the other ran a comb through his pompadour.

Pompadour.

…

Pompadour….

Pomp. That’s what was different! The hair over my forehead swept up like the crest of some giant wave ready to crash at any second. Only, it was held together by something solid. Something thick. But … my hair didn’t feel heavy. It moved. It followed every stroke, every tug of that gentle comb. And the more it did, the more I felt that familiar high settling in as my scalp tingled. Before my very eyes, I watched the wave grow taller, thicker, fuller. And so very, very shiny.

“You look good, Will-kun.” Paimon smiled.

“He’s almost done,” the gruff man said. “Needs a little more pump.”

I raised my brow. “Pump the pomp?” It was like my vocal cords were lax. Instead of my higher tenor, they’d lowered to a baritone. I sounded like I’d just woken up. And … I guess I sort of had?

The bearded man’s lips curled into a smile. “That’s right.” His fingers and the comb raked through my hair again, and my eyes rolled in uh, … uh, … wut’s da word for blackin’ out from feelin’ good?

…

Yuh, that’s it, euphoric bliss.

“S’good ta pump da pomp,” he growled in my ear as the comb stroked my sideburns.

I shuddered. I felt so pampered, so relaxed. The smell of the cigar smoke, the aftershave, the pomade, and the undertone of leather from his extra-large vest left me feeling … well, at home, I guess.

Though, on second thought, maybe that vest was XXL? I … don’t remember. I just knew he was big, and it was big. And suddenly, I didn’t mind that I had a new hairstyle anymore.

Besides, Paimon was paying for it. Who was I to object? I mean, he said he was granting my wish, and so far, he’d delivered. So, … maybe this was part of my wish, too? It … really did feel good having that look. And my hair was so shiny. When the barber finally backed away, I couldn’t help but run my fingers through it just once.

I gaped vapidly at myself in the mirror. My pupils were a lot bigger than I remember, but Paimon just smiled as he pulled me from the chair. My chin prickled, and I scratched the patch of hair that had grown in by my cleft. He placed something in my hand. When I looked down, I saw the familiar sight of a polished switch comb. Streaks of blue and silver lit up against the black accents. They seemed almost to swirl the longer I looked at them.

“Your fingers will ruin the look,” Paimon explained. “This should let you play with it without damaging anything. Think of it as a part of your wish. You can’t have clothes without accessories.” He gasped as he looked to his watch. “And speaking of, we have an appointment to keep. Let’s go!” He beamed at the barber as he pulled my arm behind him. “Arigato, Axe-kun!”

The barber grunted and offered a two-fingered salute to the smaller man. His deep voice rumbled after us. “See you again soon, Will.”

Logic dictated that couldn’t be true. There was little chance of me ever going back to that barbershop again. But even so, part of me believed him. And before I could stop myself, a deep, “Yuh,” had already escaped my lips. I didn’t see the smile, but I could feel it as we passed the door back into the busy streets.

Two massive men in thick leather biker jackets and pants strode into the store behind us. The familiar smell of cigar smoke trailed with them, and I breathed deeply, despite myself. Their pompadours were far larger than mine and looked near the point of collapse. There’s only so much pomade can do before you have to trim yourself, you know. Then the door shut, and we were gone. My head swam with the events that had happened so far, but we weren’t done yet. And Paimon had a lot more places to show me.

Next up, we arrived in a clothing store. Paimon smiled as we strode through the entrance. The fresh smell of leather hit me like a wall of bricks. I felt that same urge to mess with my hair again but did my best to resist it. I flicked the switch comb, instead. It helped a little.

“Let’s get you some clothes, Will-kun.”

I could hardly object. Not because I didn’t necessarily want to, but … well, I just felt … I guess I was foggy up top, ya know? Don’t think much up there anymore. And … I guess things slowed down when I was with him. Every time I saw that smile, I just felt … different. That same feeling from the haircut came back again and again. And it would always get stronger.

“I don’t—”

“Trust me, you’ll love it!” He grinned. His eyes flashed. Or maybe I was just that lightheaded. Suddenly, I was sitting in a mirrored room. I … don’t remember much of what happened. There were a lot of shirts and pants. Jeans, chaps, tanks, muscle tees, boots, dog tags, chains.

And the padlocks.

Bruh, when you find that right padlock, and it just … clicks, you know it’s right. And you know you never want to unlock it again. Must’ve tried … I don’t know how many different combos before Pai found one that worked.

I wore a black tank top that hugged tightly to my chest. It was like … like I was getting a hug. A really soft hug. Every breath left me feeling the fabric as it expanded with me, then slowly retracted. It was like … well, I guess it was like it was alive, you know? The compression was in all the right places. I looked … different, but … a good different. I had this dull brown that was almost black when Paimon first found me. But when I was a kid, I had this super bright blond hair, like … the sun, basically. Platinum grade, ya know? Didn’t need no bleach back then. I was au naturel. It was funny, seein’ that same bright shine pop against m’new black duds.

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. Things were just … weird, but in a good way. I felt good. I wasn’t ripped, but the time with Paimon had helped me to see I wasn’t so bad off as I thought. The mirror only helped prove that more. The gut I thought I had was hardly showing now. It just sort of pressed gently against the waistband of my new leather pants. I could see the hints of muscle tone in my arms. Nothing big, but present, you know? Enough to show there was potential.

Huhuh. I see that potential in you, too, y’know.

The boots Paimon got me clunked heavily on the floor in a sort of march as I got used to the feel of them on my soles. A minute later, it felt … well, it felt almost like I wasn’t wearing anything, really. It felt natural to let the weight carry my legs to a heavy slam. Gotta know how to throw m’weight around, you know?

“You look amazing, Will-kun!” Boss cheered.

I blushed. “Y’really think so?”

“Hai.”

He smiled again, and I couldn’t stop myself. I zoned out again. I came to posing in front of the mirrors. Boss was clapping. Something felt off again, but I couldn’t quite place it. I kept staring as I transitioned from pose to pose. Archer, crab, and whatever other ones there might be. I frowned as my eyes fell to my crotch. That was where the feeling was strongest. Something was different down there, but I wasn’t sure what. It looked … fuller than what I was used to. Were the pants cut differently, or was I actually…?

A loud snap echoed in my ears, and I was suddenly aware of a cold and heavy chain draped over my neck and chest. A heavier blunt square object practically burned between my pecs with how cold it was. The fabric hardly did a thing to protect my skin. I almost lost control of my breathing.

“What do you think, Will-kun?” Boss asked. I didn’t even hear him sneak up behind me. He seemed so much smaller from his place next to the platform.

“I, uh….”

“Isn’t it nice?”

I peered at the lock. Its blunt edges. Its dull faded blue paint. It had been used before, worn, beaten, but still not out of commission. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of, well, me. I could … relate to it.

“I guess, but … isn’t it a little much?”

Boss giggled. “I don’t think so. Now we’re twinsies.” He raised his own padlock and chain. They glinted in the light. “See?”

The light made me blink. I … couldn’t really think of an answer, but I wanted to talk. So, uh, yuh, m’body did the only thing it could do. “Uhhhhhhh….”

His laughter flooded my ears as his hands wrapped around mine and guided them to my lock. Next thing I knew, I was staring at two padlocks. “Like this, silly,” he said.

“Oh.” I nodded. The light was duller, but it was there, hidden, deep in the faded murk of the paint. A sort of pale reflection to the brighter silver of Boss’ padlock. One that left me wanting to find the source. Wanting to delve deeper. Wanting to seep into that fog. I found myself nodding as I stared.

Flash. Dull. Flash. Dull.

Flash…

Dull…

Dim flash..

Dull….

Dimmer.

Dull………

“Will-kun.” The voice sounded so far away. “Will-kun.” It called again. I felt his hands wrapped around my forearm, pulling gently. The blue and silver fog that I’d been so focused on slowly receded. I blinked blearily as Boss came into focus. “You really like that padlock, don’t you?”

My head felt … slow, full, … Idunno, just … not like it used to be, you know? All I know is he asked me a question. And … I had to answer. I didn’t really think about the answer. I just … spoke. Was like a kneejerk reaction, you know?

“Uhhhh … yuh….”

He giggled. “I’m glad. Come on, Will-kun.” He led me by the hand. My hips jingled. A glance down revealed I’d gained more chains than when I first started posing in front of that mirror. But … the jingle was nice. Comforting, you know? Followed the beat when I stepped. It still does. I like lettin’ people know ah’m comin’.

We stepped out the store without paying. The cashier waved it off and silently passed a huge leather jacket on a hangar for Boss to carry. He giggled as he seized the hook. “Arigato!”

My heart nearly stopped from the cuteness. My breath caught. My chest lurched. And suddenly, I was grabbing my lock like a lifeline. I followed him out the store like a puppy. I wasn’t really in a state to say anything. I could barely concentrate enough to follow behind him. The clunk and the jingle reverberated in my ears again and again with every step.

But when I saw his arms start to droop, I swooped in. My hands seized the jacket, and I felt the hangar straining against the crooks of my fingers as they curled to hold it over my shoulder. I knew it’d be rude if I didn’t say anything. Heck, he might think I was stealing. I had to say something, do something.

“If you’re gonna treat me, at least let me help.” It came out gruffer than I intended, but his smile told me he understood what I meant to say. I suddenly felt very much exposed. A flush rose in my cheeks, and I looked away bashfully, then cleared my throat. “So, who’s this thing for, anyway?”

Boss giggled. “A friend. I wanted to pick it up for when he’s ready.”

“When he’s … ready?”

Paimon nodded. “Uhuh. To join our family.”

“Like the others at the apartment?”

“Uhuh. They’re just a bunch of big sweeties, like Dom.”

“Dom is … sweet?”

Paimon laughed again. “Once you get to know him.

“He doesn’t … look sweet.”

He placed his hands behind his back and sort of bobbed or rocked as we walked. You know how the upper body just sort of sways sometimes when you’re actin’ cute without trying? It was kind of like that. “Well, then, what does he look like to you?”

I was taken off guard. “… To me?”

“Yeah!” He beamed at me. “Be honest.”

I nearly stumbled. My head rang. Or … was that the dog tags and the padlock knocking against each other? Guilt flushed my cheeks this time. After all, Boss knew Dom a lot better than I did back then. “Promise not to be mad?” I asked softly.

“Hai.”

I couldn’t help myself. It just … burst out of me in a rush. “He looks like a street thug waiting for an excuse to beat someone up.”

Paimon’s smile didn’t falter. There was no hardening. His grin widened. “I know. Isn’t it great!” He giggled.

“Great to … be a thug? Or great to look like one?”

“Well, both, of course, silly. It’s great to be both.”

“Great … to be both….” I trailed in utter disbelief. He all but admitted he liked thugs. Genuine street thugs. Outlaws, muggers, the kind of guys you don’t want to run into in a dark alley at night. And he let one of them live in his house?

“Why don’t you flick your switch comb, Will-kun? You look anxious.” Snap went the comb in his hand. The tines parted his hairs like the Red Sea, and they closed up behind just as quickly.

Before I knew it, that tingle from the barber was back again. Little pricks tugged at my pompadour, pulling loose hairs back into line, stimulating my scalp, and tugging … well, it felt like they were tugging deeper, somehow, if that makes sense. You know, like when you do weeding and pull the roots out of the dirt? They pull a bunch of clods with them. It was … sort of like that, I guess. Or at least closer to it. My heart stopped thudding, and I just … sort of let it go. More like the gardener made me let it go. I still remembered what Boss had said. I still knew Dom was a thug. But … I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t suspicious. I just … was.

“See? You’re feeling better already.”

The flash went off again. I wasn’t sure whether it was his padlock, his pomp, his eyes, or his smile. Maybe all of them at once. I blinked slowly and nodded. It was sort of natural with the heavy steps I’d been taking. I felt like a giant bobblehead, and I was stuck in yes mode.

“Uhhhhh….”

Boss giggled. “You’re so adorable when you’re like this, Will-kun.”

Another yank. Any suspicions were pulled away with the roots to clear the way for … something. I knew he’d complimented me. I knew compliments deserved a response. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” We walked on for a block or so in silence, just letting the jingles ring while I kept weeding my brain. Boss pulled out one of his pink cigarettes and lit it. He toked it for a while, then finally spoke again. “Say, Will-kun?” He breathed into the air. A breeze blew it to my nose. The response was instinctual. I breathed in as much of the stuff as I could.

I groaned out an, “Uhhhh, … yeah?” as my eyes rolled. It was like someone had just watered the bed I was weeding. Every stroke came easier as stalk after stalk pulled loose with clod after clod of wet, muddy dirt.

Spattering.

Oxidizing.

Clearing out more and more.

Leaving behind less and less.

And I couldn’t stop it. Or … maybe I didn’t want to, bruh. It’s seriously that ple-uhhhh … intoxic-uhhhhhh…. Good. Yuh, like … really good, bruh.

…

Fuckin’ sweet….

Right, right. The story. Sorry.

So, Boss is talkin’, and he asks me a question. “You knew what Dom was when you met him, right?”

I nodded. “Uhuh….”

“How?”

I shrugged. The cold leather of the jacket brushed against my bare arm, and goosebumps raised on my skin. “Just … looked like one is all.”

Boss giggled. “You took one look, and that’s how you knew. I guess the old saying is true, then.”

I … couldn’t follow that. “Wut?”

He beamed at me again. “Well, it takes one to know one, silly.”

Another click like the slot of the padlock slamming home echoed in my ears. Or … maybe it was my head? I had enough holes left for both to work. I took a moment to stretch my arms. The fabric of the tank strained against my back and pecs, and I rumbled like a bike engine. The comb flicked shut, and I put it back in my pocket. “But … ah didn’ know. Yuh told me….” My mouth and throat felt … tired, like they didn’t want to put in the effort for a whole sentence. I let it slide. I was too buzzed from the weeding.

Boss giggled. “Nuh-uh,” he sang. “You guessed all on your own, Will-kun.”

He laughed again. And my head spun as blood surged through my body. I felt … different, but I couldn’t place how. Everything hugged just right. My body was bulky and … I guess hungry is the best way I can put it. It needed something. I needed something. My free arm lifted and I clenched my fist. That good feeling I talked about before came back. Only this time, it brought its bigger bulkier brother. My skin writhed and stretched as the sleeping pythons that were my biceps surged to life. It flowed like sweat or water down to my pecs, my abs, my crotch, my legs.

“Are you hiding something, Will-kun?” Boss asked playfully.

I felt my crotch inflate, just like my biceps. I spread my legs in a swagger as the flow bulked me up. “Fuck….” I groaned.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Will-kun?”

I couldn’t really think. I barely heard what he’d said. Could hardly process. “Uhhhhh…huh?”

He laughed as we stepped through a pair of glass doors into a room filled with a haze of cigar smoke. The clank of metal hitting metal struck again and again. It rang louder than my padlock and tags ever could. We stepped up to a reception desk. Boss smiled at the guy manning the computer. Dawg had ta be almost hulk-sized. A real muscle beast in a tight tank top with a mean sneer.

“Welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym. Whadaya want?” His voice was gruff, and his scowl would’ve driven off anyone who wasn’t already used to dealing with him. He asked me. Didn’t even seem to care about Boss. Then again, Boss is a regular here, so he didn’t need to ask.

“Tank, this is Will-kun. He’s here to work off some steam.” He smiled. Tank’s scowl deepened. I felt my body tense as I shifted my weight to stick part of myself in front of Boss.

“You got a problem?” I growled. My brow furrowed, and I glared right back. Paimon was nice to me, did so much for me. I wasn’t gonna let someone try to hurt him because of me.

“Tank, Will, play nice.”

The voice was soft and nonplussed, kind as always. My shoulders slumped. The fire building in my chest died, leaving more smoke to join the gym’s atmosphere. Tank backed off and averted his gaze from Paimon’s stare.

“Sorry, Suh.”

Paimon smiled. “There. All better now. Let’s get along and give Will a membership.

Tank saluted, allowing his pecs to show off and bounce in front of Boss. “Yussuh.”

Boss giggled at the sight and blushed as Tank tapped away at the keys. I think he did everything to keep flexing his pecs while he did it. I felt my own pecs tighten at the sight. My arms felt warm, loose, and tingly. When he was done, he handed me a lighter and a freshly cut cigar he’d chopped on the desk. Then he handed me my membership card. His eyes looked kinda funny, but I couldn’t say how or why. Was probably the haze from the smoke, anyway.

“On da house,” Tank lowed when I tried to return the cigar. “Part a’da deluxe package. Give it a long drag before yuhs works out. Oh, and, uh … welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym, dawg.”

I nodded numbly as Pai-dawg shepherded me onto the main floor with the jacket still draping over my back. My fingers twitched, and my chest heaved as I breathed the smoke in while heavy punk music and a repetitive bass thudded through the space.

Everyone in the gym was big, burly, and either lifting weights or flexing in front of a mirror while they lit one up.

Even Mistuh Pai-dawg was smokin’. He looked at me expectantly. “Well, Will-kun?”

“Uh, … wut?” I asked.

Paimon smiled and extended his hands. “Give me the jacket. I’ll hang it up. You light up that cigar, okay? I know a cranky smoker when I see one.”

Cranky smoker? For some reason, that didn’t sound right, but … at the same time, I kept craning my neck toward the ceiling, as if I could make myself grow into the cloud, like some mountain. Y’know mountains make their own clouds, right? Mistuh Pai-dawg taught me that. My head felt dizzy again. My arms moved almost on their own as I handed him the jacket. I got a lungfull of smoke in return.

“See you soon, Will-kun.”

The flash went off again. This time, it repeated as I flicked my thumb over the lighter and the flint went off.

One. Two. Three times. Finally, I lit up on the fourth. It was hard to work the little wheel with such a thick thumb. Kept sayin’ I needed to get a zippo. They’re built for big guys like me. Anyway, I held the flame to the head and waited. When it was good and smokin’, I took a drag.

My eyes rolled. My head shot back. My whole body relaxed. “Fuck, ah needed dis,” I swore. Like a magnet to a charge, the smoke surrounding the room seemed to zoom at my face all of a sudden. It was just me and the mirror. The weights clanked as members grunted through their sets, and I felt a sort of rhythm to it.

Clank. Clank.

One. Two.

Clank. Clank.

Flex, you.

I dragged.

I flexed.

I breathed.

I flexed.

I grunted.

I flexed.

One. Two.

Flex. Grunt.

One. Two.

Follow through.

One. Two.

Burn away.

One. Two.

“Flex and obey….”

“Yussuh….”

Thick hands felt up my biceps, adjusted my form and stance.

“Like this, dawg.”

The smoke burned in my lungs, but it was a good burn. The ash settled in my brain. I didn’t care.

I grunted and followed the coach. A man with a shock of black hair with shiny gold stripes running through in a pomp grinned at me through his shades. His jacket looked like it would break apart any moment under the stress of his arms. He bared his teeth at me as he looked over my bod. “Lookin’ good, dawg.”

“Feelin’ good,” I rumbled back. My lips pulled back in a half-sneer, half-grin. I kind of liked how growly my voice got with the smoke.

And then he was there again. Mistuh Pai-dawg smiled as he laid a hand over my bicep and beamed at the otha’ dawg. “Thanks for keeping him company, Jackknife-kun.”

Jackknife grinned and saluted Mistuh-Pai. “S’good ta greet a new dawg.”

Mistuh Pai-dawg laughed. “Treat him nice when he starts work, okay?”

Jackknife sneered as he swaggered off. “Don’t I always?”

Mistuh Pai-dawg had ta crane his neck ta look at me. Then he giggled and turned to the mirror. “Still going to say you’re not a thug, Will-kun?”

I blinked dully. The ash and smoke had seeped from my brain to my eyes, making them cloudy and indistinct. “Uhhhh … nun-uh….” I meant to say I wasn’t a thug. ’Least … I think I did. But I think Mastuh Pai-dawg took it th’ otha’ way.

“Good dawg.”

Like the Three Billie Goats Gruff, the biggest, strongest, baddest high bucked me off the bridge and right into the rapids.

“Let’s work out, thug.”

I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. But … I tried. I wanted to. It’s just … the clanking weights. The thump of my padlock against my chest. The heavy bass beating, beating, beating into my thick skull. Tamping down the dirt. Tenderizing the meat in my head. Beating the bone into a new shape. I squatted. I curled. I hefted. I thrust.

And the more I worked my body, the slower my head moved. The duller my thoughts became. The thicker my skull. The blockier my jaw. All that dirt and smoke put a filter over the windows. I stared at myself in the mirror. There were no pupils there anymore. No definition. Just a vague sort of emptiness, like a hollow in a mountain or an attic you never visit. It was just … there. Running on autopilot. Running on fumes.

The fumes from my cigar.

Fumes of smoke … and grease.

…

And leather.

I lost track of time, of everything but his eyes, his urgings.

…

He’d cheer me on, and I would lap it up like liquid energy.

“That’s my Will!”

I grinned.

“Good dawg. Can you do more?”

“Yussuh…”

Another set. Another excited laugh. He clapped that time.

“Arms and pecs next! Pump it up, dawg.”

“Yussuh….” I grunted. I pumped, and that pump strained my skin. I could almost hear it creaking as the muscle writhed and swelled with every rep.

He hummed. “You could use some bigger traps.”

I seized a pair of dumbbells and started shrugging and lifting to work my wings and shoulders. I could almost see my Adam’s apple throbbing, pulsing, expanding as my lungs heaved and my neck thickened with my shoulders.

“Yussuh….” I hardly even recognized the sound of my own voice anymore. It was a habit, acknowledgement. Nothing more. Nothing more than call and response. The more I listened, the better I felt. I was addicted. I didn’t want it to end. It couldn’t end. It wouldn’t end. I refused to let it end.

“And a broader back.”

“Yussuh.” Again, I worked. Crack went my shoulders. Suddenly, my chest was broader, my shoulders wider.

“Good thug.”

“Yussuh….”

Veins swam up and down my arms as they strained, like worms through the dirt. Processing, consuming.

“Yussuh, what?”

“Ah’m a good thug….”

“Say it again.”

“Ah’m a good thug.”

“Again.”

“Ah’m a good thug.”

“That’s my Will.”

This time, something was different. One last shift yanked in my brain. A nail in the coffin, a compacter on the dirt, whatever you wanna use for an analogy. All I know is, he was right. I was his Will. I did wut he wanted, because he made me feel so good. If … if this feeling would never end, I’d do whatever, be whatever he wanted. The dumbbells crashed into the rack, and I whipped around to fall onto my knees before him. Even then, we still were looking almost eye-to-eye.

He’d called. The program was set. The training demanded I answer.

A good dawg obeys.

“Yussuh….”

“Yussuh, what?” he asked.

I panted. My chest heaved. My tank felt paper-thin against my chest from all the sweat making it cling to my hulking body. I was built like a beast, and I felt like a beast. A beast who’d just been given an order.

A beast who had to obey. The cigar was long gone, but he gave me another dose of smoke as he smiled at me. He brushed my sideburns with his biker-gloved hands. Another blow. Another crack. My jaw got thicker, broader. And my neck swelled to match. The smoke flooded my brain, and with it came the clarity, the answer that was so blinding I almost blacked out right there.

“Yussuh, Massuh Pai-dawg….”

I was Massuh Pai-dawg’s Will. What he wanted, I got. What he wanted done, I would get done. My skull rang with the shouts of thousands of voices all echoing the same things over and over.

Serve Massuh Pai-dawg.

Obey Massuh Pai-dawg.

Protect Massuh Pai-dawg.

Good thug.

Good dawg.

Greaser thug.

Greaser dawg.

His beautiful soft hands cupped my face. “Time to suit up, thug.”

“Yussuh.” I rose to my feet. The jacket slid easily over my body. The cold leather and the smell of polish completed the scent that I’d been craving. I turned to the mirror and took in the whole look. The dog tags flashed as I grinned and flexed both my biceps.

New words had been engraved on the tags and the lock itself. My new name was carved in black on the padlock. First tag read, Will on one side and Property of Paimon Prowler on the other. The second tag read If found, please return to this address. The address followed. A phone number was on the other side.

“What are you?” Massuh asked again.

“Ah’m a big dumb greasuh thug for Massuh Pai-dawg.”

Massuh smiled and patted my sideburns. “Good dawg. That’s my Will-kun.”

Bliss. That’s the only word for it. “Yussuh.”

Paimon nodded. “I think you’re ready now.”

My brow furrowed. “Ready?”

He giggled and led me to a door with faded paint that barely read STAFF ONLY. The door opened. A massive storeroom greeted us. Crates, lockers, loading bay, the whole nine yards was there. Impossible hulking figures laid back against storage crates or stood by a chalkboard with the layout of some sort of building. One look at them, and I knew what was up. Rhinos, wolves, lions, rats. All with hands and feet, like real people. It wouldn’t have made sense to me before, but now, now I knew who they were.

They were my fellow dawgs. I lumbered to the lockers. A mask was already waiting for me to join the heist.

Massuh smiled at me. He looked different now. He was a wolf with white fur, but I knew it was him. “I knew you’d fit in,” he said.

I blushed and grunted, then flexed to work off the stress.

Massuh giggled again. “Come straight home after, thug. Dom and I want to hear about how your first day on the job went, ’kay?”

My legs smacked together. My chest thrust forward. My arms raised and flexed as I strained every muscle in my body to give the biggest profile for him to view. The room rang with all our voices. “Yussuh!”

We were linked.

We were one.

I finally disengaged and lumbered toward the truck. The other thugs soon followed.

They all stared at me as I sat on the hump at the front of the truck’s cab. I knew what they wanted me to say. I knew what I was supposed to say. And I said it.

“Let’s roll, dawgs.” I groaned. I shuddered. And Wilbur was gone for good. My mind emptied and blended with the other dawgs as the plan echoed over and over in our heads. I sneered.

I was a big dumb greaser thug.

A proud member of Massuh Pai’s Dawgs.

And it was time to get to work.

A dull husky chuckle flooded the cab as a final parting phrase echoed across my link to Massuh.

“Wish granted.”

And now you know my story, s’time I granted yours.

Wanna Smoke, dawg?

LU&DD Table of Contents

Someone expressed a desire for a master list of the entire Lifting Up and Dumbing Down story series. As per that request, I present to you this table of contents. Enjoy! :D

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four/Final Chapter/Epilogue

Credit to @willpeter for this picture.

Parting Worlds (A Patreon Preview)

SRY BRO. HRD 2 TEYP. BIG THUMS. HUHUH. FEEL GUD THO. FOUND MY PLACE. LIVIN THE DREAM. BRO, IT'S ... IT'S.... FUCK. CAN'T THINK OF THE WORD. FUUUUUUUCK. NEVUR THOT BEIN DUM WUD FEEL SO GUD. I M BIG NOW. BIG MEAT. U WANT 2 B MEAT LYK ME, COME HERE. I'LL B WEIGHTING, BRO. DON'T 4GET. SAVE THAT 4 L8R. HUHUHUH.

Bryant looked at the last message from his old friend. Chris had included a map pin for GPS. It had been six months since he last heard from the man. Six months. His apartment had been cleared out. A missing person's case had long since been filed.

The police had investigated the site from the address after Bryant provided it. All they found was an old parking garage cordoned off by a chain-link fence. A warrant obtained using the information yielded no further results. The space was empty, the building abandoned. There was no sign of foul play. No drugs, no tags, no evidence of any prior occupation, save for what looked like a needle of some kind. Careful investigation revealed the space had once housed a tattoo parlor before transitioning to this structure. The needle was a part of a tattoo kit, probably left at the scene when the brick and mortar folded and went mobile.

So, why was he here now, listening to the echo of his own footsteps?

His eyes roved through the murky space as dim light flickered from the fixtures overhead. A few seconds later, he was standing in front of the fence. He'd seen the photos from the scene. The police made everything public after they'd finished chasing down the lead. And now, here he was.

"Why?" he murmured to himself. The officers had already tried everything. Did he really think he could do better?

The woven metal was cold against his fingers as they grasped the chain link. Black lines streaked over his skin, a sign of the time that had passed and the lack of human contact in the area. A wooden pallet had been laid against one side of the gate. A long metal chain draped at the other side, tied to the bar. Perhaps it was meant to prevent entry? But if so, someone had undone those efforts. It hissed, rattled, and clattered as Bryant slowly pushed the gate open. Its hinges creaked and squealed from disuse.

"It won't work that way, you know."

Bryant jumped in surprise and turned swiftly. The man that stood there was ... average in just about every way one could imagine. He carried an unremarkable face with a pair of shaded glasses that drew one's focus away from the remainder of his appearance while the clouded lenses obscured his eyes.

"Who are you?" Bryant finally managed to say.

The man shrugged. "I go by many names. I suppose you can call me the Gatekeeper."

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If you all enjoyed this snippet and want to see the rest of the story (and the transformation that follows), please join my Patreon. This particular story is a sample from my $5 reward slot. For a regular monthly donation of $5 a month, you receive a free quality short story written by yours truly. I specialize in transformation, but I am flexible and can do other types of stories if necessary, though I reserve the right to reject certain themes or ideas that go against my religious beliefs or are otherwise too far out of my comfort zone. Thus far, I’ve only encountered such a request once, possibly twice, and we were able to come to an amicable arrangement. You will also have access to all lower tier rewards, including the stories from those lower tiers. A veritable treasure trove of transformation stories await you. I hope you all enjoy! You will also have access to my Patreon Discord server, where you can ask me questions, talk with other patrons, discuss the stories and even suggest new story ideas for future monthly posts. Hope to see you there! :D

Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image.

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Chrome (A Patreon Preview)

I've always had a sort of obsession, I guess you could say. Aesthetics are a big deal to a lot of men, and I'm no different. For me, the thing that draws me most, what always drew me, was bikers. Thugs, studs, meatheads, gangsters. Whatever the aesthetic niche, I was drawn to it. There's just something special, almost hypnotic, about the purr of an engine, the roar of the exhaust. When I see someone pop a wheelie, a thrill of pleasure runs through me. And the same thought echoes in my head.

I want to be that guy.

To not have to worry what others think. To just enjoy the rumble of the engine and let that strength, that sheer masculine horsepower, flow into me as the cologne of oil and exhaust seeps into my clothes in a fog that makes men wish they could be like me. I want to belong to the bike as much as it belongs to me, to rumble down the streets, have everyone looking at us and say, Now there's a biker.

There's a biker....

A biker that wouldn't care about what others thought. A biker that would have such a close relationship with his machine that seeing the two apart for any period of time just seems wrong. A biker who is as much a machine as he is a man. Strong. Virile. Ready to rev and just go.

To trawl through the streets and let everyone know, I am here. And like a siren song, let our purring engine and exhaust seep into the neighborhoods, into the residents, into every nook and cranny as evidence that we were there. And then let that song call who it may.

And like Odysseus at the mast, they will be torn between their lives and our call. They will struggle. They will break. And then, when they finally escape to pursue, because they won't have the crew Odysseus had, they will be so desperate, so broken down, so enthralled that they will join their new partner willingly. They'll chop through a sea of blacktop with their new partners. They'll leave their old lives behind. They'll sail on their monstrous machines.

And those machines will welcome them, encourage them, until they are fit to trawl those dangerous seas with me.

And they will be.

Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image. If you guys would like to support my writing and enjoy my work, please join my patreon. For $3 a month, you get access to unique meathead and muscle stories as well as other content from lower tiers. Or, if you prefer, you can pledge $5 a month and get access to the reward of a custom transformation short story written just for you, along with access to all other rewards from $5 tier and lower.

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The Nursery

A strange name for a gym, but one that Kevin wasn’t opposed to. He’d heard good things about the place, and when Kent sent him the referral with the special offer for a fifty percent discount on the first year of membership, how could he refuse?

There were men of all sorts of builds and types. Big thick muscle men, hairy bears, bros, the works. The sizes ranged from big and bulky brawn to lean and tight muscle that focused more on acrobatics and cardio. Each of the men seemed to hold respect for the other, and there never seemed to be any negative feeling between them, despite the difference in styles and body types.

Kevin looked down at the massive tank top that now swathed his frame. It seemed several sizes too large for him. His friend had promised he’d grow into it, and that it would become a favorite of his in time.

“Ready to get swole, bro?” Kent grinned and flexed a vascular arm for his friend to view.

“It’s not like I’m going to grow big overnight, Kent.” Kevin chuckled at his old friend’s exuberance. “Since when have you been so excited?”

Kent huffed a deep chuckle. “Since I became a regular here. This place really knows how to help a guy blow up. It’s easy! You’ll see what I mean while we work out. Come on!

The big man wrapped his hand around his friend’s wrist and dragged him onto the floor until they reached a segment of racks laden with various types of weights. He quickly seized a smaller kettlebell and shoved it into Kevin’s grip. Then he seized a far larger one for himself. Both were marked with the gym’s logo, a leaf bedecked with specks of dew.

“Let’s start with some basics. These are called halos. They help to warm you up and loosen the joints.” He raised the kettlebell and seized the handle with both hands. “Raise it like this and circle it around your head while you stare ahead.”

Kevin did as he was instructed.

“Good. Good.” Kent smiled as the man got into it. “Let’s get started.” He whistled a familiar tune as they cycled rhythmically around their heads.

“The mulberry bush? Really?” Kevin asked.

Kent shrugged. “It’s got a good pace to it. It’s a trick one of my trainers here taught me when I was learning the ropes. A lot of nursery rhymes and their music make for great pacemakers when you’re working on sets. They sort of stick in your head after a while, and it’s so easy to come up with new lyrics for them, if you want to.

“Like?”

Kent smirked. “When we’re done with the warmup,” he promised.

When they’d finished warming up, Kent nodded. “So, we’ll be doing some basic curls with the bells first. The song may be a little annoying, but once you let it stick in your head, it’s super easy to stick to the exercise. You ready, bro?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Won’t you do it, even if I’m not?”

Kent grinned, and the two began. When they’d reached a proper rhythm, the man began to sing in his deep bass.

“Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Fill out your muscle-tee.”

“Seriously, man?” Kevin asked.

Kent’s grin widened as he transitioned to his other arm and continued.

“Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Pump muscle up today.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Kevin groused.

“Dunno, I’d say it works pretty well, dumbbell.” He smirked and pointed to the mirror, where Kevin gaped at the sight of his other arm pumping the kettlebell.

“... What the actual--?”

Kent didn’t give him the chance to finish. He let out a deep husky chuckle and sang again.

“Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Fill out your muscle-tee.”

“What’re you d-OING?” Kevin’s voice cracked as his chest surged outward and his neck thickened with corded muscle. His Adam’s apple throbbed and jutted forward as stubble prickled over his face. “Stop!” His eyes widened with fear as his pupils shrank with the impact of his adrenaline. His arm kept pumping. His shoulders heaved as he voiced his protest. All the while, his arms began to swell with every pump of the kettlebell. “Why can’t I stop? Why can’t I--ohhh, fuu--” His eyes rolled as his body was rocked by a shudder. He planted his legs at a masculine straddle while his calves and thighs swelled and his crotch inflated. “Wh-what did...? Bro, I ... I....” He stared at his reflection. His mouth dropped open as his gaze became empty and glassy. “Uhhhhhhh....”

Kent sneered as they lifted in time together, two men in perfect synch. His chest heaved with a deep chuckle. “That’s right, bro. Feels good, doesn’t it, dumbbell?”

A dimwitted smile pulled at Kevin’s lips as swollen traps and pecs filled out the tank top. The stubble surged into a proper beard that blended seamlessly into the high and tight cut of his hair via carefully trimmed sideburns. He nodded as his head lolled and his arm continued to pump. The stamp at the base of the kettlebells seemed almost to glow as Kent resumed his song.

“Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. The meathead’s here to stay.”

The drastically altered Kevin burst out with a deep booming guffaw. “Huhuhuh. Bro, you were totally right!” He swore in his exuberance. “That pump was fuckin’ sweet!”

Kent grinned. “Wanna spot me on the rack, bro?”

“Hell, yeah, bro!” The two broke out into a fit of laughter that rebounded through the gym as they returned their kettlebells to the racks and swaggered onto the main floor, where the barbells and other machines awaited them.

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From deep in the security room, a loud belch was followed by a sigh of satisfaction. A hulking brute of a man that barely fit into his uniform stared blankly at the screens while two clawed hands slowly massaged his temples. Silver trickles flowed into the fingers as tiny nubs slowly began to push on either side of the guard’s forehead.

Green and clammy skin flowed up toned arms to a face that writhed with suckered tentacles and bright glowing eyes. An armored mass of coral, or something akin to it, curled over the entity’s skull in a shape not unlike that of the human brain while two great curled black horns rose above and to the side of this curious armor.

“Another sapling waiting to grow for harvest.” The voice reverberated through the room in a whispering hiss. A low growling groan escaped the human as he shredded out of his clothes. His eyes rolled, then flooded with the same green flecked with silver as his skin hardened into powerful hide. His jaw cracked into an inhuman maw full of teeth for ripping and tearing.

“Waiting to mature like you and your brothers.”

The brute rose to his feet as thick powerful hooves burst through his leather shoes. Long, sharp horns surged from his brow, cracked with molten red veins that pulsed like magma. The scent of sulfur and brimstone became more prominent as his hands blackened and swelled. Smoke hissed from them as powerful claws replaced flimsy nails. He surged in height and mass with sickening pops as bone and sinew reformatted.

“No need for those pesky thoughts. You need only serve me.” He chortled as the gym’s logo pin that had burst off the uniform floated in the air, then pressed itself against the former guard’s chest. The new creature didn’t flinch when the hiss of roasting flesh filled the air. In a matter of moments, the deed was done, and the familiar mark of its master’s tentacle now bedecked the chest of this new thrall.

The demon pulled his fingers away from the newborn thrall’s head, trailing the last streaks of silvery light with them. A mixture of moan and scream seemed to emanate through the room. And then both were silenced as the creature turned and knelt to its new master.

“Such a good thrall.” The demon chuckled as he savored the last of the former human’s mind and soul. “You’ll make a fine addition to my army.” His eyes trailed over the screens and fell with curiosity on Kevin. “Perhaps we’ll see Lust blossom from that one. I suppose only time will tell.” Though there was no sign of a mouth to smile, one could almost feel the smugness the demon radiated. He cupped the new thrall’s chin. “As for you, little Wrath, well, I know many armies that will pay a high price for you and your brothers to serve them.” He chuckled. “Make sure it’s a massacre when I call on you. I still have a debt to pay to War, after all.”

The newborn fruit of Wrath grinned, baring teeth that glittered like diamond. “Smash,” it growled in a guttural tone.

“Through there.” The green claw motioned through a portal of flames circling beside the room. Great hulking brutes identical to the new thrall wrestled, fought, and otherwise vented their aggression in mindless violence.

The creature grinned as it jumped through and roared its joy at the challenge.

Arcane light surged over the coral structure as the demon turned back to the monitors and smiled as he gazed over his domain. “Ah, my little meatheads. How I love to watch you grow.” He chuckled as his eyes fell again on Kevin and the contract the mortal signed floated next to him. “Welcome to my little nursery, Kevin. I so look forward to the seeds you’ll plant here.” He chortled as his mark emblazoned itself over the fabric covering Kevin’s left pectoral. “And beyond my domain.” He licked the obscured rubbery flaps that counted for his lips. “What depravities can I water you with, I wonder?” He watched, and his tentacles twitched in anticipation as the man continued to grow. “I wonder....”

Credit goes to @musclecorps​ is for this image before he shut down his tumblr and I lost a massive chunk of images I had stored in my likes for use in future stories and series. XD That’s how the cookie crumbles sometimes. Anyway, for some reason, someone decided to flag this chapter of Endemic Evolution. And tumblr decided, in all its wisdom, not to notify me of the fact. I can’t appeal it now, because that time limit has long since expired. I only recently discovered this problem today, because I was looking through my previous posts to see what might need clearing out, etc. Oh, and here’s the real kicker. It wasn’t even shown in my flagged posts section either. I wonder why that is? Can anyone explain that fact to me? Or is this one of those signs of tumblr blatantly trying to silence anyone it deems doesn’t adhere to its vision, despite following their guidelines perfectly? I’ll let you readers decide that for yourselves. Anyway, because I know how one-sided an appeal will be from previous experience, and the fact that no one will actually let me talk with and discuss the ruling with anyone from their content management department (other than being notified that the content management department has decided to let the ruling stand and give me cookie cutter links to their guidelines telling me to look there for more information when I’ve already looked there and want to dispute the claims with an actual PERSON using the language found in said guidelines. Does it hurt to ask for a little accountability and justification from that team, @staff?), I’m cutting out the middleman by deleting the original and reposting it. This time, I’ll even include a disclaimer, so readers can understand the fact that this chapter is intended for an older audience.

...

*Ahem.*

DISCLAIMER: THIS CHAPTER IS FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY!

This chapter is written in the form of a medical journal entry recording. As such, there will be references to human anatomy, symptoms of the fictional illness, etc. There will also be some language involved, and there will be signs of the doctor who is speaking in this recording manifesting some of those very same symptoms that he is listing. There is no sexually explicit content in this story. However, there is frank language used in describing the patients and their symptoms, and (as I said earlier) there is reference to human anatomy and patient behavior. While the word “masturbation” is used in the chapter, there is no description of that act being performed. It is merely a reference of symptom manifestation as the fictional disease progresses, and is listed as such. You have been warned. Please, do not flag this post. I’ll even make sure to close off the content below with a read more link, just to be on the safe side, so only the people who are really sure they want to proceed can read it.

Thank you,

~ Omni

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Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181040364417/endemic-evolution-as-you-can-see-weve

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181128775917/endemic-evolution-chapter-3-doctor-lee-chen-barton

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Endemic Evolution Chapter 2

“This is Doctor Simmons reporting in. I have opted for a video recording for this particular report for the sake of observation and for other reasons which I shall elaborate upon shortly. First, a recap and report of more personal note.

“It has been approximately two weeks since my first contact with these carriers of the disease we have chosen to classify as Meatheadosis. It was not my idea, but I wasn’t brought on scene at the beginning of the outbreak, so I suppose I don’t get to complain. Our generous host Mister Malloy fell prey to his infection shortly after our first meeting began. The effects of this phenomenon are positively astounding. If a means could be developed to isolate and control the virus’ effects, or at least tone them back, this disease could work miracles across the globe.

“Due to the lateness of the Holiday Season, I have had no choice but to cancel my plans for Christmas with the family. This has received mixed results, but it has to be done, for research and for the sake of our country’s future.

“Accommodations here are wonderful. Malloy has been kind enough to offer me one of his best suites. I feel more relaxed and loose than I have in over a decade. The others have also enjoyed their own rooms.

“Now on to the main report. Initial observation indicates that this virus attacks and rewrites the synapses in the brain, breaking down old connections and building new ones associated specifically with muscle memory and other such more physical things. Due to this forced rewiring of the brain, the subject becomes less and less focused on previous passions and ideals. It is not accurate to say so much that they have become dumber as it is to say that their intelligence has been reallocated into an obsession with physical perfection that borders on zealous.

“Indeed, the loss of intelligence that has been noted previously appears to only occur as the subject focuses more on enjoying and enhancing his body. Symptoms include absented-mindedness, repetitive daydreaming, subconscious flexing, personal worship, flexing, muscle worship, posing, spontaneous laughter, flexing, a distinct lack of complex sentence structure, degradation of vocabulary, and flexing.

“Some have taken to repeating various mantras and prose to give them motivation. It’s very catchy. For example: One, two, three, four. Growing muscle more and more. Five, six, seven, eight. Work out, get swole, bulk up, inflate.

“The sheer unity they demonstrate is positively mind-boggling. It’s almost as though they were functioning in a pack or a hive mind of some sort, but of course that’s not possible. Still, it does stick, doesn’t it…?

“Ahem. Anyway, It’s my theory that those effected have the electrical impulses of the brain muted when it comes to activities that … mmmph, don’t contribute to this new mode of lifestyle. Then, when the individual utilizes weights or performs some other form of physical exertion, like say a flex…

“Oh, that felt good. Where, uh … where was I?

“Oh, yes. The impulses. I believe the electrical impulses are released into the new synapses to trigger intense pleasure and other sensations that reinforce their newfound aggressive and, dare I say, brutish behavior. For example, lowered inhibitions contribute to behaviors such as openly scratching or ‘cupping’ one’s manhood, heralding immature behavior such as belching with cheers and approbation, and giving in to one’s baser sexual instincts by masturbating to ‘take the edge off.’

“It appears that the more the subjects indulge in these actions, the faster they degrade. I have designated the levels or stages of this disease’s progress into distinct categories from the first symptoms to the farthest gone. The earliest ones who are just starting out are known as Pledges. Part of this has to do with the meathead frat mentality that is rapidly becoming more prevalent in the subjects. It seems that those who are farther along in this … metamorphosis have the ability to home in on those who have contracted the disease somehow, granting them the ability to tease, heckle, and otherwise (for lack of a better word) haze an individual before they begin to progress, or perhaps regress is the better term.

“Next comes the Jock stage. Men in this stage still retain most of their former hobbies, habits, and behavioral patterns, but take a keener interest in sports and fitness than they have previously. Muscles will harden and expand, fat will burn away, and inhibitions will begin to die as other men farther along tease and encourage. Eventually, the Jock will grow accustomed to these modes of address and adopt them for himself.

“Excuse me for a moment. I need to take a selfie for my wife. … There we go. I think she’ll enjoy that. I know I did. “Now then, back on topic. In due course, the moniker of Gym Rat is earned. At this stage, the subject cannot stop thinking about their personal fitness. The gym essentially becomes their home. Fortunately, this hotel comes with a fully stocked top-of-the-line gym complete with equipment for our patients to use. The subject will become obsessed with diet and getting as much lean protein as possible to bulk up. It is generally around this stage that the manhood of the subjects begins to swell and increase in size. The extra testosterone that is the inevitable result of this stage triggers their development into the next one.

“The Meathead is essentially the finished product. At this point, the mind degrades to only want to discuss ‘manly’ things. Weights, anatomy, sex life, etc. They are quite literally muscleheads in every sense of the word. Cursing, swearing, and various other modes of language are often another indicator of their loss in intelligence. These can occur as early as the Jock stage, though the Pledges usually either do or don’t due to their previous life choices, not as a result of their metamorphosis.

“Now we come to what I believe would be considered a mutation of sorts in the usual strain. I speak of what we have chosen to dub the Alpha. These Meatheads are in a class all their own; the largest, burliest, most aggressive and dominant of their flock. This makes them the de facto leaders of their fellow Meatheads, and they make sure the others know it regularly.

“One of their favorite pastimes is comparing size and encouraging others in their growth in their own ways. Malloy quickly ascended to this kingly position. Considering he was the owner and manager of his hotel, it only makes sense that he would be. However, it seems he took a liking to me and Barton before he achieved this most coveted of positions.

“Communication with them requires me to channel my inner highschooler. Fortunately, I’m well endowed, or as they would say it, hung as fuck. Mmm … it does look nice pressing out against the crotch in my sweatpants, doesn’t it? I’ve taken to patting it and smirking at the ‘higher-ups’ to make them think I’m conforming. This usually allows me the ability to interact with others more freely as we exercise. I will admit that I can’t help but compare my size every other day or so, though. Even I am not immune to the vain desire to reach that ideal male aesthetic of large and satisfying anatomy.

“Mmph … maybe just one more for the missus.

“The gym is never closed, and Barton has reported sightings of, if you’ll believe it, sleepwalking subjects that perform exercises in their sleep. This, in turn, wears them down mentally with tiredness and makes it easier for them to fall under the influence of an Alpha or other higher ranked subject in a form of what seems almost to be hypnosis.

“By the next day, they’ve usually jumped a rank.

“As for me, I am striving to match the ideal rank of Jock. It’s not too far along, and my healthier frame is an almost perfect fit, while most of the research team is too out of shape. I’ve even been practicing my dumb laugh. It’s surprisingly simple. Then again, simplicity is kind of the point with minds like this.”

“Yo, Simmons, Malloy wants to see you!”

“… And that would be my cue to go. Wish me luck. I go to meet the council of Alphas. I wonder. Should I start with the double flex or perhaps the crab pose…? Mmph … so much to choose from. I can hardly think which would be best.”

“Come on, coach, let’s go!”

“Hmm … hardly think. Must be … nice….”

“Coach?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Barton. My mind was … elsewhere. Come on. Let’s go. Don't want to keep our patients waiting.”

“Ready for the flex-off?”

“Huhuh. I’m always ready for a flex-off….”

Thrift ’N Shift

Credit to @blondboytoys for this image. Found it in a reblog, but they’re the source.

If you like what you see here, consider joining my patreon for monthly story rewards exclusive to patrons.

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Mark smiled as he walked into the store. With the economy the way it had been, thrift stores like these were a godsend to teens and adults alike. Electronics, clothes, cookware, you name it, they usually had something to offer. What better place to burn a few bucks?

The store was well stocked with many an item on clothes racks or stored on shelves and in cases to view. Mark made straight for the clothing. If he was going to have a laugh, this would be a good place to start. He couldn’t help but smirk as he eyed one of the hangers. Two thin straps draped on either branch, hemmed with blue, yellow, and orange thread. A veritable rainbow spectrum shone across the brand label over the left side of the chest.

A lift of the hanger and one click of his cell phone later, and he’d sent the text.

Who wants to see me in this?

The flood of emotes ranged from crying laughter to shut eyes laughing and more. The messages varied, but their intent was about the same, that single push of, DO IT!

Mark swept a few extra random articles for good measure and made his way toward the dressing room. The stall was spacious and included a tall mirror for the occupants to see how the clothing fit. Mark didn’t hesitate. He quickly stripped out of his shirt and shuffled the tank top over his body. The shirt felt more like a nightgown than a proper garment, but at least it didn’t fall off his shoulders. He chuckled and raised his phone, then snapped a quick selfie.

What do you think, “bros?” :P

DUUUUUUUUUUUUDE!

BRO!

I can’t believe you actually did it!

Mark couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the attention flooding in. The phone continued to ping as he gazed at his reflection and rubbed his chin. If he really wanted to up the hilarity, he knew what he needed to do. He flexed a bicep and held the phone overhead, then snapped.

Do you even lift, bro? #python #big gun #LOL #Muscleheadamok #Bruh

He chuckled as another flood of replies flowed in. As he looked over the picture, he couldn’t help but rub his chin in thought. The way the straps fell over his chest actually didn’t look half bad. A little uneven, though.

He strode out of the room briefly and tapped a patron on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Sorry to be a bother, but could you just take a quick picture for me?”

The man who turned to face him was portly with a white sweater vest draping over his frame. An old fashioned smoke pipe curved from between his lips to rest against his palm as he blinked and focused on the teen. “What was that?” the man asked. The accent that flowed was a strange blend of American and British, almost as if he were trying to force it. He furrowed his brow as his waxed mustache twitched. “Oh, a picture. Of course. Of course. No trouble.” He proffered a hand and easily panned the frame while he clenched the pipe in his teeth.

The camera flashed. Mark blinked. He didn’t remember turning that function on.

“I hope that worked, young man. I never can seem to get these phones to work properly. Confounded things are more trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me. Give me my pipe and a good book any day of the week.” Smoke billowed from between the man’s lips, but he didn’t seem to care or mind the fact he was smoking in the store. Had he ... been doing that before? The accent definitely sounded more authentic this time around. Maybe it was practice? Practice does make perfect.

“Uh, ... thanks,” Mark said as he seized his phone. The man smiled and walked away, leaving what appeared to be a pager on the floor as he disappeared into the crowd. Another blink, and the device suddenly had a price tag on it. Mark crouched, picked it up, and placed it on one of the many shelves nearby. Though he had no idea who would want to even buy something so antiquated. He chuckled as he walked away and peered at the photo. His hair had been carefully styled to emphasize his forehead without making it overly large compared to the rest of his frame. The muscles under the fabric were toned, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He wasn’t a musclehead, but he looked good. “Not bad, ‘bro.’ Huhuh.”

The chuckle felt almost like a cough, and Mark rubbed his throat as his eyes furrowed. He circulated the photo in the thread and smiled as the replies flooded in.

Dude, have you been working out?

You gonna buy it or what?

Lookin’ good, bro. Sun’s out, guns out!

He hardly paid attention as the dressing room door creaked open under his touch, then shut behind him. Instead, his eyes locked on the floor-length mirror again. He frowned as he scrutinized his face, his shoulders, the way the shirt hung over his frame. Something seemed ... off, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Maybe it’s the look?” he questioned, even as his voice cracked and dropped. He cleared his throat and swallowed again. His vocal cords tingled, but at least there wasn’t any annoying tickle. Those things were the worst. He swallowed again and smiled as his Adam’s apple bobbed in time with the motion. He took a certain pride in that size after the teasing he’d received in the earlier days of his youth.

“When are your balls gonna drop, bro?”

Mark smiled and spread his arms wide in the mirror. “Good fruit takes time to ripen, bro.” He shuddered, and his eyes rolled in pleasure as he drew his head back, thrust his chin forward and flexed. This time, he shot the mirror a cocky grin. “Damn, you sound sexy,” he rumbled. His chest rose and fell in time as he flexed and posed. He looked good, but as he eyed the jeans sheathing his legs, he frowned. The clothes pile was there, just waiting, and he knew what he wanted, what he needed to make the look really work.

Shucking the jeans felt so freeing as meaty thighs and thick calves hardened into sculpture. His hand drifted over his briefs. He blinked, and the familiar pressure of cotton hugged his bulge. Before he knew it, the camera flash went off. Meaty thumbs jabbed heavily at the touchscreen on his phone as a flexing bicep swelled into prominence over the whole surface before opening to his main feed. He punched against the keys and smirked cockily as he hit the post button.

This new tank’s growing on me. Think I’ll run it through its paces.

It didn’t take long for notifications to start flooding in. His chest swelled with pride as his torso broadened. He huffed another chuckle. The cool air tingled against the stubble on the sides of his head. The new fade cut helped to emphasize the angularity in his facial features. Wads of button-up shirts and slacks with suspenders went by the wayside as he dug like a dog after its bone until he finally unearthed the clothes he was looking for.

The sleek shiny black material of the shorts was cool and breezy as he pulled the garment up his legs and gazed at the mirror. He looked ready to run, and his heart hammered in anticipation of the act. His breathing came heavier and faster as his skin tingled and stretched taut. Another flex and pop, pop, snap, pop! Veins burst into existence, as if the muscles were forcing them out of some hidden sheath or hole. Blood surged in his ears.

“Bro....” His head felt ... strange, light, fuzzy, stuffed.

Another flash. This time, the photo showed a glazed stare with his mouth slightly agape. Emotes surged with icons of steaks, meat on bones, flexing biceps, starry eyes, hearts, and more. He even heard the familiar ring of a cash register going off. A notification for deposits into an account, donations from adoring fans.

Can’t wait for the vid.

Show us that pump!

Fuck, get to the gym already!

The gym...? Did he ... have an appointment there? His thumb drifted hesitantly over the screen and brushed the dollar icon at the bottom of the app’s menu. His eyes widened at the total. +$2300.20 and still rising, just from today’s pics alone. “The fuck...?” He scrawled through the main post feed. Post after post and selfie after selfie revealed all manner of poses and stances. Some in briefs. Some in jockstraps. Some in tight compression gear to show off the definition in his muscles. Occasionally, a workout video would surface showing him pumping some impossibly large weight to force his body to show off with sleek sweat and clinging gymwear. How ... could this be him? Some of those dates were clearly game nights, times to hang out with his bros and totally invite them to the gym.

...

Wait, ... that wasn’t....

FLASH

Right ... right.... He gazed at a timeline .gif as four tiny bros swelled into big meaty models, grinning with two on either side of his giant frame. From nerds to studs and stats to lats. The tank top clung to his shoulders and pecs now as his brow lowered over the sight and a dull chuckle huffed out his anxiety. Game night meant teaching them how to get game. And who better to teach them than the master himself?

Mark grinned cockily as he snapped another pic. Then a new message pinged on the app.

Stop posing and start running, bro. We’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Get your ass over here already!

Mark chuckled. His little bros were starting to grow some fangs. He strode out from the changing room and sighed. Guess he’d have to look for some shirts to tear off for his fans later. As he left, he bumped into one of the attendants. “Oh, uh, sorry, bro. Didn’t see ya there.” He rubbed his head awkwardly, showing off his lats and biceps. “Uh, ... I gotta go, but I don’t got time to return the rest of the gear in there. You think you can, uh, you know....?” The bristles over his scalp scraped against his hand, leaving a pleasant tingle to course through his body as a result.

“Of course, Sir.” The clerk smiled. “Did you find what you wanted?”

“Not yet, but ... I’ll be back.” He pulled out his wallet from a pocket and shoved a fifty into the worker’s hand. “For the trouble. Thanks, little bro.” And then he was off with his boulder legs stomping the ground as he charged through the store and into the light beyond. The gym was calling, and he couldn’t keep his bros, let alone his fans, waiting.

The attendant crouched and picked up a tee shirt from the floor. The captioning on it read Just an Ordinary Teenager. “Thank you for the business.” He chuckled and shook his head as he picked it up. “Someone in a midlife crisis is going to love you.” He sighed as he looked over a clipboard. “I suppose I should get the bodybuilding inventory out. If that lummox comes back, he’s practically guaranteed to pick that next as a life course. He smirked as he checked a familiar looking app on his phone while his muscles strained ever so slightly against his uniform. “He’ll certainly have enough money for it.” He chuckled as he made his way into the changing room and retrieved the clothing the behemoth had left behind. “I wonder what his friends will choose if he brings them here....”

Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just ... let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys...” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell...?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt ... heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who ... are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down ... and down ... and down....

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me ... incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I ... do....”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever....”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, ... Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and ... at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

...

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

Credit for this image goes to @bluescreenstuff

Warning: This has hypnotic elements and could accidentally trigger a trance-like state. Do not read this while operating heavy machinery or driving.

A Little Packing

“My head has a face. My face is a square. A square is a face. A face on a cube. A cube is a box. A box with a face. A face on my head. A square on a box. A box for a head....”

“Very good. Very good. You have that down. Now, for your next lines. ‘A box that is open.’“

“A box that is open....”

“Open to me.”

“Open ... to you....”

“A box that is empty.”

His eyelids flutter. “A box ... that is empty....”

“Empty for me.”

“Empty ... for you....”

“A box to be packed.”

“A box to be packed....”

“Packed by me.”

“Packed by you....”

“I am the packer.”

“You are the packer....”

“I pack and unpack.”

“You pack and unpack....”

“What I pack up stays.”

“What you pack up stays....”

“What I unpack goes.”

“What you unpack ... goes....”

“Good. Remember those words. I am packing a player with these instructions on repeat for you in the back of your head. The player never runs out of power. It will play on, even if you don’t consciously hear it. Its words will reinforce our roles. Its cadence will set the rhythm of your work. Its beat will flood everything you do, but it will not interfere with your ability to sleep.”

“Yes, ... Packer....”

“I am also packing some weights and a bottle marked pleasure. These two go hand in hand. Weights and pleasure, pleasure and weights.”

“Weights, ... and pleasure,” he sighs.

“And a subwoofer to drop the bass. Deep, loud, and little if any volume control.”

“Yes, ... Packer....”

“If you wish to pack something permanently, you must consult me. If I approve, it will stay. If not, it will go.”

“Yes, Packer.”

“I am the packer.”

“You are the packer.”

“You are the package.”

“I am the package.”

“I am your packer.”

“You are my packer.”

“You are my package.”

“I am your package.”

“What I pack, you hold.”

“What you pack, I hold.”

“In your box.”

“In my box.”

“In your head.”

“In my head.”

“The box is your head.”

“The box is my head.”

“And the box opens for the packer. The box closes for the packer.”

“Open, ... and close ... for Packer....”

“That’s right, Package.”

“I am the package. My head is a box. A box that is packed by my Packer.”

“I am packing a jockstrap now, and removing some of your old textbooks. Instead, I am packing fitness, health, and sports magazines to take their place.”

“Yes, ... Packer.”

“And to protect anything fragile, I am stuffing cotton and packing material to keep everything in place and safe from being jostled. It may take time to find what you’re looking for, and things may feel fuzzy as you sift through the material, but everything will be safe and well-packed. It will not be irretrievable.”

“Yes, Packer. Thank you....”

“You’re welcome, Package. Now, then. I am closing the lid on the box. When I say, ‘Our packing is finished,’ you will wake up. When I say, ‘It’s packing time,’ you will return to this state, the state of a package waiting for its packer to organize its contents. And you will respond by saying, ‘This Package is ready for sorting.’ Do you understand?“

“Yes, Packer.”

“Good. Now listen closely, Package. Our packing is finished.”

Tired and unfocused eyes blink as the subject slowly comes back to full consciousness and pushes himself off the wall that’s been propping him up. “Did it—Uhhhh.... Did it work?”

“It’s a start, Patrick.” I smile at him. “Things won’t be immediate, but you should start feeling some of the things I put in there soon.” I tap his forehead gently to emphasize my point. “Try going to the gym again. Lift some weights, and maybe flick on some sports later tonight. See if there’s a difference. You won’t be a bro overnight, but it’s a definite start.”

An effusive grin, a vigorous shake of my hand. “THANK YOU SO MUCH!”

...

Ah, yes, ... and the cranking volume....

He notices my wince and blushes. “Sorry.”

I wave it off. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” Then I look at my schedule. “Let’s set our next appointment for ... three days from now. I want you to make a conscious effort to match the subconscious. Let me know about your results. Feelings, sensations, any pros or cons of what’s been happening, that sort of thing.”

“You bet!” He grins

“Same time, Patrick?”

He blinks. His eyes lose focus for a few seconds. “Uhhhhhhh....” Finally, he shakes his head and reaches into his pocket. “Let me check my phone.”

I smile. “Sure thing.”

He pushes a few buttons, scrolls around, then finally nods. “Yeah, looks good.”

“That’s good. Go ahead and get that in your phone. I don’t want you to forget your appointment accidentally, okay?”

He nods as his fingers fly across the phone’s surface to input the necessary information. When he finishes, he chuckles and looks back at me with sharper eyes and a brighter smile than when he first walked in. “You know, that was actually kind of fun. A guy could get used to this.”

“I wouldn’t mind it either, Patrick. You’re an excellent subject.”

Patrick jolts in place, and I smile as he shakes it off with a bodily shudder. It seems that particular instruction is also holding strong. Patrick will likely have a newfound interest in hypnosis stuffed neatly and held firm by a nice cotton ball cocoon. And while the subwoofer suggestion hasn’t fully taken hold, it’s good to see him fluctuating between deep, loud, and normal.

“Thanks again for your help. I’ll see you later, then!”

“Oh, Patrick!”

He turns at the door. “Yeah?”

I raise my phone and the card reader that’s attached to it. “Debit or credit?”

“Wow. Did I...?” He smacks his forehead with a palm and laughs a deep hearty laugh from the diaphragm. “Guess it’s starting already.”

My smile widens as I finish scanning the card and send him on his way. He has no idea just how much. I dial the number attached to the appointment for Patrick’s designated ride. It’s a number I know well.

“Francis? Yeah, it’s me. Patrick is all done. You can pick him up now.” I pause, awaiting the inevitable question. “You know I can’t disclose my subjects’ session information. You can ask him about it yourself when you see him.” I smile and shake my head at the response. “Same old Frank,” I return warmly. “Until next time, Player.”

I end the call and settle into my chair with a sigh of relief and satisfaction. I always enjoy referral cases. Especially from past clients. As I lean back, I can’t help but ponder out loud. “I wonder what the next one will want.”

Cliche Gym Chapter 7 (Patreon Preview)

He shrugs. “That may be part of it. I don’t know. And honestly, I’m not paid to know, so I don’t really care. What I care about is growing and helping my trainees to grow.”

“And what would you say your success rate is?”

“I’d say I rank a solid Poppins.”

“… A what?”

He smirks. “Practically perfect in every way.”

You cock your head. “Huh. Didn’t pin you for a Disney guy.”

“Most folks don’t.” He strides toward you and stares down over the shelf of his massive pecs. “So, a few ground rules. You can call me Big Bro, Bro, Sir, or Jeff. Whatever makes you comfortable. When we’re training, I’m going to push you hard. I’m not always so nice as I am in casual conversation. This is a professional relationship, and I expect you to understand that and respect that fact.

“My job is to push you to your limits and help you exceed them. We’re going to be crossing a lot of lines and breaking through a lot of barriers. You’re going to be sore and tired for the first few sessions we have. I’ll be encouraging you to push past that fatigue to increase your endurance and other capabilities. That encouragement can be positive or negative, depending on the situation. I don’t abuse my clients, and the same will hold for you. I mentor them. I train them. I push them. But I will never deliberately hurt them or you. If you turn into a zealot, I will stop you, though. There is such a thing as working out too much. I can help build your body to handle those kinds of loads if that’s the goal, but if you go too far too fast, you’ll do more harm than good. So, I expect you to listen to me and follow my instructions to the letter. Are we clear?”

“As crystal, Sir,” you say with a playful smirk.

Jeff smirks back. “Careful. That just might become a habit.” Then he turns toward the gym proper and a series of mats before a floor-length mirror. A casually waving hand draws you in tow after him. “Come on. We’ll start off with some basic warmups. Stretching, a little cardio. Then we’ll see about setting up a baseline for your plan.”

“My plan?”

“How else am I supposed to train you if I don’t know where to start?”

You look at the mats, where several men and women with varying body types are working either with dumbbells, stress bands, or just testing their flexibility. Some are watched over by muscled figures like Jeff. Others seem to be looking at their neighbors and following together. Some chat playfully or casually. Others remain stony and silent as they focus on their tasks.

“Quite a menagerie here,” you note.

Jeff grins. “Welcome to the zoo, Mister Winters.”

Jeff is definitely not the same kind of man as James or some of his other more muscular employees. His voice and demeanor may be blunt, but his whit is sharp. He might not be a bad connection to form a rapport with here. Time would tell that. For now, however, you decide that at the very least, Jeff is someone that you could grow to like. “Where’s the tiger pen?” you joke back.

Jeff’s grin widens. And then you begin.

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What a Hoot: A Patreon Preview

Please enjoy this excerpt from the full story. This can be found on my patreon in the $3 tier. Credit for this image goes to @alonso4365 as the source.

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“I need to what?” Again, that irritation struck, and Craig rubbed at his throat and swallowed. Things felt … different in there now, thicker. And was his Adam’s apple a little bigger? Was his throat swelling shut? Was he having some sort of medical emergency? Was he—?

“As in Keep It Simple, Stupid,” Lance deadpanned. “You’re getting too much into your own head. He may be acting like a jackass, but you’re acting like a dumbass right now for letting it get to you. We’ll rib you a little longer, then we can chill and enjoy the game. Stop whining and have some fun with it. Make it like that role playing session stuff you used to do back in college. Get outside your own skin for a while and just … have fun.” He reached for the soda bottle and averted his gaze to give Craig the time he needed to compose himself.

A hand grabbed Lance’s wrist just as the soda was about to flow. “I’m supposed to be your server tonight.” Craig avoided his friend’s gaze as he took the bottle gently and raised it to pour. When the fizz lowered to meet the liquid enough for Lance to take a swig, Craig returned the bottle to the counter again. “And Lance, … thanks.”

Lance patted his friend on the back. “Don’t mention it, big guy.” He frowned at the more solid thunk his patting made. “Have you been going to the gym lately?”

Craig chuckled. “Huhuh. Yeah, like I can find the time to go work out.” He smirked. “Besides, all these heavy platters, all these customers, … I work out when I work, bro.” He smiled weakly, then winked.

“Heh. Yeah, … I guess so,” Lance said, then drifted back into the living room again to join the other two.

‘Would be kind of cool, though,’ Craig thought as he pulled down another plate and opened the bag of wings to prep them for heating next. ‘Looking like one of those poster boys….’ He could almost hear those weights clanking and clacking in time to the rhythmic grunts and puffs of men hard at work. Work probably wouldn’t be enough alone to maintain that kind of figure. “Yeah, … maybe a workout wouldn’t hurt….” A big gym across the street from the restaurant, a partnership benefit for working to keep his figure up, grow bigger and stronger, burn all the excess calories….

His torso tingled as the fabric on his crop top grew more taut around his shoulders and pecs, the excess mass receding to reveal the beginnings of abs. His jaw ruffled like a deck of cards as he scratched over the bristles of a five o’clock shadow. Had he … forgotten to shave? He could’ve sworn….

The microwave beeped, jerking him from his thoughts, and he turned swiftly to tend to his duties, placing the plate on the counter to let its contents cool while he looked at the instructions for the wings.

Cliqued into Place: A Patreon Preview

This story is rated mature due to cursing. You can find the full story on my Patreon in the $5 tier. Credit for this image goes to @morphedcocks

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“How…? Why does it taste so good?” Once more, his voice cracked. This time, he didn’t clear his throat.

“Cause protein shakes’re sweet, bro.”

“Best whey to make sweet gains, bro. Huhuhuh.”

CLANK

Huhuhuh. Huhuhuh. Huhuhuh…. That same dull laugh seemed to come from everywhere.

It wasn’t funny. It was so stupid. Literally a Dad joke. And yet…. Why was his mouth twitching? Why did his jaw suddenly feel sore? Why was his chest all tingly?

“Fuck, bro. That was bad. That joke was bad—”

The creature rose from the depths like a great blue whale, its ascent slow and steady at first until it broached the surface. “And you should—” Then, unable to be held back, it bellowed like an effusive belch. “—feel bad.”

Was that … his voice? Or was it just a trick, some reverb or software in the helmet that kicked in after sampling his voice to make it sound lower in his ears? Maurice didn’t have long to think about it.

The one who made the joke smiled along with Maurice. And that smile kept on, even as he delivered his terrible counterblow. “Just for that, you’re doin’ leg lifts before we undo the rest, bro.”

Leg lifts? Really?

“That, or you can stay there and listen. We got time.”

“Listen to what—”

CLANK

“—BRO?” Maurice’s eyes widened, even as he shuddered. That … that had come out of him. But, … he didn’t mean to say it. Bro talk was for brutes like Tim and Bryce, not for—

CLANK

Not for—

CLANK

Not … for….

CLANK

…

Thump

The vibration carried up Maurice’s legs while the two big brutes looked on, their cocky smirks almost as broad as their backs and cannonball delts. Meaty veined arms folded over massive, nigh-identical chests. Their eyes were still a mystery, obscured by the visors of their own headgear, doubtless a mirror to what Maurice had so firmly placed on his own head.

He could almost hear the subtle creaking of a hinge, the tautness of a pulley as the subtle release of pressure from gravity granted a few precious seconds of agonizing buildup before the next

CLANK

Creak

CLANK

A wave of dizziness struck now. His head rolled like a buoy on an ocean swell.

Huhuh. Swell….

His breathing felt … funny, labored. And his shirt felt … tight. And kinda cold?

As the creaking built up again, he looked in an unreal sense of bemused detachment at the two throbbing masses of flesh that stood straight as a board. They looked so ridiculous, so pumped and loaded down with the sheer weight of corded mass rippling while his core burned.

CLANK

Thump

They were out of sight.

Creak

Strain. They were there again as he huffed and puffed, his mouth seemingly refusing to close, almost as if he had forgotten how….

CLANK

Thump

How to….

Creak

Pop! Pop! RIIIiiiiip!

Cold on his thighs. The pants on the funny legs were breaking, drooping to reveal the sculped flesh quivering beneath.

“Atta bro.” The twin voices rang in unison, and Maurice felt his head spin as his eyes rolled in a mix of dazed confusion and sheer, blazing ecstasy.

CLANK

Thump

Pop-Pop!

Ch-Ch-ChhhhrrrrriiIIIIIiip!

Smack-Smack!

Creak.

“UUUuuuuhhhhHhhhhh….” The groan warbled and thrummed with the steady, heavy beating of his heart hammering in his head. This time, the tatters were gone, replaced with a tight white sheath of nylon and spandex that hid nothing of the mesmerizing display of swollen pumped muscle rippling and coming to rest like the crash of waves on a shore. The tattered remnants of his now burst shoes sloughed off, leaving bulging feet and toes behind that strained against the confines of the socks that were barely holding on in the fight to keep the monsters contained. He could almost picture the state of their soles, creaking and straining, made dark by the repetitive impact against the old soles of the shoes that had once contained them.

“Fuck, bro,” Maruice heard one of them exclaim.

“Bro,” the second brute echoed.

Not bro. Something in Maurice shied away from that, cringing and whimpering. He didn’t want bro, but—

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck….” He could live with that. They’d said it so many times already, and he hadn’t been bothered by it. And … the situation did call for it, right? His head was feeling so messed up. And … he was all bound and shit, right? So he could totally curse himself out if he wanted to.

Nobody would judge him for it, right bro-ooohhhh no! He wouldn’t … fall into the brutes’ bro talk that easily. But … damn, that did feel good.

The burning in his core and thighs dulled and pulled away, retreating to concentrate in—

Creak

“Oh, Fuck,” the word drew out in another mighty expulsion. And in response, something began to swell.

CLANK

Thump

Creak

“Fuck.”

CLANK

Thump

Creak

“Fuck.”

New Video! Muscle GROWTH Gut Gains 10lbs in Singlet. 245lbs —-> 255lbs Oct. 2014 Full video available for a donation to fund my GROWTH to 270lbs and beyond. [email protected]

What a meathead.

This is what I’m going to look like in a few years - thanks for the inspiration, GB!

Brute 11/17

IG Matthew_The_Bull

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