hypnoandstuff

[hypnoandstuff]

Workie Cruising

Kenny was feeling horny, really horny. One of those hot days when your cock just gets hard and needs some attention. He could always have a good slow wank and watch his cum spray over the washbasin but better still would be to walk down the road to the local forest which was at times a great cruising ground and see who he might have some sex with. Yeah that was definitely a better idea. With his cock nicely stretched down his inside leg forming a decent bulge, it was on full show for whoever he might meet. As he reached the edge of the wood an old white van was parked in the layby. 

‘So at least someone is there looking ‘Kenny thought.

As he came into a small clearing he saw the driver of the van. It was a workie is full yellow HiViz, T shirt, soiled waistcoat, very dirty trousers tucked into mud covered boots. The guy was tall and built like a brick shithouse, tattoos covering both arms, shaved head with a tight beard and  the beginnings of an obvious beer belly pushing out the T shirt which was lifted at the front to show off a dark thick hairy chest. The guy looked very unclean to Kenny, not his type at all. Even when the workie put his large hand down to stroke his crotch showing off a big bulge, Kenny decided to walk on by and see who else might be better for his wank. The workie gave him a V sign and spat. Kenny thought he could get his rocks off with someone else but it would not be with him.

Moving on he came to another small clearing and remembered this was normally a good place where the guys came to shoot their load so he could wait there away from the workie. As he quietly stood there waiting for a pick up, a large tattooed came round his neck almost choking him.

‘What the f.. ‘Kenny tried to shout

‘What the fuck do you think ignoring me and trying to make me look as if I am a bit of shit. ‘The workie tightened his grip. Kenny knew exactly who it was as he felt the HiViz clothing press against his back

Christ the guy stank of body odour, dirt and stale smoke. Kenny wanted to gag but was unable to move or respond by the neck lock he was in. He felt the guy’s beard rub against the side of his face

‘You don’t pass a fucking workie especially when that workie is feeling horny and needing a blow job. Who the fuck do you think you are? A smarmy college kid sporting a decent hard on down his jeans. Well this guy has a bigger one than you mate. Feel it rubbing against that arse of yours?’

As the workie said it, Kenny felt the stiff prick rubbing against him. Shit he was right it was rock hard and big . With his head still in a stranglehold Kenny felt the workie’s other arm move round to his front and slide down to his crotch.

‘I may be almost choking the life out of you but that cock is telling me you love it. Nice and stiff like a fucking rod. Bet you are loving my cock in the HiViz nylon rubbing against you.’

As the workie said this he lessened the grip around Kenny’s throat, causing him to cough loudly and as he took in deep breaths so he still smelt the guy with his mix of stale cigarette smoke and dirt.

‘ou need to open the throat a bit more so you can take my cock all the way down that throat of yours. ‘

Feeling the guy whisper into his ear with the rough beard rubbing against the side of the face made Kenny feel so horny in spite of the fact he had nothing but distaste for the workie. To Kenny he was a pig but shit why was he feeling so excited.

Now get down of your fucking knees and take a good look at that bulge of mine in the Hi Viz.’

As Kenny knelt his face was looking straight at an enormous prick sticking almost straight out of the yellow nylon.

‘Go on give me a fucking rub as I like me cock being rubbed in my hiViz.’

Kenny could only obey but wanted more than ever to unzip and put his hand inside.

‘Well what are you waiting for. Unzip and see my piece of meat.’

As Kenny looked straight at the guy’s crotch and let his hand pull down the zip with difficulty due to the hard bulge his cock was making  he almost reeled back with the smell of stale piss and dried spunk. He wanted to gag and as he brought his head back the workie took hold and rammed his head against the yellow nylon.

‘Don’t you like the way my cock smells. It’s the way we workies are. No underwear so a nice exposed prick whenever we let the piss run down inside our legs and the drops of cum harden nicely. I ain’t washed for a few days so it’s nice and high for you. Take a few deep breaths and enjoy the smell, real workie stink.’

At first Kenny thought he was going to be sick but the more he inhaled the better the smell it was to the point that he was relishing it and his own cock was made more rigid. The fumes of the stale cock spread down through his body, taking over the clean air. He had to get that monster of a cock out of the HiViz and stuck his hand in and let it grip the shaft. He could hardly get his hand around it and he could feel the throbbing veins. With both hands he pulled it out and released it, the cock springing upwards so he could see the underside and the red glistening head exposed from the foreskin. The tip already had a good drop of precum and all Kenny wanted to do was lick that drop and taste the cum and the dirt of the cock.

‘Not bad eh. Us workies have big pricks and always ready for a blow job or a fuck. Always best done in HiVIz. I can see from your face that you love the smell as well as the size of my dick. It’s gonna be even better when down that throat of yours. Quit any idea of gagging, you just breathe deeply and as my cock ain’t been washed for days you have that stink to help. Now get a grip and start.’

Kenny put his hand around the shaft and leant forwards to lick the precum. As he swallowed so he got as much saliva into his mouth so the shaft could have some spit to ease it down. He let his tongue work the throbbing head and allow himself to savour the smell and size..

‘Shit man that tongue of yours has been round a few dicks in its time. I ain’t got all day , got to get back to work so let me feel the back of your throat.’

 As Kenny let more and more of the cock into his mouth so the workie grabbed hold of his head and started pressuring Kenny to take more and more. Instinctively with the soiled cock and the stench , his mouth opened as he wanted to devour the workie’s prick. His mouth opened as never before and the more pressure on his head by the workie the more the shaft vanished further and further down the back of his throat.. 

I wanna feel my pubes against your lips so keep going boy. Remember my cock is not staying put down your throat I want you to move it in and out and slowly at first so I get the full sensation. You will know when I am ready as I will be forcing your head back and forwards. Keep the spit going.’

‘Shit man you have my cock juice building up.’

 With that the workie took and full grip of Kenny’s head and started moving it back and forth at first slowly and then faster and faster. Kenny wanted every inch down his throat and could feel the guy’s cock now throbbing so hard he was close to coming.

‘I want you to swallow every last drop, Know what it’s like to take a workies spunk. That’s it ,fucking take the whole bloody length. Let it spurt all the way down that throat of yours right to the pit of the stomach.’

With one final push the workie shouted ‘Fuckin hell’  and his spunk roared out in waves of thick creamy cum with Kenny desperately trying to swallow as much as he could. It was too much to take and the cum started to run down his chin and onto his shirt. He wanted every last drop but the workie had too much spunk to swallow.

‘Bloody hell mate you suck like a real pro. The workie pushed Kenny back and thrust his still dripping cock back into his Hi Viz.

‘Any left over can run down my leg ‘he said. ‘Now stand up and let’s see you. Clearly it was too much for you to take though you did well. Its’ all the way down your chin and onto your shirt.’

‘Christ how am I gonna get home?’ Kenny said.

‘No probs mate. Take this HiViz waistcoat of mine and put it on. It will cover the cum marks. I’ve got plenty of HI Viz. Go on put it on and then a bit of me goes with you. Well for someone who turned up his nose at a workie you have managed well and now even are wearing a HiViz. Makes me fucking laugh. My name’s Don and you?’

‘Kenny’

‘Well now bugger off Kenny as I have to get back to doing some work. Drains today.’

As Kenny walked home making sure the HiViz was covering all the cum marks on his shirt all he could think of was the smell. Was it the waistcoat, the cum or just being with the bloke. The first thing he did on getting back was to strip off and get in to the shower to totally clean himself, using the strongest shower gel he had. When he got out the shower he realised that the gel had made little difference He could still smell the workie as if he was as bad. Still some BO,  still dirt still piss and cum. It would not wash away. For some unknown reason rather than put on of  his clothes he put the HiViz waistcoat back on. Putting it one he immediately felt that he needed a ciggie and can of beer. But he didn’t smoke and hardly drank beer but now it was a must. He needed to light up and let the ciggie smoke deep into his lungs. Noticing a small bulge in the pocket of the HiViz he put his hand and took out a packet of cigarettes and box of matches. How could they be there when all he wanted to do was smoke. He then opened the fridge and took out a can of beer that had been lying around for ages. Now he had the ciggie and the beer and it was what he wanted. Sitting on his sofa with his legs apart he looked down at his body. There was a change, but how. His legs seemed more hairy not a lot but definitely more and the hair from his pubes was now up past his belly. Again not a lot but he had never had hair there before. But his belly looked bigger. He had always been so careful with his diet but now the skin looked slightly flabby. Little tufts were sprouting out around d his nipples. Part of Kenny was surprised but for now he wanted only to light up and open that can.

He opened the can first and took and large swig and put it down to light up his first ciggie. But the way he lit up and put the ciggie into his mouth it was as if he had been doing it for years. As the smoke moved down into his lungs he felt the smoke take over his body. Another deep draw and he felt his cock stirring. His cock looked a bit bigger and he watched it grow rigid as he took another smoke.

The cigarette was making him not just hard but horny.

I need to good wank he said to himself. Putting his hand around his shaft he leant back in the sofa with his legs wide apart and the other hand held the ciggie.

Fucking hell a wank with a fag not bad. Don’t know why I haven’t done this before. It feels bloody great wearing the HIViz. With every draw on the fag his hand moved up and down his shaft quicker and quicker. With his final draw and the smoke enveloping his whole body he threw his head back and shouted 

‘Fuck me’ as the cum shot out in a long arc all the way up his chest, great globs of white spunk all the way up to the top of his chest.

Stubbing the ciggie out he took both his hands and rubbed the spunk into his chest.

‘No point in cleaning this up might as well it harden into my skin and make me smell a bit more.’

‘Shit I feel so fucking tired. But I need another fag after that and finish the beer first.’

After that he went to be still wearing the HiViz.

When he work up next morning he could sense the stench of dried cum of stale cigarette smoke and a couple of empty cans of beer. There were two butts in the dish,. Christ I must have woken up and had another he though unable to remember. All I know is that I need another fag now. When he went to get dressed he found that his shirt seemed too tight and he was hardly able to fasten up his chinos. Odd they fitted yesterday but his gut seemed even bigger than last night. The only things he could put on were his jogging suit with the elasticated waist. As he lit up again he looked at his hand and he could see it was now nicotined stained and the back of his hand was definitely hairier but he couldn’t care. However he was feeling horny again and could see his cock growing inside his joggers starting to make a large bulge.

‘Shit I can’t go out like this but I need to get up to the cruising wood again. He put on the HiViz waistcoat to help cover up his bulge as reached the entrance to the wood. The same white van was there, but parked along side it was a smart sports car. As he walked into the cruising ground the owner of the sports car was standing looking at Kenny. He was in his mid 20s tall, gym trained and good looking. He let his hand down to rub his crotch . He was exactly the type that Kenny went for but that was yesterday. Today he wanted to be dirty to be with a workie who stank, who smoked and who had a thick cock. Passing by the guy he just stared and walked on to the clearing he had been at yesterday. Standing against the tree was Don in the same HiViz but another waistcoat smoking a fag.

‘Thought you might be back. Don’t suppose I’m gonna get my waistcoat back. You might as well keep it ,looks as if it suits you. Wanna a smoke?’

‘Sure ‘Kenny replied going up to the workie. Don handed over the lit ciggie.

‘You had my cock in yer mouth yesterday now you have me ciggie. Looks as if you like a bit of me.’ 

As he said this he put an arm round Kenny and pulled him in letting ghis hand firmly stroke Kenny’s bum and bring their faces close to.

‘You smell as good as me. Stale smoke and beer. Do I smell dried cum on you?’

And with that he put his other arm up Kenny’s jogging top and let his hand explore the dried cum chest.

‘Fuck that was a good wank you had, plenty of cum there what a waste but it sure gives you a smell. Looks as if you want some of me and feeling that nice round arse of yours makes me in need of a fuck.’

 Kenny could feel the workies rock hard cock pressing against how own

‘ I ain’t got much time but I’m not leaving till you have had some spunk up that arse of you.’

With that the workie held back Kenny waistband and let his hand travel down until his fingers were searching for Kenny’s hole.

‘Just want to check that hole of yours will take my cock.’ As he said this he started inserting finger after finger into the opening until he had 4 fingers fully in. ‘Shit man I could almost fist you but at least you have plenty of room for me inside you. Now turn round.’

 As he pulled down the back of the joggers so the workie unzipped himself and took out his hard cock.

‘I ain’t washed since yesterday so me dick stinks of my cum and your spit. Great ain’t it? Now bend over a bit while I get some spit on me dick.’

Don let out a loud cough as he brought up a great gob of spit and then spat it over the long length of his shaft, rubbing in the thick spit.

‘A great gob there that’ll make it nice and easy to slip this cock of mine all the way up you.’

One of the workies arms grabbed the top of Kenny’s HI Viz and with the other he guided it to the hole and let the head rim in readiness to insert. As Kenny’s hole opened to take the cock he felt his muscles contract and let out a squeal of pain.

‘Relax mate and let those arse muscles of yours take me. Tell you what light up a ciggie from your HiViz. As Kenny lit up and took a deep breath of smoke into his lungs so his muscles relaxed and the workie started to press his cock further and further in.

‘What did I tell you. A ciggie always helps.’

Don brought both large hairy arms around Kenny and pulled himself in right up to the hilt as Kenny puffed more and more.

‘Don’t finish the fucking ciggie yet mate. Wait till I’ve had you.’

Kenny could feel his cock throbbing inside his trackies already showing a stain of precum. It was like having a bloody pole up his arse but what a fucking pole. He’d never had a cock that size before and decided he’d never have anything less again.

‘You are not the only one liking this mate. Look over there. We are being watched by that young toady. Got his cock out watching us. Still it’s you I am fucking and he can just wasted his spunk while lucky you get to have mine all the way up you.’

Having his prick up Kenny and watching the guy jack off made the workie even more horny. For Kenny seeing the bloke get ready to shoot his load and have this amazing piece of meat inside him was making him so geared up he was ready to come.

‘If that guy is anything like me we will all be coming at once. Now go on push in and out and let me feel right up inside you to me pubes. 

‘Go on fuck me harder and harder, ‘Kenny shouted knowing the young guy could hear him

‘Get all that fucking spunk into me. What a fucking huge cock you got. Fuck me rigid.’

Hearing this was too much for the workie who shot his load all the way into Kenny’s arse. At the same time Kenny’s cock exploded into his trackies the cum oozing out through the material. Both looked up in time to see the young guy, having heard the two of them spurt a great arc of cum through the air onto the ground in front of him.

‘Shit that was bloody great ‘the workie said ‘almost like a fucking threesome, but I wouldn’t touch that geezer with a bargepole. You Kenny are much more like me.’

‘And I feel more like you ‘Kenny replied. ‘How the hell do I get home this time. Yesterday my shirt was covered in your cum and today I have my own spunk all the way through my joggers.’

‘Well I fucking saved you yesterday and today I can do the same. Just as well I always carry spare gear. Come to the van and I have something for you.’

Kenny followed the workie back to his van . Don opened the passenger door and took out a pair of HiVz yellow heavy duty nylon trousers. Put those over your tackies for now. They may seem a bit big for now but don’t worry about that. While you are here take this.’ He picked up and plastic bag and handed it to Kenny.

‘At least you now have a bit more of the gear. No point in just having the waistcoat.’

‘How do I get all this back to you.’ Kenny asked

‘No probs mate see it as a gift. Anyway it looks good on you and you now look more like a decent dirty guy.’ 

‘Being dirty aint so bad.’

‘Thought youdd say that. Now off you go and enjoy the kit. I’ll see you soon enough.’

As Kenny walked home he could feel the heavy nylon rubbing against his trackies which was rubbing against his cum soaked body. He was now wearing the waistcoat and the trousers both stained with oil and mud. Anyone having a quick look at him would think he could be a workie. He looked inside the bag and saw a pair of well worn steel capped leather boots and inside them a pair of what looked like dirty yellow thick socks.

Christ what am I mean to do with them he thought and at the bottom of the bag were a pack of six beer cans and two packets of cigarettes. He still had a couple of ciggies in the other packet.

Lighting one up he walked back home inhaling deeply almost swaggering in. his HiViz gear feeling like a workie that had just been fucked and as he walked he could feel Don’s spunk beginning to ooze out into his trackies and from there into the HiViz trousers he was now wearing. When he got home he took the HIViz and trackies off then put just the Hiviz on. He could feel the left over cum sticking to the nylon but it felt good as he sat all evening in the gear with a ciggie in one hand and a beer in the other

In the morning when he woke up and reached out for the packet of fags he realised that he had gone to bed in the HiViz. Going for a pee as he unzipped to get his cock out the smell of piss and cum was strong but good. It was good to stink that like and why the hell wash when you could smell like that. He opened up the bag that the workie had given him and pulled out the socks. The reason they were yellow was because they had not been washed for ages and he could smell the sweaty feet that had worn them. He put them up to his nose and rubbed the socks over his face. The stench of cheese and dirt made his cock swell up in the HIViz.

‘Shit I’ll be having another wank if I keep smelling these. He put his feet into the socks with his big toe sticking through the holes. Then the heavy well used boots tucking the trousers into the tops. Kenny looked at himself in the mirror. At least facially he looked the same though his facial hair seemed stronger and he should have a shave but decided he liked it that way. However his arms looked bigger and more muscle and he chest was even hairier than the day before. His flabby waist line looked as if he had been on the beer for months and was almost hanging over the waistband but the HIViz was now a perfect fit. He wanted to go out but needed something to cover his chest so looking into the laundry basket he found a soiled T shirt that he had last played football in. However it was skin tight on him now and every time he moved it rode up at the front to show of a hairy belly. 

‘I look fucking great’ he thought to himself, giving his crotch an good rub. ‘Time to go and do some cruising.’ 

As he reached the layby Kenny saw two white vans parked next to one another. He recognised the one belonging to Don but not the other. At first he saw no one around looking for a quick wank and as he reached the clearing he saw Don standing talking to another workie both smoking. Not sure what to do he was about to turn back when Don noticed him and waved him to come over.

‘So Boss this is the guy I told you about, Kenny.’

‘Don has been telling me all about you what a stuck up sod you were the day he saw you , not wanting to give him ablow job because he is workie and like us all had a good dirty stench about him. Well it looks as if he has been working a bit of a change on you. I like what I see Don, well done but we have a bit of finishing off to do eh? So Kenny I have something here I am gonna put on you and you will like it especially when you get all the sensations coming your way.

The Boss took a black leather hood out of his HiViz jacket.

‘Now get this on.’

At first Kenny looked a bit nervous but he had always been turned on by videos of guys in leather hoods. You had to guess what they looked like and always looked like masters

He pulled it on over his head and realised there were no eyelets, just a small space for his nose and a slit for his mouth. It was all black and the smell of sweaty leather made his cock start to lengthen. The Boss pulled the zip down making it tight against his head.

The is the first zip we need to deal with . Feels good doesn’t it? Are you beginning to feel a bit different with it on and that smell of leather to inhale?’

‘Feels great. Don’t know what it is but definitely feeling a change. Tell you what Boss I could do with a ciggie.’

‘All in good time mate, Now let’s get the next zip open.’ 

And with that the Boss found the zip at the back of the HiViz trousers and pulled it down to reveal Kenny’s arse.

‘Nice bit of hair been developing over that arse of yours  Us workies love hairy arses don’t we Don. So when you bend down we can all see a good hairy slit. I can feel my cock getting nice and hard for you Kenny. Don says you are one of the best fucks he has had and if you can take a prick his size then you will manage mine.’

The Boss gave Kenny’s arse a good rub and let his fingers work through the hair to the hole. 

‘I can see you are nice and moist man. You knew what would be coming your way today. So Don you can do the third zip.’

‘Tell you what Boss ‘Don said ‘the guys gagging for it ,that cock of his is like a fucking pole, it will need a strong hand to get that cock.’

Don put his hand inside and grabbed the shaft and as it came through the nylon it sprang up.

‘Not just the hair on the arse Boss the guy’s cock has now gotten to a good thick size as well. He’s not washed that dick of his since we first met so it has a great stink of piss and cum. Just as I like cocks.’

‘You have done well with this one Don. Give the guy his ciggie now and light it up for him.’

Don lit up and put the ciggie through the leather slit into Kenny’s mouth. Now that is better.’

‘Christ am I ready to fuck this guy. The hood is turning me on and seeing that fag in his mouth is a turn on. I have a right boner needing to shoot.’

The Boss put his arms around Kenny and pressed his hard dick against Kenny’s arse. Suddenly Kenny knew what to expect and moved his arse out to meet the Boss’s wet head.

‘That’s it boy, hood or no hood your arse is waiting for me.. Now bend down a little so I can open up that hole and let myself in. Once I have my head in then stand up cause Don’s wanting to get that cock of yours down his throat..’

Kenny briefly took the ciggies out of his mouth. 

‘Shit I wish I could see that cock of yours boss but it sure feels an equal to Don’s and after yesterday my hole is ready to take a baseball bat so ram that son of a bitch all the way up to the hilt. Being fucked in full HiViz feeling all that yellow nylon and you ramming me from behind and Don taking my cock at the front is so fucking amazing.Shit man full Hiviz a tight leather hood and me stinking. Fucking great.’

‘Don’t worry you are getting the full length.’

As the Boss pushed his shaft fully in so Don leant forwards on his knees and gave a big gob of spit onto Kennys shaft. 

‘Getting it a bit greasy makes me swallow better for you. Can’t wait to get the stench down into my throat. Grabbing Kenny’s long thick pulsing dick Dom let his tongue rim the head, savouring the precum oozing out from the tip.

The Boss’s cock was now fully inside Kenny’s arse and Kenny needed to react and starting moving back and forwards to get the full sensation. As he moved his arse so it meant his cock went in and out of Don’s mouth the whole way down so Don could feel the pubes brushing against his face.

‘Fucking hell’ Kenny said,  ‘A workie back and front and a good fag in my mouth. It gets no better. No one does it better than a workie.’

 He knew he was near to coming so he pushed harder and harder quicker and quicker all the time inhaling as much smoke as he could. He wanted to have the Boss release his cum as he shot his loas down Don’s throat. By now Don had his own cock out and with one hand was rubbing quicker and quicker up  and down his shaft.

‘Christ you guys I ready.’

‘So are we.’ Both said.

‘Fuck’ Kenny shouted through gritted teeth the fag still in his mouth and the Boss shot wave after wave of cum all the way up Kenny’s arse. Kenny shot his load into Dom’s throat as Dom’s spunk spurted over Kenny’s boots, thick and white

As all three got their breath back so the Boss said.

‘Well Kenny it’s time to take that tight leather hood off you. Unzipping Kenny took the hood off and shook his head. His face felt different. Taking his hands to his face he realised that the sides of his head were fully shaved with a number 1 cut on the top. Also he had a thick 3 days growth of a beard

Shit man what’s happened?’ But now his voice sounded like a deep smokie northern.

 ‘What the fuck do you think. You were only too happy to take some of Don’s clothes, you got off with having the best sex with a workie and so now you are one and look like one. A fucking horny one too. A nice belly hanging over top of your trousers and if you look at your arms you will see they are like all of us, covered in some great tats. You are one of the lads now, a stinking workie. So what do you want now?’

‘A fucking ciggie of course.’ 

‘Reckon we all deserve one and back at the van a good can of beer before we head off to work down the drains.’

‘Coming Kenny?’

‘Sure thing Boss , can’t wait to get down those stinking drains but as long as we three have another session at the end of the day.’

‘That’s a promise Workie Kenny.’

[hypnoandstuff]

Is it a bird…is it a plane….NO, IT'S MARLBORO MAN          

In the heart of Metropolis, the citizens go about their daily lives, unaware of the sinister forces at work beneath the surface. The air is thick with anticipation as they gather in the streets, eyes fixed on the sky. They wait for him, their hero, their savior. But little do they know that he has been taken, that he is no longer the hero they once knew. He is now the tool of a dark and twisted corporation, a pawn in a game far greater than anything he could have imagined.

The day begins like any other, the sun casting its golden rays across the city. Superman, once known as Clark Kent, is going about his morning jog when he suddenly feels a sharp pain in his back. He stumbles forward, falling to the ground, as a team of armed agents closes in. They are agents of Marlboro, and they have been waiting for this moment. They drag him away, taking him to their secret lair far beneath the city.

A team of scientists surround him, in a dimly lit laboratory. The scientist had been studying him for weeks, and now they are ready to begin their experiment. Using drugs laced with nicotine, and an IV drip in his arm administrating pure nicotine, they forced Superman to smoke cigarettes after cigarettes. As the nicotine courses through his veins, they begin to brainwash him. They erase his memories, and alter his personality, twisting his sense of right and wrong.

The process is excruciatingly painful, but Superman can feel himself losing control. He thrashes and screams as the scientists push him to his limits. His once-bright eyes dull, his muscles weaken, and his mind becomes foggy. As the final haze of the brainwashing fades, he opens his eyes, looking around in confusion.

"your our hero," a sinister voice chuckles. It's one of the scientists, his face obscured by a long, black cigarette. "You're finally awake." The cigarette hovers menacingly in front of Superman's face. "Now it's time to start your new life."

Superman looks around, confused and dazed. His eyes widen in horror as he sees the Marlboro logo emblazoned on the wall behind the scientists. "No," he whispers. "I'm not... I can't..."

The scientist takes another long drag on his cigarette before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke directly into Superman's face. "You are now," he says, his voice cold and cruel. "You are the champion of Marlboro."

Superman's eyes widen in disbelief. He tries to struggle free from his restraints, but they hold him fast. "No," he gasps. "I can't be. I'm... I'm not that man."

"Oh, but you are," the scientist says, stepping forward. He takes another long drag on his cigarette before continuing. "You see, we've given you a new purpose. You are now the champion of Marlboro. And with your newfound powers, you will convince the world that smoking is not only acceptable but desirable." Superman feels the weight of the words, the truth in them. He looks around, struggling against the restraints once more.

The scientist unstrapped Superman, he stretched his arms. he demanded they give him a cigarette. They hand him one, and he takes it with shaking hands. The nicotine is coursing through him once more, and he feels a surge of energy. He stands up, his eyes glowing red as a lit cigarette burning with a newfound determination.

"What's your name, my friend?" the scientist asks, stepping back to observe. to see if their diabolical plan had worked.

"I... I'm not sure. My name..." Superman trails off, frowning in confusion. "It's... it's Clark. Clark Kent." He takes another drag on the cigarette, feeling the nicotine coursing through his veins. "No, that's not right. That's not who I am anymore."

I am Marlboro Man he states, his voice steady and sure. It's not a lie, not anymore. He takes another drag on the cigarette, feeling the nicotine course through his veins, fuelling him. He flexes his muscles, feeling the strength return, feeling himself become more and more the man they've created him to be.

The scientist points to a new costume. hanging on the wall is a rubber costume, in black, red and white, with the Marlboro logo on it. "Your new suit," he explains. "It's made from the finest rubber, and it'll allow you to move freely while still maintaining your new identity."

The scientist motions for Superman to change into the suit. As he does so, he feels the rubber hugging his body, conforming to his every curve. He steps in front of a mirror and sees his reflection, a sneer appearing on his face and a cigarette dangling from his lips, nodding his approval. a new sense of purpose behind it. A new identity.

When he's finally changed, the scientist steps back and surveys his handiwork. "Excellent," he says, nodding approvingly. "Now, it's time for you to go out into the world and spread our message. To show everyone that Marlboro is the ultimate symbol of strength and power."

Superman, or rather, Marlboro Man, takes a deep breath, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. The taste of tobacco fills his mouth, and with it, a newfound sense of purpose. "I will," he says, his voice steady and sure. "I'll make the world understand." And if not. I Will force smoking on them

The scientist beams with satisfaction. "Excellent. Then it's time for your first mission. We have received reports of a group of anti-smoking activists planning to disrupt a major Marlboro event. You must stop them at all costs."

Marlboro Man nods, taking another drag on his cigarette, with a sinister smile on his face. "I understand. Where do I need to go?, they will soon understand the pleasures of smoking, like I Do"

The scientist hands him a map, marking the location of the event and the supposed hideout of the anti-smoking activists. "Follow this map to the event. Once you've dealt with the protesters, return to base and we'll discuss your next mission."

Marlboro Man nods, studying the map intently. He takes another drag on his cigarette and exhales a long stream of smoke. "Understood. I'll handle it." With newfound confidence and a renewed sense of purpose, he heads out the door, ready to bring justice to the tobacco world and protect the good name of Marlboro.

The event is in full swing by the time he arrives, with hundreds of people milling about, enjoying the music and the camaraderie. He spots the group of anti-smoking activists at the back of the crowd, their signs and banners clearly visible. Marlboro Man steps forward, his presence commanding attention.

The anti-smoking activists look up at him in surprise, momentarily taken aback by his confident demeanor. One of them steps forward, brandishing a bullhorn. "What do you think you're doing?" he shouts. "We have a right to be here!" I have come to enlighten you to the joys of smoking he replied, the smoke curling around his face.

The protesters exchange nervous glances, unsure of how to respond. Marlboro Man takes advantage of their hesitation, slowly advancing on them. He reaches out, snatching the bullhorn from the activist's hand. "You don't understand," he booms through it, "Smoking is not a choice, it's a calling. It's a way of life. It's what separates the weak from the strong, the sheep from the wolves." he pulls out the gun that the scientist had given him, it contained an extremely high dosage of nicotine. He aims it at one of the activists and pulls the trigger. The activist collapses to the ground, convulsing as the nicotine coursed through his system. The other protesters, shocked and frightened, scatter in all directions.

Marlboro Man calmly holsters his gun and turns to the crowd. "Let this be a warning to all those who would stand against Marlboro Man," he says, his voice steady and commanding, with a hint of malice. "We will not be silenced, we will not be stopped. We will fight for our right to smoke, and we will win."

Meanwhile the man who had been engulfed by the smoke stood up, he now wore a rubber suit with the logo of Marlboro on it. his eyes had a red glow to them, like you would see on a cigarette, his movements jerky. He took a deep inhale of his cigarette and smiled, revealing his lips coated in nicotine stains. "I'm with you, Marlboro Man," he said, his voice cracking. "Let's show them who's boss."

The crowd cheered, their enthusiasm growing. Marlboro Man smiled grimly, his gaze scanning the area for any remaining signs of resistance. He spotted one of the protesters trying to escape, sneaking away from the scene. "Not so fast," he muttered, quickly giving chase. The protester panicked, ducking behind a nearby car, but Marlboro Man was too quick. He cornered the fleeing activist, pressing the gun against their temple. "You're coming with me," he growled, his voice cold and menacing.

As he dragged the protester back to the centre of the gathering, the other activists looked on in horror, realizing their efforts had been futile. Marlboro Man held up the protester as a warning, his grip tightening on the gun. "This is what happens to those who stand against Marlboro Man," he hissed. "You will be converted, and you will be made an example of."

The crowd murmured in agreement, some nodding their heads in approval, while others looked away uncomfortably. Marlboro Man smiled grimly, his gaze flickering between the captive protester and the people around him. He took a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke curling upward like a snake before dissipating into the air.

"You've seen the consequences of defying me. But I'm willing to give you a choice: you can either join me, and embrace the power and freedom of smoking, or you can suffer the same fate as this poor soul." He paused for dramatic effect, letting his words sink in. I prefer that later he said with a predatory grin.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, some looking fearfully at the captured protester and others casting nervous glances at Marlboro Man. He took another drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing red like a warning sign. As he said this, he plunged the needle right into the neck of the protester. The protester's eyes widened in horror as the liquid nicotine coursed through his  veins. He gasped for breath, his body convulsing violently, before finally going limp.

Marlboro Man tossed the lifeless body aside like a ragdoll, his face expressionless. "That's what happens," he said sneering. After a number of minutes the protest rose to his feet, his demeanor had changed he had a sinister look on his face, his eyes now had the same red glow as Marlboro man and the other protestor. He spoke with a husky voice. "I need a cigarette now” he demanded.

The crowd parted, revealing a path for him to approach Marlboro Man, who stood proudly, his cigarette still glowing between his fingers. As the newly reborn smoker reached out to take the offered pack, Marlboro Man smiled grimly. "Welcome to the club," he muttered, handing over the cigarettes. The man took one, his addiction building by the second, his shaking hands barely able to steady the filter between his fingers. He brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs.

A moment of bliss washed over him, and he exhaled, feeling a sense of release he had never experienced before. The taste of tobacco was like nectar to him now, and he couldn't help but crave more. As he took another drag, the other former protester in the crowd began to nod in understanding. “Welcome to the club”, he states proudly, inhaling off his cigarette He, too, felt the pull of the smoke, the desire to join him in this newfound freedom.

Marlboro Man watched them with a satisfied grin, his gaze almost predatory. "See," he said, his voice thick with pleasure. "It's not so bad, is it?" He gestured to the crowd, his cigarette still dangling from his lips. "They thought they were fighting for some greater good. But really, they were just denying themselves the simple pleasures

Marlboro Man and the new converts rounded up many anti-smoker protesters and administered the Nicotine drugs and each of them underwent the same change as the first two protesters. Each one being reborn into Marlboro men, each changing into suits with the Marlboro logo on them, showing their allegiance To Marlboro, if you look closely it states that were now Marlboro Men

Marlboro Man instructed them, to go and transform non-smokers into smokers, if they come willingly, all be it, but I prefer the forced method better, as they become devoted to Marlboro, an evil sneer forming on his face.

Check out my WordPress blog - https://malskin.wordpress.com

[hypnoandstuff]

Red Wave Solutions: Spread The Word II

To read part one, click here.

The door clicked shut behind Jackson and his escort, leaving Mason alone with the two guards restraining him and the older man who now regarded him with a devilish smirk. The mysterious man clasped his hands behind his back, his demeanor calm and assured, as if he were savoring the moment.

“You know, Mr. Samsen,” the man began, his voice smooth like honey laced with poison, “you’re quite the lucky fellow. Few people ever get the privilege of witnessing the birth of such a marvelous creation.” He gestured toward the door, as though Jackson’s presence still lingered there. “By the time the sun rises tomorrow, that pitiful, flamboyant Cooper you knew will be nothing more than a distant memory. Forgotten and completely erased from existence.”

Mason seethed, but he stayed silent, his jaw clenched as the man’s words slithered into his ears.

The older man continued, his tone shifting to one of admiration, as if recounting a triumph. “In his place, Jackson will reign supreme – an ideal fraternity president, someone charismatic and commanding. He’ll inspire his brothers to follow him, molding them into men of virtue, strength, and conviction. By the end of the week, they’ll be chanting the creed of discipline and order under his lead while eagerly embracing the fraternity’s increasingly Conservative values. And his evenings?” He chuckled darkly. “Spent passionately embracing his girlfriend, who he’s already dreaming of marrying and impregnating. Such a fine trajectory, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mason strained against the guards’ iron grips, his frail muscles taut with anger, but the older man merely raised a hand to signal calm. “Remove your hands from his mouth,” he ordered the guards, his voice a command, not a suggestion.

The guards obeyed, and Mason wasted no time. “You sick bastard!” he screamed, his voice reverberating through the sterile room. “Someone help me! These psychos are–”

Before he could finish, one of the guards yanked his hair sharply, forcing his head back and silencing him with a firm pull. Mason winced in pain, gritting his teeth as he shot daggers at the older man.

The man tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. “Now, now. Let’s not make this unpleasant, Mr. Samsen. You’re a journalist, aren’t you? Surely you understand the value of conducting oneself with professionalism. Scream again, and I won’t hesitate to silence you in a far more... permanent manner.”

With the apparent threat of death now suddenly on the table, Mason took a moment to gather himself, forcing his breathing to steady even as adrenaline coursed through him. The guard released his grip, and Mason bit back his urge to retaliate, knowing that it would do him no good.

With barely concealed contempt, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Who the hell are you? And how is any of this possible?!” His eyes burned with fury. “Let me make one thing crystal clear – you can bet your ass that I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’re doing here. You won’t get away with this!”

The older man chuckled, a low, patronizing sound that made Mason’s blood boil. He clasped his hands behind his back again, his posture unshaken. “Ah, such spirit. It’s almost endearing, really.” He leaned in slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Mason’s. “But I think you’ll find, Mr. Samsen, that the more you learn about us, the more you’ll realize… we’ve already gotten away with it.”

He straightened and began pacing slowly, his tone turning colder, sharper. “As for who I am, you may call me Mr. Corbin. I’m the architect of conformity – the shepherd guiding lost, pathetic little sheep like Jackson into their rightful places in society.”

He stopped and faced Mason, his smirk widening. “And how is this possible, you ask? That’s the wrong question. The question you should be asking is why we do it. And the answer is simple: Order. Stability. Strength. Qualities your kind – weak-willed, rebellious, aimless – lacks entirely. We’re here to fix that.”

Mason’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he searched for some way to counter the man’s rhetoric. “You think people will stand for this? You’re brainwashing them, turning them into…”

“Into better versions of themselves,” Corbin interrupted sharply. “Versions who can thrive in the world as it already is, not as your naive ideals imagine it should be.”

He motioned toward the guards. “Take him. It’s time for Mr. Samsen to begin his own journey toward understanding.”

The sharp, sterile room seemed to grow colder as Mr. Corbin’s voice filled the air, his words dripping with a chilling confidence.

“You see, Mr. Samsen,” Corbin began, pacing leisurely, “the intricacies of our process, the chemistry, the programming – all of it is irrelevant when compared to the bigger picture.” He stopped to face Mason directly, his smirk widening. “Our goal isn’t just to win elections. It’s to ensure that Conservative values never die, to create more virile men eager to impregnate women and indoctrinate the next generation of humanity. Permanence, Mr. Samsen. That’s the name of the game.”

Mason’s breath quickened, the weight of Corbin’s words settling over him like a suffocating blanket. He strained against the guards holding him, but their grip was immovable.

Corbin continued, his voice calm yet menacing. “The spiel we give our clients – temporary transformation, lasting only until the administration concludes – is a necessary fiction. A comforting lie. The truth, however…” He chuckled darkly. “The truth is that Conservatism will never end no matter who is in charge. As a result, neither will these transformations. Once someone joins us, they’re ours. Forever.”

Mason’s body surged with adrenaline. He twisted and jerked, attempting to break free from his captors, but the guards tightened their hold, rendering him powerless.

Corbin tilted his head, watching Mason’s futile struggle with mild amusement. “Ah, there it is. That spark of defiance. Admirable, if misguided.” He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor. “You see, Mr. Samsen, you’ve played right into my hands. Your so-called journalistic curiosity, your relentless need to fight for what you think is ‘justice’ – all of it made you the perfect target. We knew you’d come snooping.”

Mason froze, his eyes narrowing. “You planned this?”

Corbin’s grin widened. “Of course. The flier placements across campus? Completely intentional. That background check? A pure fabrication meant only to encourage you to snoop. We knew exactly who you were and how to lure you in. You pride yourself on exposing the truth, don’t you? Well, congratulations, you’ve uncovered something extraordinary!”

Mason spat through gritted teeth, “I’ll never help you. No matter what you do, I’ll never spread your message. Never.”

Corbin laughed, a sound so rich with mockery it made Mason’s skin crawl. “Help us? Oh, Mr. Samsen, you misunderstand. You won’t have a choice. You’re going to become a face of our movement. A voice that guides the disillusioned masses to embracing the truth – our truth.”

Reaching into his suit pocket, Corbin pulled out a small vial of vivid red liquid. The substance seemed to shimmer ominously in the harsh fluorescent light. “This,” he said, holding it up between his fingers, “was made just for you. A special concoction tailored to transform you into one of the most trusted news anchors in the country. A paragon of rationality, dependability, and Conservative values. Believe me when I tell you, your viewers will gladly hang onto your every word and follow anything you tell them.”

Mason’s stomach churned, and his attempts to thrash free became more desperate. “You’re insane!” he barked.

Corbin ignored the insult, instead turning and gesturing to the guards. “Open his mouth.”

The guards obeyed without hesitation, prying Mason’s jaw open with brutal efficiency despite his muffled protests and frantic attempts to resist.

Corbin took a step closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “Don’t worry, Mr. Samsen. I’m granting your greatest wish – you’re becoming the loudest voice of truth.” He tilted the vial over Mason’s mouth, the red liquid pooling on his tongue.

Mason fought with everything he had, trying to spit the liquid out, but Corbin was ready. He clamped Mason’s mouth shut and pinched his nose, cutting off his air supply. Mason’s lungs screamed for oxygen as his vision blurred. For a moment, he weighed his options – wondering if death would be a better option than the alternative. Before he could make a decision though, desperation overtook him, and despite his resolve, his throat contracted. The liquid burned as it slid down, where the instant it hit his stomach, a strange heat began to spread through his body.

Corbin released Mason, stepping back to admire his work. “And now,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction, “the transformation begins...”

Mason collapsed to his knees, coughing and gasping for air as his body began to tingle and shift. Panic surged through him, but deep down, he knew: there was no escaping what was coming next.

Mason gasped for air as the tingling sensation coursing through his body began to intensify, a strange warmth blooming from his core and spreading outward. Mr. Corbin stood a few feet away, watching with an infuriating air of calm amusement. “Ah, the calm before the storm,” Corbin said with a smirk. “This process is not only fascinating to behold but incredibly amusing as we watch our customers reckon with the path that led them here. But don’t worry, Mason. We’ll give you a little privacy to fully experience it and embrace what’s to come…”

Turning to the guards, Corbin gestured toward the door. “Come along, gentlemen. Let’s leave him to it.” He paused at the threshold, his piercing gaze locking onto Mason’s trembling frame. “I’m looking forward to seeing just how incredible and manly you turn out. I have no doubt you’ll do us proud.”

With that, the guards followed Corbin out of the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Their absence left an oppressive silence in the room, broken only by the sound of Mason’s ragged breathing.

Mason staggered to his feet, his limbs feeling oddly stiff and heavy. He began pacing frantically, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor. Despite what he had already seen and experienced thus far, he refused to believe it now that he was on the precipice of the same type of transformation. “This has to be a joke,” he muttered to himself, his voice shaking. “A prank. Some kind of sick, twisted dream. That’s all this is.”

In a desperate bid to wake himself up, Mason pinched his arm until the skin turned red, then slapped his own face hard enough to leave a stinging mark. But nothing changed. The room remained solidly real, the warmth inside him growing more insistent by the second.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, backing into a corner and sliding down against the wall. “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real!”

But the evidence against him mounted as the heat inside his body shifted, pooling in his stomach. The ache began as a dull throb, but it quickly escalated to a violent twisting pain that made Mason double over. His hands instinctively clutched at his abdomen as if he could somehow stop the process.

The memory of Cooper’s transformation flashed through his mind, sending a wave of cold fear crashing over him. “Oh God,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “It’s really happening…”

Despite his mounting dread, Mason’s gaze was drawn toward the mirrored paneling on one side of the room. He hadn’t wanted to look, but some morbid curiosity overpowered him, compelling him to face the horrifying reality of his situation.

At first, there was nothing visibly different. He still looked like himself, albeit pale and drenched in sweat. But then, his legs buckled slightly, and he felt a strange pressure in his bones – a stretching sensation.

Mason’s eyes widened as his reflection began to shift. He watched in horror as his frame elongated inch by inch. His shoes grew tighter before the laces snapped, and the cuffs of his pants rose higher and higher, exposing his ankles and eventually leaving them as comically short as capris. His torso followed suit, broadening slightly as his spine straightened.

The dizzying growth finally stopped, and Mason stumbled backward, bracing himself against the wall. He stared at the mirror, his chest heaving. The man looking back at him was taller, much taller in fact. Where he had once been a respectable 5’10”, he now loomed at an imposing 6’4”.

The change wasn’t as drastic as Cooper’s transformation, but it was enough to leave Mason feeling completely unmoored. His center of gravity had shifted, making him feel awkward and clumsy in his own body even when just standing still. His reflection felt like he was looking into a funhouse mirror, like he was staring at a distorted, elongated image of himself.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed his hands against the mirrored surface.

But even as he tried to ground himself, the warmth inside him surged again, a sign that this was only the beginning of his changes.

Mason staggered around the room, trying to adjust to his new height. Every step felt alien, his longer legs making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. His side bumped against the mirrored wall countless times, his face wincing at the sudden impact. Eventually, the throb of his ongoing transformation and the soreness of his side caused him to momentarily steady himself against the wall. “This is so fucking insane,” he muttered under his breath, still reeling from the sheer absurdity of his situation.

His head grazed the overhead light fixture, making him flinch. “How do tall people deal with this?” he grumbled. But as he focused on his awkward gait and trying not to trip over himself, he remained oblivious to the quiet changes already taking place.

The intense heat radiating through his body, which had initially been a dull simmer, began to shift and ripple under his skin. Mason didn’t notice how the slight flab that had clung to him from years of late-night snacking was dissolving. The warmth was burning it away, leaving him leaner and more defined with each passing moment.

It wasn’t until his shirt began to feel noticeably looser that Mason frowned. He tugged at the hem of his baggy shirt, his confusion mounting. “What the…?” he muttered, pulling the fabric away from his body. When he lifted it up to inspect his torso, his breath caught in his throat.

Gone was the slight paunch that had accompanied him for as long as he could remember. His stomach was completely taut and flat, the skin smooth and firm. “No way,” he whispered, running a trembling hand over the newly chiseled surface.

The reprieve was short-lived. Without warning, a sharp, stinging sensation shot through his body, like being slapped repeatedly in different spots. Mason gasped, doubling over as the pain ricocheted across his limbs and chest.

He forced himself to look at his reflection, eyes darting to the areas where the pain struck. His jaw dropped as he watched his body suddenly begin to inflate with muscle.

His arms, once thin and unremarkable, began to thicken. Veins surfaced as his biceps grew, swelling outward into solid, rounded shapes. His shoulders broadened, creating an imposing, V-shaped silhouette. A modest pair of pecs jutted from his chest, pressing against the fabric of his shirt.

Mason instinctively pressed a hand to his stomach, feeling a flurry of movement beneath his skin. He looked down just in time to see the faint outlines of a six-pack emerging, each muscle sharply defined. His jeans grew tighter around his thighs and calves, the denim straining to contain his newly bulging legs.

“Am I… becoming muscular like Cooper?” Mason whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief and dread.

But the changes didn’t stop there. Another wave of stinging slaps spread across his body, stronger this time. Mason winced as his muscles continued to swell, growing well beyond the lean athleticism of a frat bro.

His biceps expanded into massive, soccer-ball-sized domes of power. His pecs grew heavier and squarer, jutting out so far that they created a noticeable shelf. His back widened, his lats flaring out like wings, while his traps rose to form thick ridges near his neck.

His thighs strained against the seams of his jeans, each leg packed with dense, corded muscle. Even his calves weren’t ignored by the potion, quickly growing into defined, diamond-shaped bulges. The sleeves of his shirt ripped as his arms outgrew them, leaving shreds of fabric hanging from his impossibly thick shoulders.

When the changes inflating his body finally subsided, Mason stood frozen in front of the mirror, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The man staring back at him was unrecognizable. His once-average frame had been replaced by the colossal, hulking physique of a professional bodybuilder.

He gingerly poked at one of his biceps, the sheer size and firmness of it sending a chill down his spine. His other hand examined his pecs, which felt like slabs of stone under his fingertips as he awkwardly squeezed them.

“Holy… holy fucking shit… H-how is this possible?” Mason stammered, his voice cracking as he struggled to process what he was seeing.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, feeling the immense power coursing through his body. The strength was intoxicating but also deeply unsettling. This was not him. This was a stranger – a body far removed from who he had ever been or wanted to be. And yet, the mirror offered no denial. This was Mason now. And he had no idea what to do.

Mason barely had time to process the muscular bulk he now inhabited before a strange tingling sensation spread across his skin. His initial thought was that it might be sweat from the intense heat of his transformation, but the feeling was different – even deeper within him than before, almost as if it were coming from within his very cells. He watched in growing horror as his reflection in the mirror began to change once more.

His hands were the first to catch his attention. The skin on them, once smooth and youthful, began to grow slightly weathered. Fine lines crept across his knuckles and the backs of his hands, and faint wrinkles etched themselves into the creases of his fingers. His nails, which he rarely paid attention to, became neatly trimmed and pristine, as though they had been professionally manicured.

He looked back up at the mirror just in time to see his face start to morph. His youthful, unassuming visage shifted and contorted, as if clay being sculpted by invisible hands. His once-average features began to sharpen. Prominent brow bones jutted forward, giving him a commanding and intense gaze. His cheekbones rose and became more sculpted, lending an aristocratic air to his face, while his jawline squared into a picture-perfect angle that looked chiseled from marble.

His nose subtly reshaped itself into a straight, perfectly proportioned feature that seemed almost too flawless to be natural. The transformation left Mason staring at a face that, despite its changes, was undeniably his – yet now carried an unnerving, almost predatory attractiveness.

But the alterations didn’t stop there. As he stared, his shaggy hair began to retract into his scalp, the strands shortening visibly before his eyes. His heart sank as his hairline crept upward, a clear sign of his apparent aging. Within seconds, his once-casual and messy hairstyle had been replaced with a short, cropped look that exuded professionalism and control.

What disturbed him even more was the sudden darkening of his hair. The strands deepened into an unnaturally dark shade, hovering near black but tinged with a glossy sheen that further indicated its artificial origins. Along his temples, hints of grey emerged, lending him a distinguished, older appearance.

“Is, is this fucking hair dye?” Mason muttered to himself, his voice shaky. He reached up and touched his hair, feeling its styled, slightly stiff texture. The realization that his hairstyle was a perfect description for his new appearance hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been reimagined, reshaped into a figure that exuded dominance, age, and authority – but with a still-stylish edge.

The worst part was that he couldn’t deny the appeal of his new visage. He looked like someone who commanded attention, a man who could walk into a room and have every head turn. And yet, while thinking about the things this new self would say and the type of values he was becoming an unintentional mascot for, the thought now revolted him.

His thin, yet masculine lips, now perfectly balanced and tinged with a faint rosy hue, curled in disdain as he thought about what they would soon be used for. They weren’t his anymore – not truly. Those lips would soon spew lies, distort facts, and manipulate the masses with confidence and charm – just as Red Wave Solutions had designed them to.

Mason clenched his fists, his knuckles white against his weathered hands. He glared at the man in the mirror, wishing he could shatter the glass and erase the image forever. But no matter how much he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t. This was who he had become, and deep deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before he forgot about who he once was.

Mason’s breath hitched as he continued staring into the mirror, his emotions a chaotic mess of revulsion, fear, and, despite everything, a twinge of morbid fascination. The man reflected back at him was undeniably magnetic. Mason hated the thought of what this form represented, but even he couldn’t ignore the undeniable allure it carried. A small, intrusive part of him whispered that he could use this body to his advantage.

He let his imagination wander, picturing himself walking into a gay club, towering over the dance floor with his imposing height and rippling physique. He imagined catching the eye of a younger, nervous but intrigued man who would be drawn to his aged confidence and charm. He pictured the heat of the music, the press of sweaty bodies, the flirtatious exchanges, and the way his strong, calloused hands might guide the man closer as they danced.

But before the fantasy could grow, a wave of something foreign rippled through his mind. A sharp pang of disgust shot through him – revolted by the imagined scenario. His stomach churned as his mind involuntarily recoiled at the thought of being intimate with a man. It was like someone had flipped a switch, flooding his thoughts with an inexplicable sense of wrongness.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaky as his fists clenched against the edge of the sink. “That isn’t me. It’s just the potion. I like men, it’s just the…”

He tried to ground himself, closing his eyes tightly as he forced himself to think about the men he had dated throughout college. He thought of Ethan’s confident smile and his broad shoulders. He thought of the softness of Mark’s lips, the way they brushed against his own during their first kiss. He remembered the thrill of running his hands over a man’s hairy chest, the firmness of their bodies pressed together, and the comforting scratch of stubble against his cheek.

But the images began to shift. Ethan’s confident smile warped into a shy, feminine giggle. Mark’s lips thickened and became painted with glossy lipstick. Instead of the sharp, masculine planes of a man’s chest, Mason’s mind began to envision soft curves. His memories of perky butts in fitted jeans were overwritten by the image of plump, rounded hips in a skintight dress. The scratch of stubble on his cheek was replaced with the sensation of smooth, freshly shaved skin against his own.

“No!” Mason shouted, slamming his beefy hands against the mirrored glass in anguish. He stared at his reflection, wide-eyed and trembling. His mind was no longer his own – it was forcibly being overwritten, piece by piece, by something unknown and turning it into something incredibly wrong and utterly opposite of his innermost values.

He tried again, desperately clinging to memories of past kisses and the thrill of attraction to a man. But every attempt was corrupted, replaced with images of soft, feminine hands trailing down his chest, the warmth of a woman’s body pressed against his. A rogue thought emerged, unbidden and unwanted: the fantasy of cradling a woman’s delicate face in his strong hands and leaning down to kiss her full, pouty lips.

“No, no, no!” Mason muttered, pacing the room as he gripped his temples, trying to shove the thoughts away. But the more he fought, the more vivid the images became. 

He stopped pacing and looked at himself in the mirror again, breathing heavily. His reflection looked so calm and naturally composed, even as his inner world crumbled. The man staring back at him didn’t seem like someone who had ever kissed another man, much less desired to.

Faint tears pricked Mason’s eyes as he whispered to himself, “I have to fight this. I have to hold on to who I am.”

But deep down, he feared it was already too late. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in a desperate attempt to resist a series of rogue thoughts that began to emerge throughout his mind.

One voice, low and smooth, slid through his mind like a serpent. “You’ve never had power like this before,” it purred. “Look at yourself. Who could resist you? Women crave a man like you. They’d do anything… anything to please you.”

“No,” Mason hissed, shaking his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the voice. “That’s not me. That’s not what I want.”

But the voice continued, unrelenting, dripping with smug certainty. “Oh, but it is now. Think about it. Think about how good it feels to have someone submit to you, to have them worship every inch of this handsome, powerful body. Imagine their eyes lighting up with desire, their voices trembling as they beg to make you happy in any way you want.”

Mason pressed his hands to his ears, his heart pounding as he tried to drown it out. “Shut up! Shut up!” he shouted, but his words fell flat against the weight of the seductive voice.

“You deserve this,” it crooned, each word pressing deeper into his psyche. “This body, this face, this strength – it’s what you’ve always been meant to have. And women? You’re only meant to have them as well.They’re your playthings –  there to entertain you, to serve you. Hook up with them. Take what you want from them. That’s what a real man like you is meant to do. Why would you waste time respecting them when they’re so eager to submit to a man like you?”

“No, no, no!” Mason’s voice cracked, his breathing ragged as he stumbled back from the mirrors. His reflection blurred in his vision, tears welling in his eyes as he fought against the intrusive words. But even as he resisted, the voice began to root itself deeper. 

He looked around in anguish, but found that his reflection offered no comfort. Instead, it seemed to mock him, standing there tall and perfect, the embodiment of everything the voice was describing. His mind began to falter, the line between his real thoughts and the implanted ones blurring.

Against his will, images began flashing through his mind. Women, beautiful and eager, surrounded him. They touched him with reverence, their eyes wide with adoration, their smiles promising pleasure. He envisioned their soft hands trailing down his muscular chest, their soft, dainty bodies pressing against his, their voices pleading for his attention.

And what terrified him most of all was the pull he felt toward those thoughts. It wasn’t just the voice anymore. Deep inside, a part of him – a seemingly small yet traitorous part – was beginning to quickly find the idea appealing. The concept of being desired so deeply and desperately by women who would do anything to make him happy sent an involuntary thrill coursing through him. Before he knew it, Mason could feel his cock beginning to thicken in his skintight pants.

“No!” he cried out again, though this time the word sounded weaker, less certain. He stumbled back to the sink, gripping it as he stared at his reflection. His lips trembled as he whispered, “This isn’t me. This can’t be me.”

“You know it’s true, this is who you’re meant to be” the voice interrupted, softer now, but no less insidious. “You’ve been given the ultimate gift. Why fight it? Just accept who you’re becoming. You’re not weak anymore. You’re not invisible. You’re a man now – a real man.”

Overwhelmed with everything going on, Mason began to pace around the room, each step heavy with frustration and fear while his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. The mocking voice inside his head didn’t falter, growing bolder with every moment. Its tone oozed confidence, a sinister undercurrent of triumph humming through each word.

"Take a real good look at yourself," the voice purred, a smirk practically audible. "You’re the perfect male specimen now. Tall, muscular, confident. A total alpha. Men will envy you, Mason. They’ll look up to you, want to be you. Women? They can’t help but fantasize about being with you. And even if they can’t, they’ll still eagerly listen to everything you say and accept it if it means possibly getting the attention of other men like you. You’re everything that anyone would desire, in one way or another.”

“Shut up,” Mason growled, his voice trembling as he pressed his hands to his temples, trying to block out the insidious whispers. But the voice ignored his protests, unfazed.

"You know I’m right," it continued smugly. "Especially with your career – imagine it. Every evening, people turn on their TVs just to see you. Their lives might be falling apart, but all they care about is catching a glimpse of you. The country’s favorite news anchor, the face they trust. You’re not just handsome – you’re a god to them, Mason. An alpha god sent from above to help mold the world in your image."

The words twisted in his mind, and Mason clung to the memories of his real career as an investigative journalist. He tried to picture himself standing at a podium, holding up an award for his hard-hitting exposés, the occasional flashes of cameras not hindering him from displaying his proudest smile. But the memories began to blur, fragments slipping through his grasp despite his best attempts to hold on.

Instead, new images forced their way in: the glaring brightness of stage lights washing over him, assistants swarming around him with powder brushes and combs, their soft touches ensuring he was flawless for the camera. He saw himself sitting at a news desk, posture perfect, a designer suit clinging to his impossibly broad shoulders. He could hear the countdown from the producer in his earpiece, the hum of the camera as it zoomed in on his chiseled face.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the Mason in his mind said, his voice deep and commanding, effortlessly capturing attention.

“No,” Mason whispered aloud, shaking his head. “That’s not real. That’s not me.”

But the voice pressed on. "Oh, it’s you, all right. Picture it, Mason. The power you hold when you speak. Every word you say – people hang on it. They believe you, they admire you, they trust you. You’re not some invisible journalist typing out words behind a keyboard. You’re seen. Respected. Adored."

Mason tried to resist, but his mind betrayed him, lingering on the imagined scene. He pictured himself leaning back in his chair during commercial breaks, assistants fussing over him, the camera crew nodding with approval as they reviewed footage of his perfect delivery. He saw the way his reflection looked in the teleprompter: sharp, polished, magnetic.

The warmth in his body flared again, and Mason stopped pacing, placing his hands on his hips to steady himself. Upon looking up and getting another look at his transformed reflection, his breathing grew shallow as a strange sensation overtook him. He felt an unwelcome smile tugging at his lips, while his hips began to buck softly, the motion subtle but rhythmic.

“No,” he murmured again, but his voice was weaker now, his resolve fraying as the images in his mind grew more vivid.

He saw himself adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit, flashing a confident smirk that could disarm anyone. He imagined the eyes of the crew following his every move, the palpable awe they felt as they worked in his presence. The thought of commanding such attention, such reverence, sent a shiver through him.

His lips curled further into a smirk as he caught his reflection again, the older yet impeccably handsome face staring back at him. It wasn’t his reflection – it couldn’t be. But as his gaze lingered, as his hips continued their subtle thrusting motion, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride.

He tried to think of the awards he’d earned, the articles he’d written, the causes he’d fought for. But those memories were hazy now, dimmed by the brightness of studio lights and the weight of the microphone clipped to his pristine tie.

“You belong here,” the voice whispered, dripping with satisfaction. “Accept it, Mason. This is who you are now.”

Mason’s thoughts continued to spiral as he stood frozen in front of the mirror, his reflection now fully the picture of an imposing, middle-aged news anchor. He flexed his square shoulders and ran a hand over his tightly cropped, dyed hair, his smirk widening as he imagined the commanding presence he would have on screen. The idea of his face beaming into countless homes every evening, his deep voice trusted by all who heard it, was growing quite intoxicating.

A spark of excitement ignited in his chest, fanned by the growing fire of his inflating ego. He imagined the headlines about his rise: “The Face of the Nation: Mason Samsen Leads the Evening News.” A sudden warmth spread across his body – not the unnatural heat from before, but a heady rush of pride and anticipation.

He thought about the newsroom, the bustling energy, the cameras trained on him, and, suddenly, a stray thought surfaced. He pictured his co-anchor, a sharp, intelligent woman who was respected for her wit and incisive reporting. But instead of admiration, another feeling crept into his mind.

Before he could fully process it, the voice in his head slithered into his thoughts, laced with venom. “She’s such a disappointment, isn’t she? A nasty little liberal. What a waste. Women making the same money as men despite all of our hard work, what could be more revolting?”

Mason recoiled inwardly. He didn’t believe that – he knew he didn’t. He’d spent years championing equality and defending people’s rights to love whoever they chose. But as he opened his mouth to protest, nothing came out. The words stuck in his throat, trapped by an invisible force.

The voice grew louder, more insistent. “Look at her. She could be on her knees under the newsdesk, begging for your attention, and yet she’d rather waste her time with another woman or a pathetic excuse of a man? What kind of sick joke is that?”

A sick feeling churned in Mason’s gut, but instead of pushing back, he found his thoughts being swept along with the voice’s hateful tirade. Against his will, his mind’s eye shifted, and he pictured her again – no longer as a colleague but as an object, someone he could have “had” if only she weren’t so bull-headed.

“She’s such a babe,” Mason muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with derision as though the words weren’t entirely his own. “And yet she wastes herself like that. What a man-hating prude.”

He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction as the words left his lips, despite the small, rational part of him screaming that this wasn’t who he was. The voice purred in approval, feeding off his growing disgust.

“That’s right,” it urged. “If she just stopped pretending to be some untouchable, real man-hating feminist, you’d show her what it’s like to be with a real man. She’d never look at another woman or man again after you’re done with her.”

Mason’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening. He didn’t want to think this way – he knew he didn’t – but the voice’s influence was like a tide, washing away his convictions and leaving behind something monstrous.

He tried to recall admirable aspects of the co-anchor’s actual personality: her sharp humor during commercial breaks, the way she stood her ground in editorial meetings, her passion for stories that made a difference. But just as quickly as he mentally found these things that he once would praise or respect, those sensations changed to feelings of annoyance and rage at her way of trying to turn the station “woke”.

Instead, all he could focus on now was an imagined scenario: her storming into his office to argue about a segment, her cheeks growing flushed as his imposing presence overwhelmed her, and her eventual “realization” that she couldn’t resist him. The thought sent a twisted thrill through him, one he hated himself for feeling even as the voice praised him.

“You’re a real man now, Mason,” it cooed. “And the world needs to see that. No more hiding, no more playing nice. You’re the alpha here, and everyone else – women like her included – needs to fall in line.”

As Mason stared at his reflection, he saw the smirk tugging at his lips again. It was crueler this time, more predatory. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from believing the voice entirely.

Mason's mind swirled with the vivid clarity of a memory he hadn't lived yet now felt undeniably his own. He saw himself standing in the brightly lit newsroom, the buzz of post-election chaos filling the air. His freshly polished dress shoes echoed against the tiled floor as he crossed the room, exuding an aura of confidence that seemed to demand attention. Every gesture, every word, felt rehearsed to perfection – an embodiment of his calculated and commanding charisma.

His female co-anchor had just walked in, her expression an open book of grief and disdain. Her eyes, red and puffy, locked onto Mason’s. He could recall the way her shoulders sagged, her steps hesitant as if she were carrying the weight of a world that had just turned against her beliefs. In stark contrast, Mason stood tall, his broad chest puffed out with a sense of triumph that radiated from him like heat off asphalt on a summer day.

“You look like you could use a drink, Sarah,” he heard himself say in the memory, his voice dripping with smugness. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile that was as patronizing as it was confident. “But then again, I think it’s good for you to really reckon with the reality of the world and accept that your time of winning is finally over.”

Her response was a withering glare, her lips pressed into a thin line of contempt. But it wasn’t her silence that Mason remembered most vividly – it was his own voice, booming and unapologetic as he turned to the room of male colleagues.

“Gentlemen, let’s take a moment to celebrate,” he declared, raising an imaginary glass. “Finally, a real man is back in charge of the country! No more of this woke nonsense dragging the country down. We’re getting back to the basics – the way things should be.”

The memory felt intoxicating and foreign all at once. He could almost feel the collective laughter and cheers of agreement from the other men, the slap of hands on his back in camaraderie. Yet, in the pit of his stomach, a flicker of unease twisted.

In the present, Mason found himself nodding instinctively, the words spilling from his lips before he could stop them. “This country was going to hell, to be honest. Maybe things will finally get back on track…”

The stray voice in his mind cheered him on, reinforcing every sentiment. That’s right. It’s time for real leadership. Time for strength and order. You’re a part of that now.

For a moment, Mason tried to resist, to cling to the fading remnants of who he was. He thought of the co-anchor’s tear-streaked face, the silent despair in her eyes. But even that memory began to shift in his mind – her sadness no longer struck him as unjust, but as proof of her weakness. This is the natural order of things, the voice reminded him. She doesn’t belong at the table anymore.

Mason felt the words settle deep in his chest, his resistance ebbing further. The memory blurred as his present thoughts intertwined with it, leaving him with a growing sense of pride and belonging. His lips curled into a smirk as he whispered to himself, “We’re finally doing things the right way.”

Mason’s pulse thundered in his ears, his chest rising and falling as the inner voice grew louder, more assured. "That’s it, Mason," it purred. "You’re finally seeing the light. No more confusion. No more weakness. Just truth, strength, and common sense values. This is the life you were meant for."

The words reverberated in his head, filling every corner of his mind as though they were his own thoughts. He gripped the edge of the desk, his fingers trembling slightly, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. The voice surged forward, emboldened.

"Picture it: a wife who loves and obeys you, children who look up to you and carry your name with pride. That’s the purpose of marriage, Mason – to create a legacy that matters. You’ll guide them, protect them, and in return, you can sneak around and fuck as much as you wanted. After all, spreading your seed to as many women as possible is what men like you were made for – to help create the next generation of like-minded men."

Mason’s lips parted, almost involuntarily, as a low murmur escaped. "Yes… that sounds… right."

Images began to flood his mind – visions of a suburban home with a pristine lawn, of a woman in a modest dress standing at his side, her eyes glowing with admiration for her strong, successful husband. He could see a handful of children laughing as they played in the yard, their voices ringing out in the glow of an idealized life. In addition, rogue flashes of hooking up with women in his office or underneath the news desk while live emerged.

The voice continued, its tone sharpening with conviction. "And with your career, Mason, think of what you’ll achieve. Not just the respect, but the wealth. The power. You’re not like those lower-class men, struggling and scraping by. You’ll be the man they look up to, the man they envy. Capitalism rewards the best, and you’re going to be the best. A beacon of the upper class."

Mason nodded, his jaw tightening as he stood straighter. "I’m not meant to be small," he said, his voice gaining strength. "I’m meant to succeed. To live my best life. To be on top."

The voice practically growled with approval. "Exactly. It’s time to step fully into your destiny, Mason. Embrace it. Wade into the red waves and claim the life you were always meant to lead."

Mason’s breath quickened, a guttural grunt escaping his lips as he clenched his fists. "I can’t wait," he said, his voice deep and resolute. "I can’t wait to be a part of the red wave. To leave behind the prissy liberal nonsense and finally live like the man I was meant to be."

The moment hung in the air, a crescendo of inner turmoil and transformation. Then, without warning, Mason froze. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as his body stiffened. His head tilted back slightly, a sharp gasp catching in his throat.

His eyes rolled back, leaving only the whites visible as his body shuddered violently. His mind swam in a haze of euphoria and terror, the voice laughing triumphantly as it echoed within him. The world around him seemed to blur and spin, his consciousness teetering on the edge as the last remnants of resistance faded into the overwhelming tide of transformation.

And then… stillness.

The room was quiet save for the faint hum of air conditioning as the massive figure eventually stirred a few minutes later. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his throat as his eyes fluttered open, their sharp blue intensity scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. His brow furrowed, and he brought a hand to his throbbing temple, the remnants of a disorienting fog clinging to his thoughts.

David Carlson looked up, rolling his shoulders and trying to get reacquainted with his massive frame. Confusion flashed across his face as he looked down at himself, noticing the ill-fitting, torn clothes stretched over his immense, muscular body. The fabric strained at his bulging chest and biceps, seams barely clinging together, while his thick thighs threatened to split what remained of his pants. He chuckled, low and rich, the sound resonating like a confident hum.

“What in the world?” he muttered, his voice deep and commanding. He shifted his legs apart, resting a meaty hand on his thigh, and stared at his reflection in the nearby mirror. A smirk spread across his face, revealing perfectly white teeth framed by his square jaw.

“Well, damn,” he said, standing slowly to his full height, his head almost brushing the ceiling. He turned, flexing one arm, admiring the round, granite-like bicep that bulged against the tatters of the shirt. He ran a hand down the vast plane of his chest, his thick fingers grazing the solid grooves of his pecs. “Now, if I’m not the sexiest man in the world, I don’t know who else could be. After all, a sexy motherfucker like me can make a woman cum from just giving a traffic update,” he remarked with a cocky sneer.

His smirk widened as he leaned closer to the mirror, tilting his head to inspect himself further. His piercing eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his killer smile flashing as he flexed his shoulders, watching his reflection move like a sculpted titan come to life.

As his gaze dropped lower, he ran his hands over his thighs, feeling the dense muscle through the shredded fabric. His fingers lingered momentarily, and then his eyes caught something out of place: a suit bag hanging neatly off the door handle.

His brow lifted in curiosity, but the smirk never left his lips. “Ah, now we’re talking,” he said, striding over to the bag and unzipping it with precision. Inside was a sleek, custom-tailored suit – a dark navy jacket and trousers, paired with a crisp satin dress shirt and a tie that shimmered faintly under the room’s fluorescent light.

“The sooner I can get out of these pitiful cheap shreds, the better,” he muttered, stripping off the ruined clothes with haste. The shirt slid on effortlessly, the cool satin gliding over his thick, warm skin. He tugged the sleeves, adjusting the cuffs, and buttoned it up, marveling at how perfectly it hugged his torso. His chest stretched the fabric taut, but the shirt held, emphasizing every ridge of his muscular form.

Next came the trousers, which he slid on with care. The waistband fit snugly, outlining his powerful thighs, while the tailored cut tapered sharply to his ankles, exuding professionalism with a touch of dominance. The jacket followed, and as he shrugged it on, he couldn’t help but flex his shoulders, feeling the material strain slightly over his bulk.

“Perfect,” he muttered, stepping back to admire the result in the mirror. The suit was impeccable, a testament to luxury and power, and it fit him like a second skin. He adjusted his tie, smoothing it down with one hand, and grinned.

“David Carlson,” he said aloud, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a goddamn masterpiece. An alpha that women wish they could have and men wish they could be.” He ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, standing tall as he gave his reflection a final approving nod.

With that, he strode to the door, his polished shoes clicking against the floor as he pulled it open. His broad shoulders barely fit through the frame as he stepped into the hallway, his head held high.

Now dressed to impress and radiating confidence, he set off with purpose. “Time to find Mr. Corbin,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor. “Now that this tour is over, I just need to ask a few more questions about the operation they’re running here.”

As soon as David touched the door, the flash of a green light emerged and allowed the massive newscaster to turn the handle and exit the room. He strutted confidently down the polished hallways of Red Wave Solutions, easily navigating through the labyrinth-like hallways as if he’d known it like the back of his hands. While walking, the sharp lines of his suit accentuated his immense frame, his shoulders brushing perilously close to the walls as he passed. Employees bustled around, their heads turning one after another to catch a glimpse of the imposing man. David’s smile gleamed, radiating charisma and cockiness.

“Morning, folks,” he said, nodding toward a group of young interns who stood frozen in awe. “Don’t work too hard now.” He chuckled as they scurried off, red-faced and whispering among themselves.

To a middle-aged man in a lab coat carrying a stack of binders, he flashed a wink. “Looking sharp there, Doc. Keep it up – love to see the brains behind the brawn in this operation.”

The man chuckled nervously, nearly dropping the binders in his haste to nod in agreement.

David continued his journey, stopping briefly at a glass window showcasing a bustling control room filled with monitors and data feeds. His keen eyes scanned the workers hunched over their stations, fingers flying over keyboards. He gave them a small wave, followed by a cocky grin. “Looking good in there! Keep making magic happen, people.”

Every interaction added a spring to his step, his ego swelling with each fawning glance and whispered admiration. By the time he reached the sleek, modern front desk at the heart of the facility, he felt utterly invincible.

Upon noticing the slim, well-dressed man with his styled grey hair and trimmed stubble, David made his way over to Mr. Corbin. With each step, the reporter watched how the man’s smile widened into a huge beam as he extended a hand out to David. 

“David Carlson!” Corbin exclaimed warmly, gripping the reporter’s hand with surprising strength as they united for a firm handshake. “You look absolutely incredible. Like you were truly made for this.”

David arched a brow, the compliment throwing him slightly off balance as he took in the other man’s amused grin. “Uh, thanks,” he said slowly, his grin faltering just a fraction. In the back of his mind, a stray thought surfaced: Is this guy a homo or something?

But Corbin’s expression didn’t linger long on admiration; instead, he pivoted seamlessly, his demeanor shifting to one of professional excitement. “So,” he said, gesturing grandly to the lobby around them, “what do you think of the place so far? Impressive, isn’t it?”

David straightened up, smoothing his tie as he nodded. “It’s incredible,” he replied, his deep voice carrying genuine approval. “State-of-the-art. Honestly, I think what you’re doing here is brilliant. I’ve read all about your mission, and after what I’ve witnessed here today, I can’t say enough about how much I agree with what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Corbin’s face lit up, his smile widening as he stepped closer. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he gave David a friendly nudge in the side with his elbow. “Does that mean I can count on you to give us a glowing report tomorrow night?”

David tilted his head, letting a smirk play across his lips. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a private joke. “You better believe it. I’m going to make sure your message reaches the people who really need to hear it. We’ve got to work together to trick these pathetic progressive losers into finally opening their eyes and seeing how the world is supposed to look.”

Corbin’s laughter boomed through the lobby, rich and full-bodied. He clapped a hand on David’s broad shoulder, his grip lingering as he leaned closer. “Ah, I knew you were the real deal, David,” he said, his tone brimming with satisfaction. “It’s such a relief to meet someone who gets it… someone who truly sees the vision. You and I? We’re going to do amazing things together.”

David’s chest swelled with pride, the man’s approval feeding his growing sense of self-importance. “Damn right we will,” he replied, his voice steady and firm. “This is just the beginning.”

***

The studio lights bathed the room in an artificial glow, casting long shadows across the set. David Carlson sat tall at the anchor desk, exuding the poise and confidence that had cemented his place as the number one star in the conservative news world. The countdown to airtime ticked away on a monitor beside the camera, but David’s focus wasn’t on the clock.

Instead, it was on Tiffany, the studio’s blonde bombshell of a makeup artist, who approached him with her signature playful grin. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floor as she sauntered toward him, her skintight dress emphasizing every curve. Tiffany’s long, golden hair framed her flawless face, and the warm scent of her perfume wafted toward him as she leaned in to touch up his makeup.

“Just a quick touch-up, David,” she said, her voice teasing as she gently dabbed at his forehead with a powder puff. “Can’t have our star looking anything less than perfect.”

David chuckled, his piercing eyes scanning her physique without subtlety. From the generous curve of her chest to the hourglass dip of her waist and the way her dress clung to her toned legs, she was a sight to behold. His lips curled into a wolfish grin.

“Not sure anyone’s looking at my forehead, Tiffany,” he remarked, his voice low and smooth.

She giggled, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “Oh, don’t be modest. The viewers love you. You’re the reason they tune in every night. It’s our job to make you look as good as possible.”

“Damn right,” he replied with a chuckle and smirk, his hand casually brushing the edge of the desk as he shifted closer. As Tiffany leaned over to adjust a stray strand of his perfectly coiffed hair, David let his gaze linger on her mouthwatering tits before making his move. His hand slid down and gave her plump ass a confident squeeze.

Tiffany gasped softly, her cheeks flushing an even deeper red. But instead of pulling away, she giggled nervously, her eyes darting around to ensure no one was watching.

David leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Why don’t you swing by my office later? Evening broadcasts can be intense, so I always need to let off a little steam.”

Her blush deepened, and she bit her lower lip as she nodded. “I’d like that,” she murmured, barely able to meet his intense gaze.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his grin widening as he patted her ass and sat back.

Tiffany quickly finished her work, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You’re all set,” she said, smoothing her dress. “Go kill it out there tonight, David.”

David chuckled, adjusting his tie as he leaned back in his chair. “I always do,” he said, his tone oozing self-assurance. “Let’s be honest, every viewer out there goes crazy for me. I can’t say the same for everyone at this desk though...”

His gaze shifted to his female co-anchor sitting across from him. She was busy reviewing her notes, her expression composed but tired. David’s eyes narrowed into a glare, the weight of his ego palpable as he mentally compared their on-screen presence.

The studio’s director called out, “Thirty seconds to air!”

David straightened his posture, his polished smile snapping into place as the countdown continued. Tiffany disappeared off to the side, but the lingering scent of her perfume and the promise of their meeting later fueled his already inflated confidence.

As the final three seconds were uttered and the red light on the camera blinked on, David Carlson’s face suddenly filled the screen with a look of composed sincerity. For any viewer at home, they couldn’t resist savoring how his sharp jawline was framed perfectly by the flattering angles of the studio lighting. His deep, resonant voice greeted the viewers with the practiced warmth of a trusted confidant.

“Good evening, patriots,” he began, his tone rich with professional gravitas. “I hope you’re all having a wonderful evening. Tonight, I want to take a moment to speak directly to you – to the Americans out there who may feel unsure or even afraid about what the future holds.”

He leaned forward slightly, his piercing blue eyes staring directly into the camera, as if he could reach through the screen and hold a private conversation with each viewer.

“Are you worried about what comes next? Are you feeling ostracized by those who don’t share your values, your beliefs, your way of life?” His voice softened to a somber cadence, each word laced with a careful, purposeful empathy.

David paused, letting the questions hang in the air for a moment, before flashing one of his signature charismatic smiles – a smile that seemed to radiate reassurance to the viewers. His tone lightened, carrying a hint of optimism.

“Well, my friends, I’m happy to report that I’ve found a solution to these concerns – a solution that has left me thoroughly impressed. It’s a company called Red Wave Solutions.”

David sat back slightly, his hands folding neatly on the desk as he continued.

“Red Wave Solutions has developed an innovative way to ease the anxieties many of you might be feeling. They’ve pioneered a state-of-the-art ‘recalibration’ process that allows individuals to step into a new perspective – specifically, the perspective of strong, confident conservative values – for the duration of this current administration.”

His diction was flawless, each word delivered with precision, yet his tone carried an undercurrent of excitement that kept the message personal and engaging.

“Yesterday, I had the privilege of visiting one of their clinics to observe the recalibration process firsthand,” David explained, his voice lowering slightly as if sharing an intimate secret. “The facility was absolutely cutting-edge – everything you’d expect from a company that cares solely about delivering results safely and effectively.”

He leaned in again, his tone becoming animated as he described what he saw.

“I watched a young man, clearly nervous and weighed down by his worries, begin the process. And when it was over, he emerged completely transformed. I’ll tell you, folks – it was remarkable. He was lighter, happier, even eager to talk about the exciting future ahead under our president’s leadership. It was a night-and-day difference.”

David chuckled, shaking his head as though he could still hardly believe it. “That young man, who had walked in anxious and unsure, left ready to embrace life with open arms.”

He sat back again, his hands gesturing subtly to underscore his words.

“Now, I understand that some of you at home might be skeptical. You might be thinking, ‘What if I don’t like the change?’ or ‘What happens when the presidency ends?’”

David’s expression grew earnest as he addressed the concerns head-on.

“Well, let me reassure you,” he said, his voice steady and confident. “The recalibration process is designed to be completely reversible. When this presidency comes to an end, so too will the recalibration, leaving you exactly as you were before – no muss, no fuss.”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped together as his eyes locked onto the camera.

“I feel for anyone out there who’s afraid of what lies ahead,” he said earnestly. “This can be a challenging time for many of us, and let me the first to say that I see you and I hear you. But if you want to make things easier on yourself and your family, I strongly urge you to consider reaching out to Red Wave Solutions. Their process is seamless, safe, and highly effective. But don’t wait too long—appointments are filling up fast!”

David’s smile widened, a glimmer of encouragement in his eyes as he delivered his closing line.

“Take control of your future, patriots. Call Red Wave Solutions today and see what they can do for you. You’ll be glad you did, I guarantee it!”

As the camera shifted to focus on his co-anchor’s segment, David leaned back in his chair, flashing a satisfied grin at the crew. He knew he had delivered the message perfectly, feeling incredibly cocky about the fact that he would be the reason why Red Wave Solutions began converting hundreds to thousands of “libtards” into real men.

[hypnoandstuff]

Red Wave Solutions: Spread The Word

Mason Samsen wasn’t your average 20-year-old college student. His perpetually tousled hair and ink-stained fingertips were more than a badge of his role as a budding journalist; they were the marks of someone who rarely rested when there was a story to uncover. A junior at Jefferson University, Mason had quickly built a reputation as a truth-seeker on campus. His peers respected his tenacity, and some even feared his relentless pursuit of exposing wrongdoing. As an outspoken Democratic Socialist, Mason believed deeply in the power of truth to dismantle systems of inequality and oppression. For him, journalism wasn’t just a career path – it was a moral obligation.

His work spoke for itself. Within just two years, Mason had written exposés that sent shockwaves through the community of his college. The first uncovered a scandal involving a tenured professor who was not only cheating on his wife with his teaching assistant but also allegedly grading female students unfairly. Then there was the damning report on the head of the History Department, whose pattern of racially charged comments and discriminatory hiring practices for his TAs Mason meticulously documented. Both articles landed Mason in hot water with the faculty due to how much news coverage it received, but they also cemented his place as the student body’s most fearless journalist. His articles had been shared far beyond campus, with national outlets even picking up some of his stories. To Mason, this was proof that his instincts were never wrong.

So when the fliers for a company called "Red Wave Solutions" started appearing across campus, Mason’s journalist’s radar pinged instantly. He first noticed them plastered haphazardly on the corkboard outside the student union. A stark crimson logo dominated the page, paired with the tagline: "Reject Political Anxiety and Accept Conformity – Join the Movement Today!" The messaging was vague but calculated, designed to intrigue and alarm in equal measure. The company’s name struck him as odd too, as "Red Wave" sounded more like a politically charged rallying cry than a corporate entity. As such, he couldn’t help but wonder what type of services it could even offer.

Due to this, Mason tore a flier off the board and scrutinized it further. There was no detailed description of services, no list of affiliations, and no website – just a QR code and a phone number. A quick scan of the code on his phone led to a bare-bones webpage with little more than a flashy promotional video and a generic mission statement about "encouraging unity across the political divide." To Mason, it reeked of corporate jargon hiding something more insidious.

As he watched several nervous students hastily follow him and grab the fliers while looking around to make sure no one else saw them, the odd feeling Mason felt continued to gnaw at him. Why was a seemingly obscure yet political company suddenly plastering fliers all over campus? What exactly were they selling, and who had invited them here? Was this tied to the university administration, or was it the work of a private group looking to influence the student body? Mason didn’t know yet, but one thing was certain: the smell of bullshit was undeniable.

Mason’s resolve hardened as he opened a fresh document on his laptop. He would do what he always did – follow the trail, piece by piece, until he uncovered the truth. He had a gut feeling that Red Wave Solutions was up to far more nefarious things than their preachy unity message implied. As such, it was up to him to find out exactly what they were hiding and why they were targeting his campus.

Back in his dorm room, Mason leaned back in his creaky office chair, scrolling through the company’s sparse website with a growing sense of unease. The bright, polished visuals stood in stark contrast to the murkiness surrounding the company's true purpose. Stock photos of smiling queer couples holding hands and multi-racial families posing dominated the homepage. Their warm, inclusive energy clashed oddly with the undercurrent of the program’s messaging, which was as ambiguous as it was unsettling.

Mason’s sharp eyes honed in on the phrasing in the promotional text. "Are you worried about the future? Afraid of standing out? We hear you, and we can help remedy those nerves!" The implications were vague, but something about them made Mason’s skin crawl. The language was too polished, too calculated, as if crafted by a focus group determined to hit all the right notes for an audience grappling with post-election anxieties. His intuition told him this wasn’t just a therapy program – something insidious lurked beneath the cheerful exterior.

Being a gay man, Mason had learned to trust his gut when it came to exposing homophobic hostility, no matter how sugar-coated and concealed it appeared. The website’s queer-friendly imagery might have fooled someone else, but to Mason, it reeked of a ploy. As he clicked through the pages, a darker theory began to form in his mind. Could Red Wave Solutions be some kind of veiled conversion therapy operation? Maybe not in the traditional fire-and-brimstone sense, but something modern, subtle, and far more calculated – a campaign to indoctrinate or "reorient" unsuspecting young people under the guise of empathy and support.

Adding to his unease, Mason had found himself overhearing some of his friends mentioning Red Wave Solutions in the past few weeks. They’d talked about the program as a potential outlet to process their political anxieties and the stress of living in a rapidly polarizing society. Their interest frustrated Mason to no end. Couldn’t they see how suspicious it all sounded? He knew he couldn’t simply tell them to stay away without proof though, it was a common occurrence for them to accuse him of overthinking or being paranoid.

And so, Mason made a plan. If his friends were intrigued, he’d get there first. He’d scope out the company himself, ask pointed questions, and observe their methods. If his suspicions were correct, he’d blow the lid off Red Wave Solutions before any of his friends fell victim to its schemes. He wasn’t afraid to sacrifice a few hours enduring thinly-veiled conservative rhetoric if it meant protecting the people he cared about.

That resolve ultimately left him scheduling an appointment and standing outside the nondescript building listed as the company’s headquarters the very next day. The office complex was a bland, utilitarian structure – gray cement walls with windows that reflected the cloudy sky. There was no large sign or logo to announce Red Wave Solutions’ presence, only a small decal on the front door that caused the company to look as impersonal and corporate as Mason had imagined.

Taking a deep breath, Mason adjusted the front of his shirt. It wasn’t just a nervous habit though, he wanted to make sure the tiny button camera sewn into the middle of his polo was perfectly aligned. He’d spent all night setting up the camera, ensuring its placement was discreet yet functional. If something went south, he needed visual proof of whatever shady operation was running inside.

As he smoothed his shirt, Mason glanced at his reflection in the glass door. He looked composed enough, but his stomach churned. This wasn’t his first investigative dive, but something about this one felt different. Possibly dangerous even, given the type of hardcore conservatives that were most likely working on the inside to trap unsuspecting people into their web. Ever determined though, Mason shook the thought from his head and squared his shoulders. He had a job to do, after all, the truth wasn’t going to expose itself.

With one final glance at the street behind him, Mason pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The air inside the Red Wave Solutions building was cool and faintly scented with a generic, clean aroma that reminded Mason of a freshly mopped hospital floor. His eyes darted around the space as he stepped inside, taking in the minimalist yet calculated decor. The interior was almost sterile in its design: pristine white walls and floors offset by carefully placed red accents. A striking red backlight illuminated the reception desk at the center of the room, and short sections of the walls were painted in the same bold crimson. It was sleek and modern but lacked any warmth, as if it had been designed to evoke trustworthiness without inviting comfort.

Behind the desk sat a neatly dressed woman who greeted Mason with a polite but impersonal smile. She was African American, her hair pulled into a professional bun while her burgundy blouse complemented the crimson accents of the room. Mason’s journalistic instincts immediately kicked in. The choice of a minority woman as the face of this place struck him as deliberate – an intentional move to put visitors at ease and present an image of inclusivity. He wondered how many people had walked through these doors, seen her friendly face, and let their guards down.

“Welcome to Red Wave Solutions,” she said, her voice professional but warm. “Do you have an appointment with us today?”

Mason nodded, stepping closer to the desk. “Yeah, it’s Mason Samsen. My appointment’s at 2:30.”

The woman’s manicured nails clicked against her keyboard as she searched for his information in the system. Mason used the moment to glance around, noting a few chairs arranged neatly along the walls of the waiting area. They were stark white, with small red cushions placed in the center of each seat. A table held a stack of glossy pamphlets with titles like "Taking the First Step Toward Inner Peace" and "Navigating Life’s Challenges with Confidence." He resisted the urge to grab one, keeping his focus on the woman behind the desk.

“Ah, here you are,” she said after a few moments. “I just need to verify your identity. Do you have an ID with you?”

Mason froze for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t anticipated this. “Uh, yeah,” he said, fishing his driver’s license out of his wallet. “Is that really necessary though?”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve had a few incidents recently with people trying to play pranks or disrupt our sessions. Running a quick background check helps us ensure that everyone who comes in is serious about taking advantage of what we offer while also helping us easily share information with the police if necessary.”

Mason hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of his license. Her explanation was reasonable enough on the surface, but it still felt invasive and incredibly suspicious. Still, he knew he couldn’t afford to raise any alarms this early in his investigation. With a tight smile, he handed over the ID.

“Thank you,” the woman said, sliding the card into a small scanner attached to the desk. The machine whirred softly as it processed the information. “This will just take a moment. Once it’s done, we’ll take you back to begin your consultation and help you learn how to thrive in the red wave.”

Mason forced a polite chuckle at her use of a clearly corporate-enforced tagline, but inwardly, his nerves spiked. The phrase felt even more ominous now that they held his ID, like some Orwellian euphemism. He watched as she glanced at her screen, her expression unreadable as the system ran its checks.

“Feel free to take a seat while we finish up,” she added, gesturing toward the waiting area.

Mason nodded and moved to one of the chairs, carefully positioning himself where he and his hidden camera could keep an eye on the desk. He slid his phone out of his pocket and pretended to scroll while his thoughts churned. This whole process felt wrong. What kind of therapy company needed to run background checks on its clients? Was this just about deterring pranksters, or was there something deeper at play – some sort of data collection method or pre-screening tool to help figure out how exactly to break the mental reserves of interested parties?

As he waited, Mason adjusted his polo shirt again, ensuring the hidden button camera was still perfectly aligned. Whatever was happening here, he wasn’t leaving without answers.

The seconds stretched into minutes as Mason sat in the waiting area, his foot tapping against the white tile floor. His eyes flicked between the receptionist and the clock on the wall, noting that it had been over ten minutes since his ID had been taken. The polished environment of Red Wave Solutions, with its pristine surfaces and artificial calmness, was starting to get under his skin. The longer he waited, the more his mind raced. What if they were stalling for a reason? Had their check revealed his identity as an expose-focused journalist? He needed answers, and he wasn’t about to waste more time sitting idly by and waiting for them to make the first move.

Determined to act, Mason stood and walked back to the desk, forcing a polite smile. “Hey, sorry to bother you,” he began, “but is there a bathroom I could use while I wait?”

The receptionist returned his smile with one of her own, still calm and composed. “Of course,” she said, pointing toward a hallway behind her. “Just head straight down that hall and take a right. You’ll see the sign.”

“Thanks,” Mason replied, masking his nerves as he turned away.

He followed her directions, but as he walked, he took in everything around him. The red accents continued down the hallway – with all of its short walls and door frames painted with the same deliberate splash of color. The space was oddly quiet, the faint hum of distant air conditioning the only sound accompanying his steps. His hidden camera captured everything, from the layout to the stark, almost clinical lighting.

When he reached the intersection where he was supposed to turn right toward the bathroom, he paused. To his left, the hallway stretched further into the building, its end obscured by a sharp turn. Mason hesitated, weighing his options. The bathroom was a safe choice, but his instincts pushed him in the other direction. If he wanted answers, he knew he had to take a risk.

After glancing back to ensure the receptionist couldn’t see him, Mason hastily turned left and strode deeper into the building.

The further he went, the stranger the place felt. The hallways were eerily labyrinthine, branching off into sharp angles and other hallways that made it easy to lose his bearings. Doors lined the walls, each one marked with a small, nondescript plaque bearing a room number. Curious, Mason peeked through the window of one door, only to find an empty, white-walled room with a single chair bolted to the floor. The next room was the same. And the next.

“What the hell is this place?” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding harder with each step.

Then, a sound broke the silence – a voice, faint at first, but unmistakable.

“Help! Someone, please! Help me!”

Mason froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was male, clearly desperate and filled with terror.

“I changed my mind! I want to leave! Please, let me out!”

The cries sent a chill down Mason’s spine. He scanned the hallway, trying to pinpoint the source. Although he didn’t know where exactly, the man knew that the screams were coming from somewhere deeper in the building.

Without hesitation then, Mason followed the sound, his steps quickening as he navigated the twisting corridors. The voice grew louder by the minute, the man’s pleas echoing off the sterile walls. Mason’s chest tightened as he rounded another corner, finally stopping in front of a heavy door with a small rectangular window.

Inside, a young man was standing with his head pressed against the glass window. His face was pale, his eyes wide and filled with panic. When he saw Mason, he pounded on the glass.

“Please, help me!” the man begged, his voice raw. “You have to let me out! I changed my mind. I don’t want to go through with this anymore!”

Mason’s hands trembled as he reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. He looked back down the hallway, adrenaline flooding his system. The silence outside the door was deafening, as if the building itself were holding its breath.

“Hold on,” Mason said, his voice low but urgent. “I’ll get you out of here. Just give me a second.”

The man inside the room sobbed, clutching his head in anguish. “Please, hurry, I don’t feel well,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Mason scanned the door, looking for any way to unlock it. His instincts told him to move quickly – if anyone caught him here, he wouldn’t have the chance to find out what was really going on.

Mason’s heart hammered in his chest as he examined the door, searching for some way to unlock it. His fingers brushed over the control panel on the side, and he let out a small breath of relief when he saw the latch mechanism – a simple keypad. His years of investigative journalism had taught him a few tricks, and after quickly punching in a few common codes he’d used to sneak into areas in the past, the lock finally gave a faint click.

The door swung open, and the man inside nearly collapsed into Mason’s arms. His slender twinkish frame trembled, and before Mason could say a word, the man threw his arms around him, clinging tightly.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” the man cried, his voice breaking. “We need to get out of here… right fucking now!”

Mason gripped his shoulders firmly, pushing him back slightly so he could look him in the eyes. “Hey, calm down. Stop yelling,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady. “I’ll help you get out, but you have to keep quiet. We can’t get caught, okay?”

The man nodded frantically, his breathing ragged. Mason took a moment to observe him. He was young – probably a college student no older than Mason himself – with bright blonde hair that was tousled in a way that suggested he’d been consistently running his hands through it while in distress. His frail physique was only emphasized by the somewhat tight Britney Spears t-shirt he wore, providing Mason with a clear as day impression of the other man’s toned abs and flat chest. The whole look screamed twink, which instantly caused Mason to develop a pang of protectiveness for him.

“Okay, we’re getting out of here,” Mason said, his voice firm but quiet. “Stick close to me, and don’t make a sound unless I ask you something.”

The man nodded again, wiping tears from his face. Mason led him out of the room, carefully closing the door behind them. He glanced down the hallway, ensuring the coast was clear before gesturing for the man to follow him.

As they walked, Mason leaned in close. “What’s your name?”

“Cooper,” the man whispered, his voice trembling. “Cooper Evans.”

“All right, Cooper. What the hell is going on here?”

Cooper hesitated, wringing his hands as they moved down the quiet hall. “I– I came here because I was scared,” he finally said, his voice shaking. “I didn’t know what else to do. With this new administration, I was afraid of being hate-crimed or losing my rights. They said they could help me blend in.”

Mason’s brows furrowed. “Blend in? How?”

“They… they said they have this process,” Cooper explained. “They said they could transform me into a Conservative. That I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore if I just… fit in.”

Mason stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at Cooper. “Transform you? What are you talking about? How does that even work?”

“I, I don’t know!” Cooper said, his voice rising before Mason quickly shushed him. “I swear, I don’t know. They gave me this whole pitch, had me sign a contract saying I’d agree to it, and then they gave me this red pill for me to swallow. That’s it. That’s all I know!”

Mason let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell were you thinking saying yes to something like that?” he hissed. “I know the future’s scary right now, but why would you want to become someone with such awful values? Someone your altered self would hate if they ever met the real you?”

Cooper’s lip trembled, and tears began streaming down his face again. “Dude, I was scared, okay?” he choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do! I thought… I thought it was the only way I’d be safe.”

Mason sighed, his frustration melting into a mix of sympathy and anger. “Look, I get it. Things are bad, but you can’t just give up who you are because you’re scared. That’s exactly what people like them want. I don’t know you well, but I can already tell that you’re a great guy who deserves to be your true self…”

Cooper sniffled, nodding miserably as he endured the lecture from the other man while continuing down the hallway. Mason kept a hand on his shoulder, guiding him while keeping an ear out for any approaching footsteps. Whatever was happening here, it was worse than he’d imagined, and he was determined to not only get Cooper out of here safely, but expose this company for the disgusting things they’re attempting to do.

Mason kept a steady grip on Cooper’s shoulder, speaking softly but urgently. “Listen, Cooper, nobody can just transform like that. It’s not real. Whatever they gave you, it’s probably some kind of drug – a sedative, maybe, or something to make you more suggestible. Brainwashing, that’s got to be their angle. They’re just trying to get you weak enough so they can get in your head…”

Cooper’s watery eyes flicked toward him, searching for reassurance. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Mason replied firmly. “You’re still you. We just need to get out of here in one piece, and everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

But just as the words left Mason’s mouth, Cooper stopped dead in his tracks. A low grunt escaped him, and his hands shot to his stomach.

“Something’s wrong,” Cooper whimpered, his voice tight with discomfort.

Mason spun around, his heart lurching. “Cooper?”

Before he could get another word out, Cooper screamed – a piercing, guttural sound that echoed through the hallway. Mason’s pulse spiked, causing him to immediately clamp a hand over Cooper’s mouth.

“Shh! Stop screaming!” Mason hissed, glancing over his shoulder, expecting someone to come rushing toward them at any moment. But Cooper’s muffled cries didn’t stop. His entire body trembled, his knees buckling as he clutched his midsection.

“Damn it,” Mason muttered under his breath, scanning the hallway. He spotted a door nearby, one that oddly wasn’t locked like so many of the others but rather slightly ajar. With no other choice and not in the situation to second-guess it, he yanked it open all the way, dragging Cooper inside and shutting the door behind them.

“Okay, breathe,” Mason said, trying to keep his own voice steady. “We just need to–”

But Cooper cut him off with another scream, this one deeper and more guttural than before. Mason’s stomach churned as the sound of cracking bones filled the air. Cooper fell to his knees, his hands bracing against the cold floor as his body convulsed. “What’s happening to me?!” he roared, his voice suddenly raspier and deeper, no longer the light airy tenor Mason had heard moments ago.

“Cooper, calm down!” Mason demanded, though his own panic was building. “It’s, it’s probably the drug giving you a panic attack or something. Just hold on, we’ll–”

But Mason’s words faltered as he watched, wide-eyed, as Cooper’s body began to change. His frame, once frail and delicate, suddenly began to expand with unnatural speed. His limbs stretched, his torso elongating until he had shot up to at least 6’4”. His skinny jeans became comically short, now resembling capris, while his Britney Spears t-shirt rode up his lengthening torso, exposing a wide swath of his toned abdomen.

“What the hell…” Mason whispered, stumbling back against the wall.

Cooper’s screams wavered, cracking wildly between high-pitched cries and guttural, low groans. His hands clutched at his chest and shoulders as his body continued to shift – this time with the invasion of muscle into his lithe frame. Before his eyes, Mason watched as the other man’s lean arms buffed up, his flat chest began to thicken and broaden, and the remainder of Cooper’s entire physique began to morph from wiry club kid to college athlete.

“It hurts!” Cooper cried out, his voice so deep and gravelly it was almost unrecognizable. “What the fuck is happening to me?!”

Mason’s breath caught in his throat. “Cooper,” he said, his voice trembling. “I– I think it’s real. That pill… it’s actually transforming you.”

Cooper’s new, larger form shook with silent sobs as his head dropped forward, his blonde hair falling into his face. “But I didn’t want this!” he bellowed, his voice resonating in the small room. “I just wanted to feel safe!”

Mason stared at him, horrified and helpless, his mind racing. Whatever he had stumbled into at Red Wave Solutions was far more sinister than he could have imagined. This wasn’t just brainwashing or manipulation – this was something once thought to be scientifically impossible.

He took a shaky step forward, placing a hand on Cooper’s arm and struggling to comprehend the jock-like biceps the man now possessed. “We’re going to figure this out,” Mason said, his voice low but firm. “I don’t know how, but we will find a way to turn you back. Just… keep it together, okay?”

Cooper looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “They changed me,” he choked out. “I barely even recognize myself…”

Mason swallowed hard, fighting back the rising tide of panic. “We’ll fix this,” he promised, though he had no idea how. “But first, we’ve got to get out of here.”

He reached for the door handle, his heart hammering. Whatever was happening inside Red Wave Solutions, Mason knew one thing for sure: he had to expose it, no matter the cost.

Mason had barely finished reassuring Cooper when the man doubled over again, this time clutching his chest with both hands. The cracking and popping sounds of shifting bone and sinew returned, louder and more unsettling than before. Mason’s stomach twisted in fear as Cooper’s body began to shake once more.

“Cooper?” Mason asked, his voice shaking as he stepped back. “What’s happening now?”

Cooper let out a low groan that turned into a guttural moan as his entire body suddenly began to swell with immense mass. In an instant, his arms ballooned with muscle. His biceps and forearms thickened rapidly, straining the sleeves of his Britney Spears shirt until they began to tear at the seams. His chest expanded, leaving his plump pecs pressed tightly against the fabric as his shoulders further broadened and filled out. His newly-jockish frame was already disappearing, undergoing an extreme metamorphosis as more layers of powerful muscle began to flood his physique. 

“Holy… shit…,” Mason muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of Cooper’s transformation.

The changes didn’t stop with his upper body, as Cooper’s thighs and calves surged with muscle, causing his jeans to pull taut until the fabric threatened to split. His abdomen, which had been toned yet flat before, rippled with abs so bulging and pronounced they looked sculpted from stone. And yet, even as Mason watched, a soft layer of fat began to spread over Cooper’s newly chiseled physique. His once-defined six-pack faded into the softer outline of a bulkier, slightly rounded stomach, giving him the appearance of a well-fed, off-season athlete… or a frat bro who spent as much time lifting weights as he did guzzling beer.

Cooper let out a long, low moan as the transformation slowed. His once frail and shaky voice was now deep and resonant, though his words came out in a stilted, almost dazed manner. “Holy shit, bro,” he said, looking down at his enormous hands and flexing them experimentally. “What… what happened to me?!”

Mason’s breath hitched as he stared at the hulking figure before him. Cooper’s face still bore a trace of his former self, but it was broader now, more rugged. His blonde hair was now down to his shoulders, styled with a natural set of curls that gave him a sort of redneck-chic style befitting of a frat bro. The sight was surreal, and Mason’s instincts screamed at him to leave.

He took a step back, glancing at the door. “Look, Cooper,” he said cautiously, his voice trembling. “I– I think you’re going to be okay still. Just… stay here. I need to figure out how to get us out of this mess.”

But the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. Every fiber of his being told him he couldn’t stay here any longer. Whatever was happening to Cooper, it was beyond anything Mason could comprehend, let alone fix.

“I’ll be right back,” Mason lied, taking another step back toward the door until his back pressed against the firm metal.

As he reached for the handle and turned it though, his heart sank. It wouldn’t budge. He yanked harder, but it quickly became clear that there was no use. The door was locked.

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, his panic rising. He spun around, his eyes darting toward the small window in the door.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Two enormous security guards stood just outside, their arms crossed over their broad chests. Both men were built like linebackers, their sharp features set in stern, no-nonsense expressions. They were looking directly at Mason, their eyes unblinking, their presence menacing.

“Oh, crap,” Mason whispered, stepping away from the door.

“Dude,” Cooper said behind him, his voice booming and casual now. “Why’s the door locked? What’s goin’ on, bro?”

Mason didn’t respond. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out. Yet as he looked around, he quickly realized that not only was the room small, but it lacked any other exits or windows. The only way out of this room was through the door – and the guards who clearly weren’t going to let him leave.

Cooper took a lumbering step toward him, his movements unsteady as he adjusted to his new burly size. “Yo, Mason,” he said, his voice a strange mix of confusion and excitement. “I feel so weird, man. Like, I’m freakin’ huge now. This is nuts!”

Mason pressed himself against the far wall, his breath quick and shallow. He had come here to expose Red Wave Solutions, but now he was trapped in a nightmare with no clear escape. And to make matters worse, the transformed Cooper was now staring at him with an unsettling mix of bewilderment and enthusiasm, as if unaware of the full extent of what had just happened to him.

The guards outside shifted slightly, their eyes never leaving Mason. It was clear they were waiting for him to make a move – which left the journalist wondering if they were simply there to stop him from interfering or eventually take him somewhere worse for finding out the truth.

Mason swallowed hard, his mind racing. Whatever was happening here, he was in way over his head.

Mason barely had time to process the sight of the guards standing outside the window before the door clicked and swung open into the room. His pulse spiked, and he took a few reflexive steps back, especially as the two massive guards rushed into the room with practiced precision and alarming speed.

“Hey! Wait–” Mason shouted, but the words were cut off as one guard grabbed his left arm and the other seized his right. Their grips were like iron, pinning him in place with an effortless strength that left him completely immobilized.

“Let me go!” Mason demanded, struggling futilely against their hold.

But his cries went ignored. The guards didn’t so much as glance at him, their stony expressions remaining fixed ahead like robots as they held him firmly.

Mason’s eyes darted to Cooper, desperate for help, but the sight before him made his stomach drop further. Cooper was staring at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the far wall, his now-massive hands running over his muscular chest and arms. His face, once soft and pretty, had undergone further dramatic transformation. The delicate features had sharpened into something rugged and masculine – a stubble-covered jawline that could cut glass, a straight nose, a set of manly lips adorned with a trimmed mustache, and thick brows that framed eyes filled with a vacant yet self-satisfied glint. For a moment, the man played with his hair, enjoying running his thick, callused fingers through his long wavy strands.

“Cooper!” Mason called, hoping to snap him out of his trance.

But Cooper didn’t respond, his attention entirely consumed by his own image. He flexed, his bulging biceps straining the tattered remnants of his shirt, his lips curving into a smirk as he admired his physique.

The sound of deliberate, measured footsteps echoed through the room, drawing Mason’s attention away. His eyes widened as a figure emerged in the doorway – a handsome, middle-aged man with perfectly trimmed stubble and sharp, piercing eyes. Dressed in a tailored suit that exuded authority, the man carried himself with an unsettling confidence.

He stepped inside, surveying the room with a smile that sent chills down Mason’s spine. His gaze lingered on Cooper for a moment, his expression one of approval, before turning toward Mason.

“Well, isn’t this quite the scene,” the man said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Cooper is coming along beautifully, wouldn’t you say?”

Mason didn’t answer, his throat dry as he glared at the man.

The stranger’s attention returned to Cooper, who was now flexing in earnest, his massive arms and broad shoulders filling the small space. “You’re doing great, Cooper,” the man encouraged, his tone warm and enthusiastic. “Just look at you. All that weakness, all that self-doubt – it’s melting away, isn’t it? You’re finally becoming the straight alpha male you were always meant to be.”

“No,” Mason muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “This isn’t right. Cooper, don’t listen to him!”

But Cooper didn’t even glance at him. Instead, his expression remained precisely trained at his new reflection and hyper-masculine face as one hand moved down to paw at his immensely-sized crotch. “Yeah… yeah, bro,” Cooper said, his voice deep and almost gravelly. “I feel so… powerful.”

The man chuckled, his smile widening. “That’s it. Embrace it. Let go of that weak, pitiful version of yourself. Expel it. You don’t need it anymore.”

“Cooper, stop!” Mason shouted, straining against the guards’ hold. “This isn’t you! Don’t give into what this asshole and his fucked up company wants!”

But his words were drowned out by the older man’s encouragement. “Come on, Cooper. Show us you’re ready. Show us you’re done with that fragile little self you used to be.”

Cooper’s grin turned almost feral as he stepped back from the mirror, his massive hands now split between jerking himself off and squeezing his immense new form. He thrust his hips forward once, then again, his body trembling as he gave in to whatever compulsion was driving him.

“No!” Mason screamed, his voice cracking as he fought against the guards with renewed desperation.

Cooper bucked his hips one last time, his movements growing erratic until he froze as a torrent of cum shot out of his thick cock. Mason watched as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head, his chest heaving as a guttural groan escaped his lips.

Mason’s blood ran cold. Whatever was happening to Cooper was reaching its horrifying conclusion, and Mason had no idea how to stop it.

Cooper – or rather, the person who had once been Cooper – stirred a few minutes later, his head jerking slightly before his eyes fluttered open. Mason froze, watching in disbelief as the hulking man came to. The confusion was evident in the newly sculpted frat bro’s face as he blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings.

“Uh… what the hell is going on, broskis?” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying an unfamiliar, lazy drawl. His gaze darted from the guards restraining Mason to the middle-aged man standing with a smug expression, and finally landed on Mason himself.

As recognition failed to surface in his eyes, the now-transformed man tilted his head, his lips pulling into a cocky smirk. “Yo, wait a sec… are you, like, a homo or something? Tryna sneak a peek at my badass bod or check out my… uh…” He flexed one arm and cupped his other hand over his crotch with a crude laugh. “…my impressive package, bro?”

Mason’s mouth fell open. “Cooper, it’s me, it’s Mason! Don’t you remember anything? You came here because–”

“Shut it,” the other man interrupted before snapping his fingers at the guards holding Mason. Without hesitation, they reached up and clamped strong hands over his mouth in order to silence him. Mason struggled, muffled protests escaping as he glared daggers at the older man.

The mysterious man turned to the hulking figure, his demeanor calm and calculated. “You’re quite perceptive, Jackson. As a matter of fact, we did indeed catch Mr. Samsen here sneaking into your room while you were in the middle of your… business.”

Instantly, Jackson’s brows furrowed as his expression darkened. He clenched his fists, the sound of his knuckles cracking echoing ominously in the small room. “What the fuck, bro?” he said, his voice a mix of anger and indignation. “You some kinda creep? Lemme guess, you’re some kind of fucked up fairy jealous of what a real man looks like?”

Mason shook his head frantically, trying to plead through the guards’ hands. His muffled cries went unnoticed by Jackson, whose frustration seemed to bubble over.

“Yo, I’ll mess you up, dude,” Jackson growled, taking a menacing step forward. His massive form towered over Mason, the threat in his body language clear.

But before Jackson could act, the middle-aged man raised a hand, his commanding tone cutting through the tension. “Now, now, Jackson. There’s no need for violence.” He nodded toward one of the guards standing by the door. “Escort Jackson to the lounge, would you? He’s had an intense day coming to terms with his inner truth, so I’m sure he could use some time to relax.”

One of the guards stepped forward, placing a hand on Jackson’s broad shoulder. “C’mon, man. Let’s go.”

Jackson hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking back to Mason. But then he shrugged, his frustration melting into indifference. “Yeah, whatever. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today, bro,” he muttered, turning to follow the guard out of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the man shifted his attention back to Mason. His warm smile was chilling in its insincerity. “Now, Mr. Samsen,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s your turn. You’ve poked your nose into matters you shouldn’t, so now it’s time for you to not only get punished but find a way to truly contribute to our cause.”

Mason’s eyes widened as the man continued, his tone almost fatherly. “You’ve spent so much time fighting against what you perceive as wrong. But you’ll soon realize that you’ve been on the wrong side of history all along. Don’t worry though, we’ll be gentle in helping you see the truth. And once you do, you’ll become the Conservative you were always meant to be...”

To read part two, click here.

[hypnoandstuff]

My mum has got this new boyfriend, and has invited me to spend the weekend with him and his son to get to know them but his son Ryan is kind of a dumb smelly jock and i am the complete opposite. Is there some way where we can get along?

Hypnotized by the Musk

I never wanted to be here. Spending the weekend at my mum’s new boyfriend's place was bad enough, but now I was stuck “bonding” with his son, Ryan. From the moment I stepped inside their house, I knew I wasn’t going to fit in. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, clinging with the thick, pungent stench of sweat and body odor.

Ryan was sprawled out on the couch when we arrived, wearing a damp, faded black tracksuit with the zipper pulled halfway down his chest. His body was built—broad shoulders, chiseled muscles bulging under his shirt, veins visible along his thick forearms. His dark hair was buzzed short, and a shadow of stubble clung to his strong jawline. Even from across the room, I could see the sheen of sweat glistening on his tanned skin, and I could smell him—musk, heat, something primal. It clung to the room like a living thing, and I instantly felt the urge to gag. The cocky smirk that spread across his lips as I approached told me he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having.

“Sup, Josh,” Ryan drawled, his eyes sliding lazily over me, sizing me up like I was some weak little creature in his territory. “You ever hit the gym, or you too busy with those books?”

I glared at him, already feeling defensive. “No.”

He chuckled, his broad chest rising and falling as he leaned back into the couch, arms draped casually along the backrest, his body exuding this casual dominance. His smell got stronger the closer I got. Sweat had darkened the armpits of his shirt, and I could see the dampness along the collar, sticking to his thick neck. The smell was choking, but worse than the smell was how confident he was in it, as if his sweat was some kind of weapon he knew I couldn’t fight.

"Figures,” Ryan muttered under his breath. “We’ll see if we can toughen you up this weekend."

Later that night, after dinner, Ryan suggested we hang out in his room. I didn’t want to, but what choice did I have? Mum was trying to get us to bond, and avoiding him wasn’t going to help. So I followed him up the stairs, already regretting it. His room was worse. It was small, cramped, and filthy. The air was even thicker here, saturated with sweat, old gym socks, and something sour that I couldn’t place. It made my head spin.

Clothes were everywhere—sweaty, crumpled gym shirts and track pants tossed haphazardly across the floor. His dirty trainers were kicked under the bed, and the heat in the room only amplified the stench. Ryan didn’t seem to notice; this was his space, and he was comfortable in it.

As soon as I stepped inside, I felt like I was trapped. The musk hit me again, stronger than before, wrapping itself around me like a fog, so thick I could almost taste the salt on the air.

Ryan flopped down on his bed, legs spread wide, his gaze fixed on me. His eyes gleamed with something I didn’t like. Then, without warning, he tossed a balled-up shirt at me. “Here,” he said casually. “Put that on. Might help you relax.”

I caught the shirt reflexively, feeling its dampness immediately. It was old, stained with dried sweat under the arms, and still warm. The smell hit me like a punch to the gut—stronger than anything I’d ever smelled before. It was soaked in him, like it had absorbed every drop of his sweat over countless gym sessions. My first instinct was to throw it back at him, but Ryan leaned forward, his voice softer, more coaxing.

“Go on. Smell it.”

I hesitated, feeling my heart thud harder in my chest. I shouldn’t have even considered it. The thought of pressing this filthy, sweat-soaked shirt to my nose made my stomach churn—but something in the way Ryan spoke made my muscles freeze. His voice was low, commanding, and without thinking, I brought the shirt up to my face.

The moment the scent hit me, my body jerked. The smell was overwhelming—thick, musky, the raw scent of a man who had spent hours working out, soaking his clothes in his own stink. It should have been disgusting, but instead, something stirred deep inside me.

I inhaled again, slower this time. The air burned my nostrils, thick and hot, but with it came a strange warmth that started low in my belly. The smell invaded my senses, creeping into my mind like a fog. I felt lightheaded, almost dizzy, but I couldn’t pull the shirt away. I needed more.

"That’s it," Ryan murmured, his voice sounding like it was coming from somewhere far away. “You feel that, don’t you? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My whole body felt sluggish, heavy, like my muscles were melting under the heat of his musk. But there was something else, too. My skin tingled, and I felt a strange tightness in my chest—something spreading through my veins, buzzing with every breath I took. My dick twitched in my pants, a sudden jolt of heat shooting down to my groin. I gasped softly, horrified by my body’s reaction.

But Ryan noticed. “Oh yeah,” he said, standing up now, moving toward me. His hand gripped my shoulder, firm and steady, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “You’re getting into it now, aren’t you?”

I tried to shake my head, tried to deny it, but another deep breath of his musk filled my lungs and my knees almost buckled. My thoughts were slipping away, dissolving into the heat, into the need. My cock throbbed painfully in my jeans, and I could feel wetness gathering at the tip, leaking into my boxers.

"You're leaking," Ryan whispered, his mouth close to my ear. "You like this more than you thought."

My heart pounded. Shame burned in my cheeks, but at the same time, a sick thrill pulsed through me. I wanted to stop, to run, but I couldn’t move. I was trapped in the heat of his body, in the overwhelming musk that was making my cock harder with every breath. The smell of him—it wasn’t just disgusting anymore—it was intoxicating. I needed it. My brain felt foggy, like the scent had wormed its way inside, making it harder to think, harder to fight.

I shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure between my legs, but Ryan’s hand slid down to my chest, pressing me back against the wall. “Uh-uh,” he murmured, his grip firm. “No touching yourself. You don’t get to cum. Not yet.”

I whimpered, hating how much I needed relief. My body was burning with it. My dick was pulsing, so sensitive it hurt, but I couldn’t stop myself from breathing in more of his musk. Every inhale sent another shockwave of pleasure through me, making my head spin.

Ryan stepped even closer, his chest almost touching mine now. The heat of his body radiated off him like a furnace, his scent so thick I could barely stand it. But instead of pushing him away, my hand gripped the sweat-soaked shirt tighter, pulling it closer to my face.

“You like that smell now, don’t you?” Ryan’s voice was thick with satisfaction. “You want to be like me. A dumb, sweaty jock.”

I groaned, my body trembling under the weight of his words. I did want it. I wanted to stop thinking. Stop worrying. I wanted to be like him—big, dumb, and soaked in sweat. The more I thought about it, the more my cock leaked, the wet spot growing larger as pre dripped down my leg.

Ryan grabbed the shirt from my hands and held it up, pushing it toward me. “Put it on,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Without thinking, I obeyed. I pulled the shirt over my head, the damp fabric clinging to my skin. The second it touched me, I felt a surge of heat—pleasure coursing through my body. The musk was all around me now, seeping into my skin, filling my lungs. It felt like the shirt was becoming me, fusing with my body.

“Look at you,” Ryan muttered, stepping back to admire me. “You smell like me now. You’re becoming me.”

I stood there, my mind blank, my body thrumming with heat and need. Every inch of me tingled with pleasure, my dick rock-hard and leaking, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t need to think. I didn’t need to fight. All I needed was to breathe.

And as I stood there in Ryan’s room, drenched in his sweat and musk, I realized that I didn’t just want to smell like him.

I want to be him.

[hypnoandstuff]

[hypnoandstuff]

[hypnoandstuff]

[hypnoandstuff]

[hypnoandstuff]

Rebirth

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and sighed. The man who looked back at me was a tall, thin and unassuming middle aged man with thinning brown hair, glasses and the eyes of somebody who had seen a lot of shit in life but never got anywhere in life. Sleep was hard to come by these days for me so I also had the infamous raccoon eyes.

Getting ready for work was a chore as always. The company I worked for had pushed everybody home when the pandemic hit a few years ago but now with it behind us, I was being forced back into the office where I had to deal with people that I didn’t like and do a job that I really wasn’t a fan of either.

I grabbed a bowl of cereal and sat down with my laptop and started scrolling through random articles. There were articles from the mainstream media talking about how the current president was causing problems overseas and domestically that were straining relationships left and right. Then there were the articles from the other side of the spectrum spinning these same decisions as what was needed for America.

Neither side honestly spoke the truth because the reality was that it was all based on perception. Depending on your political leanings, things would be land up being either good or bad, right or wrong. Instead of actually using critical thinking, both sides lived in their bubbles and fed themselves the same shit over and over again.

Personally, I would call myself a centrist in that I agreed with both sides of the political divide so I was kind of stuck in the middle. It made things worse for me and others like me because neither side believed that we were ‘pure’ enough for them. I had been personally told by friends on the left that I didn’t support their causes enough while on the right I wasn’t ‘in lockstep’ with their leader’s wishes.

It was fucking identity politics at its worst and I was sick and tired of it. As I sat there eating my cereal, I tried not to get my blood pressure up thinking about the mess that was only going to get worse and instead focused on things that I honestly enjoyed like gaming and writing.

I continued to scroll through some of the latest game news websites and then realized that I needed to get going. I was usually the first person in the office since I got up so early so it was easy for me to get in, do my job, and head home before traffic picked up for rush hour.

The drive in that particular morning was good and I was surprised when I got to the office that the door was unlocked and somebody was already there working which honestly never happened. I walked in and headed upstairs to my desk and saw David, one of the tech support reps sitting at his desk already.

“Hey David,” I said as I walked over to him. “Early start?”

“Yeah,” David replied as he turned to look at me. “Trying to get everything done so I can get out early. I’ve got something I need to be at.”

“A date?” I asked with a smile. “Who’s the lucky girl… or guy?”

“Nah, not a date,” he said. “I wish it were honestly. Just a group of guys I’ve been hanging out with lately. We have a get together tonight.”

“Nice,” I replied. “Last time I did something socially… hmm… let me think… okay fine. Too long.”

“Heh,” David replied. “Same here Chris. How about you come along tonight? I can check with them to see if its okay. Always looking for new guys.”

I thought for a moment. I wasn’t a big guy on being social. Most of my life I had been an introverted reader who enjoyed not having to deal with people. “Fine,” I replied. “Go ahead and ask. But not guarantee that I will show up all right?”

“No problem,” David replied as he grabbed his phone. “I’ll text message them right now just to verify it’s okay.”

I turned to walk away and then realized that David had gotten a new haircut. I turned back and said, “Dude… what the hell happened to the ponytail?”

David laughed. “I needed a change,” he said. “So I went for the close cut military style. You like?”

“It’s a… change that’s for sure,” I replied as I headed to my desk and started the work day.

A few hours later, right before I was about ready to grab some lunch, David walked over to my desk. He looked at me and said, “Still interested in tagging along tonight?”

I nodded and said, “I guess. I mean… sure.”

“Good,” David replied. “I got a message back and said that you are welcome to join us. The more the merrier.”

“All right,” I replied. “What time and where?”

David gave me the information and I agreed to pick him up at his apartment and then we went our separate ways for the rest of the day. A few times afterwards I wanted to tell David that I was going to back out and just be at my place alone as always but I didn’t.

That evening, after I grabbed dinner got a quick shower in and changed clothes, I parked in the back lot of David’s apartment building and after a quick text to David and an even quicker response, I sat there thinking about what the hell I was getting myself into. The only person I knew that was going to be at this meeting was David and we weren’t really good friends to begin with.

I saw David walk out of his apartment building and immediately realized something. David was wearing black dress pants and a red short sleeve dress shirt. He looked exactly like those guys that I had seen demonstrating a couple of weekends ago near the town hall. They were members of a white power group that had sprung up over the last few months in the area.

Well… this was about to get a whole lot fucking worse.

David got into the passenger side of the car and looked at me. “Evening!” he said cheerfully. “Ready?”

“One second,” I said as I returned the gaze. “Please for the love of fucking all that is holy that you aren’t part of that white power group that was demonstrating a few weeks ago are you?”

“We’re just a group of guys who are looking out for our race,” David replied. “Nothing wrong with that. And they’re a great group of guys.”

“They’re more like a fucking cult,” I replied.

“It’s not a cult,” David pointed out. “You made a fucking snap judgement about me by the clothes I’m wearing right now. That’s the problem with so many people these days. They don’t want to fucking listen.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. He was right. When I saw the uniform because that’s what it was, I immediately jumped to a conclusion. “Sorry,” I replied. “I just… am surprised that’s all.”

“I get it,” David said. “I never thought I would be a white power guy myself. Always a libtard guy who supported the alphabet soup and forgot who I really was. It’s hard to be a straight white guy in a political movement that is more concerned about other people than straight white guys. You still want to go?”

I wasn’t sure for a moment but then I nodded and started the car. “Just don’t expect me to sign up and start drinking the Kool-Aid all right?” I said with a smile.

“All I ask is to keep an open mind about things all right?” David replied.

I nodded and started the car and the two of us headed over to the meetup. As I drove, I wondered honestly what had made David change his outlook on life so drastically. But honestly, he wasn’t the first one who walked away from the left and found a new home on the right side of the political spectrum.

It took us about twenty minutes to get to where we needed to go. It was a two story house in an unassuming neighborhood in the suburbs of the city. In fact, if you didn’t know you were heading to a meetup like this, you would think the house was owned by a middle-aged family with two kids, a dog and a minivan in the garage.

There wasn’t a car in the driveway and I looked at David. “Can I park there or should I park on the street?”

“In the driveway is fine,” David said. “I’m surprised nobody else is here yet. Usually I’m one of the last to arrive.”

I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. David followed suit shortly afterwards and I followed him to the front door while he knocked. A moment passed and the door opened and I was confronted by a man dressed exactly as David was but he was also wearing a black leather vest. Beyond that, his hair was shaved entirely and he had tattoos on his arms and his neck.

“Hey!” the man said as he looked at David and then looked at me sizing me up. “Good to see you David.”

“Thanks sir,” David replied as he motioned to me. “This is my friend Chris. Thanks for letting him come over.”

The man continued to look at me and it felt like he was a predator looking over his prey. It was the most uncomfortable feeling I’ve had in years. Part of me wanted to flee at that moment and head back to my apartment honestly.

“Pleasure to meet you Chris,” he said. “I’m Alexander. You can call me Alex if you want.”

He reached out to shake my hand and I winced at the powerful grip Alex had. Of course he would have a grip like that. “Pleasure to meet you I guess,” I said with a bit of a nervous smile.

Alex looked at David and said, “Let me guess… not one of us is he?”

“No,” David replied. “And honestly he looks like he wants to run away at this point.”

“That’s honestly not far from the truth,” I said as I stood there totally out of my element. “Sorry. Maybe I should just go and leave you two to whatever you are going to do.”

Alex looked at me and shook his head. “Dude,” he said. “Just come in and relax. Play some cards and just have a good time all right?”

“Fine,” I replied as I looked back at my car.

Alex led the two of us downstairs into the basement and it was there that I knew I had gone through the looking glass. There were a bunch of flags hanging from the walls from white power flags to MAGA flags and a couple of others I didn’t recognize. There was a leather couch and chairs at one end with a television on the wall. At the other end there was a bar and a large table that was set up for playing poker.

I stopped for a moment looking around and then I looked at Alex. He smiled as he said, “Come on. I’m not going to bite… much.”

I walked over to the table and took a seat. Alex and David were talking about something and my eyes and mind went back to the flags on the wall. This was so fucking out of my comfort zone that the more I sat there, the more I wanted to get the fuck out of there and never come back.

The Celtic Cross flag with the words ‘White Power Worldwide’ drew my attention for some unknown reason. It was weird honestly but being in that basement felt almost empowering in a sense. Here was a man who believed what he believed and didn’t give a flying fuck what anybody else thought about him.

Over the next few minutes, a few other guys arrived and they were all dressed like David and had similar but not exact haircuts. David introduced them to me and I smiled and shook there hands knowing that I would probably never see them again after tonight.

The next couple of hours were honestly enjoyable for me. As I played poker and talked to the other guys, I realized that they were good people even if they had political views outside of the norm. I had always heard that anybody who believed in white power was one step away from being a Nazi and in many circles those labels were interchangeable.

I landed up winning a couple of dollars and after the game broke up, Alex looked at me and said, “So… what do you think?”

I looked at Alex and frowned. “Think about what?” I asked, knowing what he was talking about.

“About the group,” he replied. “About me.”

I got up from the table and sighed. “Honestly,” I said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about. You aren’t what I expected and that’s an understatement.”

“That we’re not roided assholes who think with their dicks?” Alex replied as he looked at David who chuckled.

“Among other things yes,” I replied with a smile. “Not that I’m buying into what you are selling but just talking to all of you… I don’t know.”

“It makes things seem logical?” David added.

“No…” I said as I looked at David and then back at Alex. “Something… I’m not sure honestly. I feel… strange.”

And I did feel strange. Maybe it was the smoke or just being surrounded by men who looked almost exactly alike and thought similar thoughts but there was a part of me, something deep down that I could feel that was changing. Maybe not changing but opening up to new ideas possibly.

“Strange in a good way or a bad way?” Alex asked. “Be honest.”

“Strange in the sense I don’t know what to think,” I replied and that was the truth. “I am standing here looking at these flags and looking at the two of you and…” My voice trailed off because I couldn’t finish the sentence properly. Honestly, a part of me was afraid to finish that sentence.

Alex looked at me and said, “What? There’s something you want to say isn’t there? But you fear saying it.”

I looked at Alex and he looked back at me with those intense eyes that felt like they were gazing into my soul and seeing what was in the darkest depths of it. A part of me was telling me to get the fuck out of there right now but the other part of me, the part of me that had been quite for way too long, spoke up.

“That you might be… right,” I said with a sigh. “I never thought about it honestly. But for the first time in a long time… I felt as though I was a part of something you know?”

“That’s how I felt when I first came here,” David agreed with me.

“Come over here,” Alex said as he walked over to the flag that I had been drawn to since I had walked down into the basement.

I walked over almost in a daze as I was trying to figure out what was going on. “Look at it and say the first thing that comes to your mind,” Alex said.

I looked at the flag and said, “I think that its okay to be white and that’s okay to be proud of being white.”

For a moment, I couldn’t believe what the fuck I was saying. But it felt right. It felt like I was waking up from a long dream and my eyes were finally being opened to the truth.

Alex looked at me and smiled. “Welcome to the brotherhood my friend,” he said as he unexpectedly hugged me.

I pushed away from him and shook my head. “No… no… this isn’t right,” I replied as I honest to fucking god stumbled backwards slightly. “I need to get some fresh air.”

“You need to accept the truth,” Alex said without moving. “You need to accept that you are one of us. You have always been one of us.”

My vision got blurry for a moment and I grabbed onto a wall for support. “What the fuck is going on?” I said. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

Alex and David both took a step forward towards me and Alex said, “I’m doing nothing. This is your true self awakening. Just accept it.”

I would not fucking accept it. I wasn’t a racist. I wasn’t… wait… no… that wasn’t right… no… this was all… wrong. I looked at the two of them standing there and I realized that I was mentally about to fall over a cliff that there honestly was no way to get back from. But as I looked at them, I felt a sense of belonging and I had been longing for that for so long in my life.

“What’s wrong?” Alex said as he took a step forward. “What’s wrong in believing what we do? Let me tell you there is nothing wrong in being a white man. Stop fighting it will you? Stop trying to run away and hide.”

“I’m not… hiding,” I said as I stumbled over my words. My mind was foggy, foggier than it had been in a long time. “I’m not… no… I’m not…”

“What?” David asked from where he was standing. “You and I are very much the same. I just woke up to reality and you’re just starting to.”

It was at that moment that the part of me that was resisting everything that was going on started to break. I could feel the cracks in my mental wall, the wall that I had built over the years and beyond that wall was something else, something that I had denied myself for years.

“I see it in your eyes,” Alex said as he walked towards me once more. “I see the conflict in your mind. Let go and accept what I’m offering you. A brotherhood, men who believe in the same thing as you do. Just stop fighting it and let me help you.”

I looked at Alex and I felt my head nod. “You’re right,” I whispered. “Save me.”

Alex turned and looked at David who nodded in return. My friend… no… my brother walked into another room as Alex made it to where I was standing and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Welcome home, brother,” he said.

David walked out of the other room carrying a barber’s shaver and a set of clothes exactly as to what he was wearing. Alex motioned for me to sit down in one of the chairs and said, “Close your eyes brother and let me break you of your past bonds.”

As I sat there with my eyes closed, I could feel my past beliefs fall away as my hair fell to the basement floor. Each movement was another piece of my mental walls breaking down and I was finally being accepted into something more than what I had been.

“Open your eyes brother,” I heard Alex said and I slowly opened them and saw my hair on the basement floor around the chair.

I turned to look at Alex who was smiling at me as he put down the barber clipper and motioned me to stand. I stood up and he looked at David who handed me the bundle of clothing.

“Go into the other room and change my brother,” Alex said. “Then you will look at who you truly are.”

I nodded and went into the other room and quickly changed out of my clothes that I had been wearing and into the shirt and pants that I had been given. For the first time in a long time, I felt whole and that the uniform just completed my transformation.

I walked back into the other room where Alex and David were talking. I stood there shaking slightly as Alex walked over and nodded. “You are one of us now,” he said. “Look at what you have become.”

He motioned to a mirror and I looked at myself in it. I didn’t recognize myself standing there. Instead of a rather unassuming man, I saw a man dressed in uniform with a shaved head and for the first time in my life I felt like I belonged to something.

This was who I was meant to be.

[hypnoandstuff]

Family Reunion (Part 11)

So a really quick recap: my younger, now skinhead brother came to visit me. He told me how he’d been recruited into a skinhead gang. I also learned he was in love with his new boyfriend who was called Chopper. Whilst restrained, my brother’s mates shaved my head, had me tattooed and gave me a great big nose ring. Then my brother told me Stevo has this thing for piss-play. It had already been decided I was to be his boyfriend, and he’s got me a rubber uniform that I will be wearing most of the time.

So the final part of my transition begins…

Stevo came up to me and started tweaking my nipples. The feeling was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was like a mild electric charge going through my body straight down to my groin. He noticed the effect it was having on me and smiled. “You like that don’t you boi”? I could only nod in agreement - the feeling was amazing. “Yes, I know it. We’ll get you back into Kev’s chair and get those nips of yours pierced and maybe we will get you some other piercings too”.

Stevo reached into his pocket and got two cigarettes out, lit them both and placed one in my mouth. Since Stevo had lit one up for me, it just seemed so natural now for me to smoke it. Dunc came over with another cup of the liquid. He removed the cigarette to allow me to drink the liquid. Once I’d emptied the cup he place the cigarette back in my mouth. Stevo spoke up, “I think you’re ready now. Dunc untie him and let’s get him geared up”.

With that Dunc released my hands from the shackles. They had been tied up for such a long time now. I stood up for the first time in so many hours. My cock was standing hard and proud.. Stevo came up to me carrying some ice cubes he’d got from my freezer and also had something else in his hand. Stevo took some of the ice and held it against my cock until the  erection left.  Then he quickly and expertly locked up my cock in a chastity cage. 

Stevo stood behind him and held my caged cock. “I own you now boi. You are my property. I will soon own your body. That’s why I locked up your cock. It’ll help focus your mind on your new life”. With that Stevo leaned into me for a kiss and I responded straight away. Snogging my new boyfriend back, wait did I just say ‘my new boyfriend’.

“Right let’s get you geared up and we can start getting into your rubber suit”. With that he grabs the suit. He lubed the inside of the suit with silicone oil, making sure he used extra oil on hips, legs and arms. He gathered up the first leg and said, “right put your foot inside”. He then pulled the leg of the rubber suit up to the thigh, and then adjusted it up to the height of the knees. He’d done this before. He repeated the process for the other leg. “You need to watch what I’m boi doing because you’ll be doing this yourself next time”. Stevo then pulled the collar up to the waist and smoothed out the legs. 

If my cock hadn’t been caged it would have been rock hard at this stage. He pulled the suit up to the chest and I put my first arm inside the sleeve until I’d got the forearm in place. The collar was pulled over my shoulder and I put the other arm inside the suit. He felt me up and down, finding the rear zip, “Mmmm, nice”, was all he said, and then kissed me again. My boyfriend was turning me into a rubber gimp that was into water sports and the thing is I didn’t want hime to stop.

Next, Stevo grabbed the yellow football socks and pulled them onto my feet and pulled them up. Next came the boots, which he meticulously ladder-laced tightly onto my feet

I was looking down at my new kit, feeling my cock straining in its cage. Stevo pulled a pair of rubber gloves one hand at a time.

Dunc walked over to sofa and picked up the gas mask, “Here m8, this is next”, and with that Stevo brought the gas mask towards my face. There was nothing I could do. I knew the mask was going on whether I like it or not. Stevo pulled on the zip and sealed my head in the gas mask. As I inhaled I noticed a strange odour. I heard Dunc say, “he should be starting to get the poppers now”. 

I can only imaging what I now looked like. The world was sure to know.

Happy with his work Stevo said, “That’s it. We’re all done here boi. All that’s left to be done is for you to get used to your new life. Over to you Dunc”. With that Dunc grabbed my arm and led me outside. He opened the rear door of a van they must have travelled in, and he put me in the back. 

The van had no windows, so I couldn’t tell where I was being taken. I don’t know how long the journey took because I had no idea of what the time was.

Eventually we arrived at the destination. The engine cut out and the back doors of the van opened and he lifted me out. I heard some heavy doors open, then Dunc led me inside. After a short walk he pushed me into a small room, with a bed. “Sit down boi”. He placed a collar around my neck and cuffed my legs and arms, which were connected to chain, which connected to the floor. I was’n going anywhere. Dunc removed the gas mask, “Stevo will be here in a while and you’ll be having your first session together. Don’t go anywhere”! Dunc turned laughing, knowing the boi wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.

Stevo brought me some papers, which he told me to sign. As I glanced at them, I noticed one was a resignation letter to my employer, another authorised the sale of my house, and a third cancelled my car lease and there were a couple more which I didn’t bother to read. When I’d signed all the papers Stevo, picked them up and said, “that’s it boi. Your old life is over. You’re mine”. Now let’s get started, and with that he unzipped his pants and unleashed a stream of rancid piss in my direction. “I’m marking you as mine boi”.

That was six months ago, and my first experience of piss. Since then I’ve drunk Stevo’s piss and I’m regularly doused in golden showers. I now share Nick;s passion for watersports with several of Nick’s crew. 

Now here I am a few months later, a proud rubberskin piss pig and life couldn’t be better. [End]

[hypnoandstuff]

Change Your Tune: Alvaro

Calvin and Eric are thrilled to visit the CYT Music Festival to see their favorite band reunite. After losing each other in the crowd, Calvin's mysteriously drawn to a Latin artist he's never heard of. With each step closer it’s clear there's no turning back.

An exciting collab with Misc TFs! Check out Eric's journey towards country music fandom Here ! For my part, hope you enjoy my first RC/cultural change in a while! Tossed a brief punk TF in this bad boy too ;) Hasta luego! -Occam

One could not ask for a better day to visit a music festival. Calvin isn’t exactly the type of person to attend something as hectic and high-traffic as the Change Your Tune Festival, but when his friend, Eric, heard that North Side was reuniting he knew they had to go. It had been their favorite band back in high school and there was no way they’d miss this one-time reunion performance.

Neither man was quite expecting just how massive the event would be however. They were so focused on their once-favorite band’s reunion that they paid little attention at all to the other artists taking part and were shocked to find out how eclectic the lineup was. From dozens of disparate sections it seems about any genre under the sun could be found. It was a wonder the fairground even had space for all these main stages. 

For a second Calvin is lost as he stares out across the sea of bodies, melodies from every set apart stage demanding his attention. Metal screams, EDM pulses, and R&B beats clash in the air, leaving Calvin wondering what a bizarre experience they’re going to endure until North Side’s set is set to start. Not as enthralled by the din of contrasting music, Eric bumps Calvin’s arm and shouts to be heard over the crowd, “You wanna head to North Side’s stage right now and sit through whatever’s there to make sure we get in the pit?”

Calvin nods and the pair take their first steps into the fairground proper before realizing they have no idea which stage North Side is actually set to perform at. Cogs turning in their minds, both men decide on different courses of action to find it. Nerves at missing the band superseding common sense, they head off in different directions in search of answers. Calvin wanders over to a map while Eric sees a crowd of festival-goers clearly dressed for North Side and approaches.

Only when he makes it to the map standee does he turn around to see if Eric’s still with him. Calvin finds nothing but the crowd. “Shit.” Looking from cowboy hats to mohawks he adds finding his friend to the to do list before turning to easily find the stage on the map. Mystery one solved with more than enough time to spare, he then sets to finding Eric.Checking his phone he finds that his phone has absolutely no service from the sheer volume of people at the festival.

Gritting his teeth he guesses he’ll just find Eric the old fashioned way and wades into the crowd. Assuming they went in completely opposite directions he feels confident that he can stumble across his friend fairly easily, and if not he’s sure they’ll bump into each other in the crowd for North Side. There’s certainly no real danger here as there seems to be a surplus of security wandering around, he thinks about asking one of the burly men if they could help find Eric though he promptly reconsiders as the sheer presence of the men spooks him away.

No he’ll just brute force it. Worming his way through the crowd, he notices that as he nears one of the stages that the crowds are far more homogenous than in the thoroughfares, perhaps unsurprising given fans are likely to congregate near their chosen bands, but something about it seems odd. Given the CYT Festival’s whole multi-genre vibe you’d think there would be some crossover. Thinking on that matter for a few moments as he pauses his search he realizes that he’s overthinking as immediately in front of him there’s a punk who seems to be quite taken with some real squeaky-clean indie pop.

Calvin almost laughs seeing the man’s liberty spikes sticking out above the crowd of bleached lengthy shags and shoddy perms. Swaying with the crowd, Calvin pauses to appreciate the idea of finding something you enjoy where you’d never expect it. Suddenly he’s bumped from behind by another presumed punk, far more nervous than his smiling cohort enjoying the sanitized tunes. The leather jacketed man clutches Calvin’s shoulders, “Hey! You- Have you seen my friend?” 

At first Calvin stares at him with a dumb look knowing how easy it is to see the punk in the crowd, “Sure dude? He’s right over, uhm?” Upon turning back to point, Calvin hesitates as he sees where the liberty spikes were once held high is an inconspicuous brown flop of hair, bobbing to the music. Stumbling over his words he turns back to the man who has now let go of his arms where he sees something even stranger. The man who was seconds ago possessed with anxiety at losing his friend is staring blankly ahead, Calvin would’ve sworn his shaky eyes were brown. 

Put off by the strange punk, Calvin awkwardly smiles and walks away, unaware as the man’s leather jacket shifts into a half-opened beachy button up as its sleeves fall off. Exposed to the open air his thin body begins packing on weight as his mohawk droops before cascading down his shoulders into a breezy curtain, as unassuming as every other aspect of his new personality.

 Uncomfortable in the strange crowd of this droll artist, Calvin spills back into the walkway and hopes Eric did not have the misfortune of talking with those bleary eyed, must-be stoned pop fans. Fingers crossed his friend is at the next venue, Calvin begins to scan the flow of festival goers once more before he’s distracted by a song he’s never heard calling for him over the throng, wholly demanding his attention.

Everything in the world suddenly feels muted besides this far off melody. His waking mind attempts to steer him back on track, to try and get him to return to the task of finding Eric so they can get to their concert, but suddenly that seems a distraction from discovering whatever delightful melody is pulling at him. He stumbles forward, the crowd almost totally parting to allow him to drift onward. In no time at all he finds himself outside the stage for some Reggaeton artist, Alvaro Altuve.

The young man shakes off the surreal pull the music has on him as he realizes he has never heard of the artist. While not the most worldly man, Calvin is incredibly online and prides himself on having at least a passing knowledge of just about anything he can scroll across. 

On top of that, he has friends who are absolutely into the genre and yet he’s somehow never even seen the name before. Clearly everyone around him has] as a large swath of the crowd behind him begins filing towards his stage. All the while, as Calvin continues to wonder how he’s not heard of this man, even pulling out his phone to frustratingly fail to search him, does his music continue to worm its way into and through his head.

Eventually he’s accidentally pushed by the surge of apparent Alvaro fans and stumbles with them, closer to the stage. Irritated at being manhandled, Calvin huffs to himself before letting curiosity get the better of him and opts to go with the flow. Arriving, he finds the stage empty, the Alvaro in question apparently isn’t set to take the stage for about half an hour, and yet the crowd is ecstatic for the instrumental recording blaring from the stage. Calvin tells himself he doesn’t get the hype, he tells himself he isn’t really enjoying the beat pumping through him. And yet-

He dances, he slams and grinds into the people nearby, he is moving like he never has done before. With speed and strength he shouldn’t be able to summon. Seconds lost to the unsung melodies trail into minutes as he experiences ecstasy from the looping track of an artist he doesn’t know a single thing about. The only thing breaking him out of the ecstasy is when he realizes the tunes begin to feel familiar. When he finally notices that his mind is slowly adding the lyrics. Starting like the buzz of a mosquito, soon enough his mind fills in lyrics in a language he can scarcely understand.

As real as the beats bumping in his chest, Calvir’s mind begins to ache as líricas begin to flow freely through him. He has to concentrate to still his lips from mouthing along. Words that fit perfectly with the ebb and flow, with the drumming pumping bass that lights his chest on fire. His vision flickers with the beat as he clutches at his chest, worried he’s experiencing some form of psychosis. There he finds that it’s not in his mind, something has begun to change. His outfit is entirely different.

Calvir feels bare sweaty skin where his flannel once hung, where it should still be. His hands grasp at a chest like they’ve never been able to before, bouncing with the increasingly familiar beats his body has begun to grow and new pecs are not left out. He feels the scratch of curls pricking against his palm as he tries to tune out his mind’s automatic addition of lyrics.

His mind returns to the two punks he saw not long ago, pupils flickering to the crowd around him; he can’t help but recall how concern left the man’s eyes as he too began to listen to that swill. Looking back he remembers an eyebrow piercing falling away as notched eyebrows filled in. How he could see the man's hair begin to restyle itself. Looking down at his own new chest he sees how around each of the new hairs lancing out of his heavier chest his skin almost looks patchy. As if it were splattered with a light brown paint.

Empowered by a new rising fear, Calvir fights back and begins to push his way out of the crowd. Gritting his teeth he’s unaware that his face has begun its own metamorphosis. His paltry blonde excuse for facial hair that has long been cut back to hide his inability to truly grow a beard returns with a vengeance. His upper lip twitches as the few thin hairs decorating it begin to lengthen, darken, and multiply. With each ambling step towards the edge of the crowd a new mustache thickens before it is similarly joined by a small goatee poking out of his chin. 

In no time at all his jaw and mouth are decorated with a facial hair combo that he has long admired. Wiping sweat from his face he feels them scratch against his arm and is stunned as he realizes he has continued to change even after blocking out the music that had him in its grasp. Looking at his arms it’s clear that the changes haven’t slowed in the slightest. 

The patchy spots of tanned skin have continued to expand, his arms too are similarly being enveloped as they join his chest in bulking larger. His hands shake as he sees veins trailing down biceps bulging heavy with muscle, he feels sweat drip down the side of his chest as his garden of pit hair spreads and thickens into an onyx dark jungle of curls.

Finally escaping the horde of Alvaro fans, Calvar stumbles over the barrier and stands to his feet. Grasping at the flimsy barricade he takes stock of his changed body, how muscle moves under his tight brown skin with the slightest movement. He rubs a scratch on his waist from the fall and feels his rough pubes crest into a treasure trail launching upwards towards his powerful chest. He doesn’t need to see his reflection to know his hair has likewise changed. 

“Qwhat es-” Calvar clutches at his thicker throat as he hears a deeper voice rumble from his chest. Eyes wide with fear, he tries again, hoping against anything that it was a fluke, a frog in his throat, “No, I’m not- No soy-” His eyes flicker across the crowd to find that, just like himself, they have begun to change. Their clothes and bodies continue to morph into whatever the music commands, the perfect audience for Alvaro Altuve to perform for. 

Something in Calvar’s chest flutters as the idea is more than alluring to him. He feels himself longing to give into the music once more as it rises in volume. Beyond that, he feels a burning desire to perform. When his subconscious begins to populate the beat with words once more his mouth can’t help but vocalize. It just feels right. He feels a burning urge to move, not the aimless ecstatic ambling dance of a fan however. No, he feels choreography ingrained into his bones yearning to burst free. 

Calvaro can scarcely stop himself as his legs and arms move to enact it. With an iron grip still on the stage’s barricade however he manages to stay strong. “I have- Teng- ohhh” Tanned hands fly to his face as in his mind the line between languages blurs, while still fluent in English quickly his native tongue is usurped, replaced by español.

As each thought twists and alters into his new tongue, so too does the content begin to shift. Fingers scratch down his face as his hands fall in confusion, rushing past thick dark eyebrows before rubbing a jaw sharper and increasingly covered by stubble as his goatee expands to cover his whole face rapidly connecting with sideburns inching down from his newly black hair.

“¿Tenía que- I had to find? Encontrarlo?” Try as he might, as the hair on his chest thickens and expands to cover his built chest, glistening under the sun. Blearily looking around as he tries to remember who or what he was looking for as his back cracks taller, Calvaro is distracted by the swell of the crowd. He feels the bass of the speakers bumping through their bodies, pulsing through his skill. Pushing its way to the front of his mind as his figure continues filling out is the realization that they are all cheering for him. They are all waiting for him.

His lips twist into a smile and he whispers to himself in his sultry, rough new voice, “para mí…” Suddenly members of the crowd begin pointing in his direction and their shouts begin to rise even higher. Alavarooo- Clicking his tongue his shy smile turns into a smirk as he watches the fans, his adoring fans lose their minds at nothing more than his sheer presence. 

Using his wide hand, he sensually rubs down the whole of his body with a wink and watches them shudder. Suddenly feeling a bulky mic in his back pocket, Alvaro knows what he must do. Memories of Eric totally fall to the wayside, buried deep alongside every other memory of being Calvin Dalton. No. There’s only one reason he’s here, and that’s to give his fans the performance de sus vidas.

He sprints alongside the barrier running to the stage, longer legs carrying his star-powered self to the stage. He shouts into the microphone and even then it’s difficult to be heard over the adoring cheers of the crowd, “Ayay- ¿Todos listos, mis all stars?” the little pet name is accented, as all his English is despite his fluency, though he knows that only makes him all the more alluring to his audience estadounidense. 

And with that he stands on stage, allowing the cheering of the crowd propel him into his final form, who he is, who he has always been. Suddenly joined by his banda and a crew of dancers, Alvaro Altuve begins his performance. With each new song his identity is sealed. With each flex and provocative, thrusting move the crowds wail and fuel his transformation even more. Even his time at the festival this very day is wiped away, replaced by warming up in his dressing room, flirting with other performers at this festival to end all festivals.

On the way to this very performance he passed some American band arguing. Dressed in some early 2000’s get up, something at the edge of his mind cried out to go get an autograph but he couldn’t say what. Why would he after all, he’s not in any state to ask for an autograph from some emos gringos. He’s Alvaro Altuve, and he’s got a show to put on.

Epilogue written with Misc TFs:

Rick sighed as he walked up to the bar, quickly ordering another shot of whisky and a beer. He glanced over at the group of good ol’ boys he’d been shooting the shit with all night - Jeb, Cletus, and Earl. They were all decked out in checkered shirts, faded jeans, and ball caps. Just like him now. It still felt so natural, even if some part of him couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly seemed…off about the whole situation.

“Why do I feel like I’m just actin’ a part?" he wondered to himself, frowning slightly, "Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin." 

Shaking his head, he tried to push the strange thoughts aside. Where were these thoughts coming from? Where else would he want to be? He was just a good ol’ boy enjoying a cold one with the boys after a kick-ass country concert. His thoughts were interrupted as a new song started playing in the bar. Rick knew this song… knew this band… a small smile gracing his lips.

"North Side.” He muttered, his foot tapping to the beat of the music, “Well I’ll be…”

He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him- a yearning for something he couldn’t quite understand in his slower mind. And as the music continued to strum at some past memory, the redneck couldn’t help but notice the striking Latino man with soulful eyes and a captivating smile, clearly enjoying the song as much as he was. 

“Well, would ya look at that." Rick muttered under his breath, "Seems like that fella’s got good taste in tunes, at least.”

Compelled by a force he couldn’t explain, Rick walked over to the man. His thoughts, once focused on music, instead shifted as he drank in the sight of the handsome Latino. The way he smiled, the way his dark hair was styled, the way his shirt hugged his muscles. Rick felt his dick stir.

“Howdy there, friend," Rick drawled, tipping his hat politely, "Name’s Rick. Can’t help but notice you seem mighty fond of this here tune, same as me.”

Alvaro looks up at the man, “Buenas noches. The name’s Alvaro.”

Rick’s eyes flash with recognition, “You mean the Alvaro? Like Alvaro Altuve? I reckon I recognized you from somewhere!”

Alvaro grinned, “Always happy to meet a fan.”

Rick paused for a second, captivated by the singer’s smile. The two stared at one another before Alvaro beckoned him to take a seat at the bar. Rick happily accepted the two chatting it up, their conversation flowing naturally- like two old friends. Their knowledge about North Side and their interest in the band not fitting with their outward appearance.

“I would’ve never expected you to like North Side.” Alvaro laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, throwing an arm around the man’s shoulder. They both blushed at the mere touch, and Rick pulled his arm away, “Well, I reckon I was always a fan, I think.” Rick shrugged and Alvaro grinned.

“Makes sense! You were the one who introduced me to them after all.” Those words hung in the air, the two became silent and stared at one another- their expressions shifting, their eyes conveying a faint recognition.

Rick, Alvaro knows Rick. He doesn’t know how he does but something deep within him pangs with familiarity or deja vu. Judging by the expression on the cowboy’s face it seems as if there’s some pang of memory behind his eyes as well. Alvaro stares at the fan wondering if he just saw the man at his concert or something but knows that dressed like he is, that cannot be the case, and then he sees his lips struggle to say, “C- Calv- Calvin?”

At once both men flash back. They were having lunch together, as they have done countless times throughout the years. Eric sees his friend who could scarcely put two Spanish words together, Calvin sees his bestie that would never be caught dead in a cowboy hat. They’re just talking shit as friends do when Eric gasps at a notification on his phone, “Dude- North Side is back!”

Before they left the table, the pair had bought tickets to the CYT festival and had begun planning what they were going to wear. Not for a moment wondering what else they’d care to see at the festival, why should they? They were going to see their favorite band of all time and they were going to do so together. 

Together. 

Back in the present as they look at each other in their new forms. Alvaro sees the sweaty, hairy chest of the good old southern man in front of him. Rick sees the effortlessly alluring manicured body of a latin rock star staring back at him. Together has a different spot in both their minds as they hear a grindr notification go off somewhere in the distance. Might as well see what their new bodies can do.

As quick as their feet can travel they’re in Alvaro’s trailer. Attempts to trawl out memories from who they were are fruitless or painful, so instead they delight in the present. The artist cannot believe how enticed he is by the smell of cheap whiskey and cheaper beer on the man’s breath. Rick is less discerning as he hungrily delights in the sweaty musk of the man who was on stage not all that long ago. 

Rick’s rough beard scratches against Alvaro’s neck as he takes a deep breath, he hears a deep whisper from the performer, “volve loco, vaquero.” He growls and his arms shake as he sees no reason to not obey man. Music playing in the background rapidly shifts from Alvaro’s own album, to the b-sides of the Blue Sky Dreamers, to the music that brought them into these new lives, North Side. Before fading altogether and leaving them alone with the sound of their bodies.

With each passing moment in the heady enjoyment of their new selves they feel their identities cemented. Rick’s clean-pressed closet wiped away for life on a farm, his pen-pushing 9-to-5 is nothing compared to the outdoor lifestyle he far prefers. Alvaro’s whole country of origin irrevocably changed, while he loves the life he’s found in the states they will never be where he’s from.

With each thrust they bury their past lives. Rick is and always has been a rough and tumble, rugged man. The rockstar life may be new to Alvaro, but he has always been a musician, even when he was just a small-town artist playing in cantinas. Despite their pasts being erased and their new lives becoming the only reality they know, they remain together. 

Sweatily making out in a trailer as Alvaro struggles to stop the cowboy from leaving cum stains on his stage outfit, when they are together something just feels right. While everything in the world around them may point otherwise, when they are in each other’s arms, everything just seems to make more sense. Even after they’re done having their fun, something remains between them, pulling them together. 

Sheepishly eying the cowboy as he pulls up his Levi’s, Alvaro doesn’t want to let him go, “Oi, vaquero?” The cowboy looks up thankfully, he’d never say as much but even life on the ranch doesn’t hold a match to the past hour with Alvaro, “Queiro- Do you wanna have lunch?” 

“Thought chu’d never ask-”

Neither would’ve guessed what their relationship would evolve into. Initially, it was the talk of the town. The Latin heartthrob and the rough-and-tumble country boy seemed like a totally unlikely couple. Some called it a publicity stunt, others whispered that it would never last. But through it all, Alvaro and Rick stood strong, their bond growing deeper with each passing day.

Alvaro strummed a guitar softly, while Rick leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. The radio playing softly in the background- the familiar beat of North Side’s music playing.

“Ya know," Rick said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I still can’t believe we went from two strangers at a bar to…”

“To this," Alvaro finished, setting down his guitar and taking Rick’s hand in his own, "And I wouldn’t have it any other way, mi amor.”

The two held each other closely, while North Side continued to play in the background.

Find Eric’s side of the story here !

[hypnoandstuff]

Change Your Tune: Rick

The companion story to Occamstfs post! Had fun working on it with them!

“Damn it...” Eric grunted as he pushed through the crowd, “Calvin...”

Stick together. It wasn’t complicated. All Calvin had to do was stick with him and things would’ve worked out fine. But now? Eric was pushing through the crowd as best he could- trying desperately to find his friend amongst a sea of giggling and cheering men.

“Sorry... sorry...” Eric mumbled, as he squeezed between a bunch of scantly dressed men, “Ugh... sorry...”

The attendees were too enthralled in the trashy pop music of whoever was up on stage to really pay him much mind. Their bodies moving to the beat, clapping their hands. Eric couldn't help but overhear a conversation between two guys in the audience as he brushed past them.

“Oh Em Gee I like, totes love this song!”

“But like...I was totally not into this kind of music before.”

"Same sis! But like... live a little!"

Eric pushed past them as they made out. And as he did, he felt overwhelmed. The cheering... dancing... kissing... the music... Eric paused and took a few deep breaths. It was so hot. The summer heat, the sweaty bodies...

“I... I don’t feel good.” His vision was getting cloudy, “Someone... I don’t...” Eric swayed, his head spinning...

"Like are you okay, cutie?"

"No... I..." Eric looked up at the twink and then down at his own hands, "What?"

They were smaller, daintier. His arms smooth and hairless- the muscle he did have now more diminished. He shook his head and pulled away, lurching towards the edge of the crowd. The music beckoning to him, worming into his brain.

“Wait... no...” He could've sworn his voice was an octave higher, “Calvin... I...”

Eric stumbled and fell to the ground at the edge of the crowd. The music growing less intense. The vertigo now improved. Yet part of Eric felt a sense of longing. To go back into the crowd. To get lost in the music. He shook his head

"I need to find Calvin..." He reconfirmed to himself. He looked down at his arm- it was his arm. His voice- it was his voice, "Must've been imagining things..."

“Oh looky here! You ain’t lookin’ too hot!”

Eric looked up, his gaze met by a group of strangers. They were all smiling, all similarly dressed. One of them stepped forward and extended an arm.

“You look like you could use a hand. Musta overheated out there."

Before Eric could reply, he was hoisted up by the man, while another shoved a beer into Eric's chest.

"It ain't water but it'll help."

"I'm good." Eric replied, handing him the beer. Since when was beer considered a good way to stay hydrated? "Well, maybe it is to these rednecks." Eric thought, before clearing his throat, "I gotta find my friend. We were trying to find where North Side is playing at." He looked around, hoping he'd see Calvin so he'd be able to get away from these guys, "But I lost him and..."

"North Side! We can show ya the way." One of the men slapped him on the back, "Jus' follow us. I promise we'll get ya there."

"Oh no, I'll be fine..."

"What kinda men would we be if we didn't help a fella out." The one chimed in, "Besides, you nearly fainted on yer ass back there. Can't be too safe now."

"Yeah! And North Side passes right by ol' Blue Sky Dreamers." Another added, "God, they're great. Never been much of a country fan 'till I heard them." The others nodded in agreement.

Eric raised an eyebrow. These men hadn't been country fans? They looked like they'd been plucked out of a cornfield and dropped here.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt." Eric sighed, "Lead the way."

He followed the men, listening in on their conversation. How they droned on about guns, trucks, and beer. How Blue Sky Dreamers talked to them- resonated deep within them. Their southern accents deep and carefree, their breaths smelling of whiskey and cigarettes. Eric felt out of place- uncomfortable even. He had no interest in getting to know these kinds of people... these...

"Ain't that just lovely." The men stopped, causing Eric to pause, "Ya hear that boys?"

Eric's ears perked up. The sound of a banjo, a fiddle, and harmonica whispered in his ears. Distant but ever present. It was... nice... calming... Eric shook his head and looked over to a crowd of men in cowboy hats, all swaying to the beat of Blue Sky Dreamers.

"I reckon that's the most beautiful thing I ever did hear." He watched as his guides walked towards the crowd.

"Hey, wait!" Eric called out, following behind them, "I still need... huh?" A cool breeze tickled Eric's exposed chest and he recoiled at the sensation, "What in the..."

He hadn't been wearing that. Had he? Since when was he wearing jeans? Since when did his shirt get so dirty? He looked up to see the men from earlier blending in with the crowd, disappearing into the sea of cowboys. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair, only to knock his cap to the ground.

"Ain't no way..." He stared at the cap lying in front of him, "I could'a... could have..." He corrected himself, "Sworn I was wearing a bandana." He reached down and picked the cap up, securing it back on his head, "Okay... North Sky... No that's not..."

Eric shuddered. Since when was it so hot? The summer sun beat down on him and the crowd of people certainly didn't help. The shirt he was wearing was soaked, covered in sweat. And with a grunt, he pulled it off and threw it to the dirt ground below.

"Fuck, what the hell?" Eric's eyes widened as he looked down at his lean pecs and toned abs, "I ain't usually..." His voice cracked as he ran a hand through the sparse, new chest hairs that appeared on his increasingly more tanned chest, "What in tarnation..."

And then he heard it. More clearly now. The music. It was filling his ears... filling him... It felt so freeing- each strum of the banjo, each word accented by a southern twang. Eric stepped forward, the crowd opening up around him to let him in.

"Well, ain't this the best dang music ya ever did hear?"

"I never reckoned I'd fall in love with country music."

"I ain't never felt a song hit me this hard."

eRic's mind was swimming with each step deeper into the crowd. His mind's eye filling with new images... an old farmhouse.... swaying corn... sweating after a long day's work... flickering fireflies... a bonfire.... beer... laughter... his truck...

"No stop... I gotta..." eRic swayed, bumping into the other men around him. Their bodies, made sturdy from working on their farms, prevented Eric from escaping, "Please... Calvin... help..."

eRic gasped... he could taste whisky on his breath... feel his muscles contracting and relaxing... He realized how closely packed to the other men he was. But not because they had gotten closer. No... he realized with increasing dread that he was bigger. His body thickening with firm muscle. His chest swelling into a pair of mighty pecs. Hairs sprouting from his crotch, across his abs, and over his chest like a blanket.

"Let me out... I gotta..."

But the men wouldn't budge- captivated by the music. And the song. Oh god the song was so loud... Reverberating in his head, worming into his brain. eRic could feel the sweat dripping from his increasingly rougher skin... an itchiness as stubble sprouted into a short beard. His arms thickened with muscle, blanketed by manly fur. But his attention shifted, even as his body continued to shift and change. His eyes focused on the stage, where Blue Side Dreamers continued to play.

"Well, I'll be! I could sit here an’ listen to these fellas ‘til the cows come home." Ric grinned, his foot tapping along to the beat, "What in tarnation was I thinkin’ not likin’ country music before?" He spoke, unbothered by the twang of his new southern accent.

He didn't know how long they kept playing. His body swayed to the beat... his mind elsewhere...

"Well, that’s a wrap, y’all! Mighty appreciate ya joinin’ us today, and we’ll be seein’ ya next year. Y’all be sure to grab our new album, now—don’t go missin’ out!"

Reality slammed into Rick and he shuddered as he returned to a state of full awareness. He looked around at the other men- men like him... proud country guys.... like himself.... born and raised...

"Hey Rick, didn’t you say you was wantin’ to go see that other band?"

A voice cut through the crowd and Rick grinned when he saw the men from earlier. He placed a hand to his cowboy hat and shrugged.

"I reckon I’m alright now—can’t even imagine wantin’ to hear nothin’ else after this!" A grin formed on his face, "But I could go for a nice cold one fellas!"

The group walked off, laughing and patting each other on the back. Rick ignoring a sign for North Side as he headed off towards the exit with his new friends to his new life.

EPILOGUE

Rick sighed as he walked up to the bar, quickly ordering another shot of whisky and a beer. He glanced over at the group of good ol’ boys he’d been shooting the shit with all night - Jeb, Cletus, and Earl. They were all decked out in checkered shirts, faded jeans, and ball caps. Just like him now. It still felt so natural, even if some part of him couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly seemed…off about the whole situation.

“Why do I feel like I’m just actin’ a part?“ he wondered to himself, frowning slightly, "Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin." 

Shaking his head, he tried to push the strange thoughts aside. Where were these thoughts coming from? Where else would he want to be? He was just a good ol’ boy enjoying a cold one with the boys after a kick-ass country concert. His thoughts were interrupted as a new song started playing in the bar. Rick knew this song… knew this band… a small smile gracing his lips.

"North Side.” He muttered, his foot tapping to the beat of the music, “Well I’ll be…”

He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him- a yearning for something he couldn’t quite understand in his slower mind. And as the music continued to strum at some past memory, the redneck couldn’t help but notice the striking Latino man with soulful eyes and a captivating smile, clearly enjoying the song as much as he was. 

“Well, would ya look at that.” Rick muttered under his breath, “Seems like that fella’s got good taste in tunes, at least.”

Compelled by a force he couldn’t explain, Rick walked over to the man. His thoughts, once focused on music, instead shifted as he drank in the sight of the handsome Latino. The way he smiled, the way his dark hair was styled, the way his shirt hugged his muscles. Rick felt his dick stir.

“Howdy there, friend,” Rick drawled, tipping his hat politely, “Name’s Rick. Can’t help but notice you seem mighty fond of this here tune, same as me.”

Alvaro looks up at the man, “Buenas noches. The name’s Alvaro.”

Rick’s eyes flash with recognition, “You mean the Alvaro? Like Alvaro Altuve? I reckon I recognized you from somewhere!”

Alvaro grinned, “Always happy to meet a fan.”

Rick paused for a second, captivated by the singer’s smile. The two stared at one another before Alvaro beckoned him to take a seat at the bar. Rick happily accepted the two chatting it up, their conversation flowing naturally- like two old friends. Their knowledge about North Side and their interest in the band not fitting with their outward appearance.

“I would’ve never expected you to like North Side.” Alvaro laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, throwing an arm around the man’s shoulder. They both blushed at the mere touch, and Rick pulled his arm away, “Well, I reckon I was always a fan, I think.” Rick shrugged and Alvaro grinned.

“Makes sense! You were the one who introduced me to them after all.” Those words hung in the air, the two became silent and stared at one another- their expressions shifting, their eyes conveying a faint recognition.

Rick, Alvaro knows Rick. He doesn’t know how he does but something deep within him pangs with familiarity or deja vu. Judging by the expression on the cowboy’s face it seems as if there’s some pang of memory behind his eyes as well. Alvaro stares at the fan wondering if he just saw the man at his concert or something but knows that dressed like he is, that cannot be the case, and then he sees his lips struggle to say, “C- Calv- Calvin?”

At once both men flash back. They were having lunch together, as they have done countless times throughout the years. Eric sees his friend who could scarcely put two Spanish words together, Calvin sees his bestie that would never be caught dead in a cowboy hat. They’re just talking shit as friends do when Eric gasps at a notification on his phone, “Dude- North Side is back!”

Before they left the table, the pair had bought tickets to the CYT festival and had begun planning what they were going to wear. Not for a moment wondering what else they’d care to see at the festival, why should they? They were going to see their favorite band of all time and they were going to do so together. 

Together. 

Back in the present as they look at each other in their new forms. Alvaro sees the sweaty, hairy chest of the good old southern man in front of him. Rick sees the effortlessly alluring manicured body of a latin rock star staring back at him. Together has a different spot in both their minds as they hear a grindr notification go off somewhere in the distance. Might as well see what their new bodies can do.

As quick as their feet can travel they’re in Alvaro’s trailer. Attempts to trawl out memories from who they were are fruitless or painful, so instead they delight in the present. The artist cannot believe how enticed he is by the smell of cheap whiskey and cheaper beer on the man’s breath. Rick is less discerning as he hungrily delights in the sweaty musk of the man who was on stage not all that long ago. 

Rick’s rough beard scratches against Alvaro’s neck as he takes a deep breath, he hears a deep whisper from the performer, “volve loco, vaquero.” He growls and his arms shake as he sees no reason to not obey man. Music playing in the background rapidly shifts from Alvaro’s own album, to the b-sides of the Blue Sky Dreamers, to the music that brought them into these new lives, North Side. Before fading altogether and leaving them alone with the sound of their bodies.

With each passing moment in the heady enjoyment of their new selves they feel their identities cemented. Rick’s clean-pressed closet wiped away for life on a farm, his pen-pushing 9-to-5 is nothing compared to the outdoor lifestyle he far prefers. Alvaro’s whole country of origin irrevocably changed, while he loves the life he’s found in the states they will never be where he’s from.

With each thrust they bury their past lives. Rick is and always has been a rough and tumble, rugged man. The rockstar life may be new to Alvaro, but he has always been a musician, even when he was just a small-town artist playing in cantinas. Despite their pasts being erased and their new lives becoming the only reality they know, they remain together. 

Sweatily making out in a trailer as Alvaro struggles to stop the cowboy from leaving cum stains on his stage outfit, when they are together something just feels right. While everything in the world around them may point otherwise, when they are in each other’s arms, everything just seems to make more sense. Even after they’re done having their fun, something remains between them, pulling them together. 

Sheepishly eying the cowboy as he pulls up his Levi’s, Alvaro doesn’t want to let him go, “Oi, vaquero?” The cowboy looks up thankfully, he’d never say as much but even life on the ranch doesn’t hold a match to the past hour with Alvaro, “Queiro- Do you wanna have lunch?” 

“Thought chu’d never ask-”

Neither would’ve guessed what their relationship would evolve into. Initially, it was the talk of the town. The Latin heartthrob and the rough-and-tumble country boy seemed like a totally unlikely couple. Some called it a publicity stunt, others whispered that it would never last. But through it all, Alvaro and Rick stood strong, their bond growing deeper with each passing day.

Alvaro strummed a guitar softly, while Rick leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. The radio playing softly in the background- the familiar beat of North Side’s music playing.

“Ya know,” Rick said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I still can’t believe we went from two strangers at a bar to…”

“To this,” Alvaro finished, setting down his guitar and taking Rick’s hand in his own, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way, mi amor.”

The two held each other closely, while North Side continued to play in the background.

[hypnoandstuff]

Luke

Stranger Danger

Part 9. Its Training.

Luke's world had returned to one of despair and fear. Only a short time ago he actually thought he was escaping this hell and for a few brief moments had thought this was finally over. He had allowed himself to believe that. He had believed Jack as well but once again he'd been tricked.

Things were moving quickly now they were back in the basement and the atmosphere amongst the 'guests' had changed. Changed into something more sinister, more urgent. Though still dressed head to toe in the Latex he had been so keen, so intrigued to try on a couple of days ago he had now been shaved clean of his pubic hair and locked into a metal chastity cage. He wasn't sure why it had been done but had guessed that it was a control thing. Jack had said something about not letting him get hard or wank until it came off. Until Jack allowed that to happen. Not that Luke thought either of those things were possible now, it was so tight he didn't know how he could even take a leak in it. He assumed he would have to piss himself when the time comes. Again.

Over his face had been placed a thing of torture. His mouth now filled with a huge rubber gag that forced him to open it wide and offer it to anyone. No longer able to talk he knew that it was being held open for a reason. Earlier he had actually thought that if one of the guests tried to make him suck their cock he would bite down on it and give them some fuckin hurt but this gag put an end to that plan. Now he couldn't close his mouth and certainly couldn't bite down on anything. They could force feed him whatever the fuck they wanted and he had no choice but to swallow it.

Luke knew this was it. This was the session he had been expecting and dreading. All the 'guests' were now present and they were stoned, and horny. He had already been abused by Mohican and Biker and now it was the turn of Speedo and Harness.

What Luke didn't know was that during this session all the guests would join in. All four of them.

He was aware that Speedo was behind him, he could hear the heavy breathing coming from within the gas mask he was wearing. He could also tell by the noises that he was lubing up his hand. What Luke couldn't see was that Speedo was lubing up his arms, not just his hands. And both of them.

In front of Luke Harness prepared things. He was at the shelves and was busy sorting and selecting the items he wanted. Luke watched him and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Harness had his back to him but it looked like he was selecting medical things. Swabs, a bottle of something, needles and a small box that contained things that he couldn't see. Some small pliers and clamps were also picked off the shelves. All of these things were placed onto the top shelf of the trolley which was covered in a green medical style sterile towel.

Luke couldn't say anything with his mouth being held wide open but he could certainly make noises. Noises of protest and of terror but these noises went unheard. Or rather they were ignored. Whatever the fuck this man was planning Luke didn't want it.

Whilst Harness gathered his items Luke heard the music from upstairs grow louder. He looked over to the stairs and watched wide eyed as Mohican and Biker came down them. Both laughing and talking loudly. Stoned and drunk Luke thought. They walked into the room, Biker still smoking a joint and just stood there looking at Luke. Mohican played with himself, obviously approving at what he saw.

Then he felt it. Speedo's middle finger. Speedo had lubed his right arm up to his elbow and was teasing Luke's arse. He rubbed the ring around his hole with his middle and index fingers occasionally just slipping the tip of one into his arse. Not far in but just enough to get Luke's sphincter to accept it. Luke tensed up as he knew what was about to happen. The effects of Bikers fisting from earlier were still visible and his used ring hadn't had enough time to recover. Speedo was in no mood to be gentle and teasing Luke's ring he picked up a cannister from the floor. Screwing it onto the front of his gas mask he started to take some deep breaths. As the fumes from the poppers started to enter his system Speedo arched back and let out a long deep moan of pleasure. Two deep breaths in and on the third he held his breath whilst his right hand was just behind Luke's arse.

Whilst Speedo was doing that Biker knelt down in front of Luke and held a bottle under his nose . "..you know what to fuckin do boy" was all he said. Luke took several long deep sniffs, three up each nostril. He was desperate for the poppers to relax him before Speedo started.

Without warning Speedo pushed his right hand into Luke, all four fingers squeezing in up to their knuckles. He then withdrew them and curled his thumb into his palm. With a groan he then pushed his hand back in all the way. In it went stretching Luke's sphincter wide, the lube doing its job. Although unable to talk Luke made a noise to Biker signalling he wanted more poppers. "Fuck me!" shouted Biker looking at Speedo "..it only fuckin wants more huffs!" Laughing, Biker crowched down and once again held the bottle of poppers under Luke's nose. "There you go you fuckin whore, snort on that..".

Like his mouth Luke's eyes were wide open and he took several really deep hits on the bottle. "...fuckin hell he wants this!" exclaimed Biker excitedly.

Meanwhile Speedo kept pushing his right hand into Luke's widening hole and soon

it popped him once again and slipped all the way in, right up to his wrist.

Both Luke and Speedo were high on poppers as this was all happening. Aware of Speedos hand being all the way in Luke prepared himself for the sensation of him pulling it out. But he didn't pull out, instead Speedo pushed in further. Luke let out a loud groan as he did this, his arse had never been this full before. Speedos wrist disappeared into Luke and in he kept pushing. Luke was panting now through his wide open mouth desperately trying to accept the invasion into his hole . Speedo then stopped pushing and started to pull his hand out. He pulled until half his hand was visible, stretching Luke's ring to its widest point, the lube leaving a tide mark on Speedo's arm where it had gone in to. The skin around Luke's hole was red raw and flushed with blood supply. Blood that was now under the influence of the poppers he was snorting, desperately trying to relax his muscles.

Speedo then shoved his right hand back in and it slid in up to the same point it had before, about two inches up his wrist. Luke's ring accepted this slightly more willingly this time, his anal canal starting to climatise to its new size. Speedo huffed on the poppers inside his own gas mask and pushed further. Three inches, then four. In he pushed until five inches of his arm were inside of Luke's arse. Then he pulled out his whole arm quickly, almost violently. Luke's ring was traumatised by the sudden withdrawal and as Speedo's fist ripped out it tore the skin around Luke's hole. Luke screamed in pain through his open mouth. His hole was left gaping open as Speedos hand pulled out completely leaving small trickles of bright red blood dripping out onto the concrete. As soon as he pulled out Speedo shoved his right hand back into Luke, this time it went in easily as the hole was still gaping open in the memory of his arm. In it went, fingers, palm, hand then up his arm. Two, three, four, five, six inches this time. Speedo now had half his forearm inside Luke's pussy and he twisted it in as he pushed. Luke was groaning and moaning as this was all happening and his eyes rolled back into his head. Drool now fell from his mouth and sweat formed on his body inside the Latex suit, despite the discomfort Luke tried to push back a little onto Speedos arm. Something inside him, something that had been hidden from him actually liked what was happening.

"Fuckin hell, look at him!" shouted Biker watching "he's fuckin loving it "

All the while this was going on Mohican had been playing with himself whilst watching the show. His cock was hard and twitching, the veins in it's shaft pumped fool of blood. He walked over to Luke and stood in from of him , his cock at Luke's head height. He rested it on top of Luke's Latex covered head, it's circumsised tip almost reaching the back. Wide and long it was. Mohican raised himself on his feet and his cock lifted off Luke's head. With a slight shift backwards he repositioned himself so his wet tool was just infront of Luke's wide open mouth. Both Mohicans cock and Luke's mouth dribbled making a puddle of cum and spit on the floor. Grabbing the back of Luke's head with both his hands Mohican then pushed forward and his cock entered his mouth through the centre of the rubber gag that held it wide open. The rubber stretched and widened more as his massive tool slid in and he pulled Luke's head onto it to help it on its way. Luke made a strange gurgling sound as he throat was stuffed full of Mohicans cock. He pushed in until it was in up to its base.

You couldn't see this as the Latex hood covered his head and neck but Luke's throat visibly widened as it accepted the offering.

Luke gagged on the cock as it reached its base and was pulled out slowly. Spit gurgled and jumped from his mouth as he tried to breath. As soon as it was out Mohican shoved it back into Luke's mouth, again all the way to its base. He then sped up the rhythm of the throat fucking until he was ramming it in and out at a fuckin rate of knots. All the while Luke gagged and choked and coughed up sputum, his eyes running and adding to the mess.

So this was Luke's new world. Strapped down onto the bench, arms and feet tightly secured. Shaved clean and locked into chastity. Encased in a now sweaty Latex bodysuit with his mouth held wide open by a rubber gag and getting faced fuck by Mohican, whilst he was being deep fisted by Speedo. Mouth and arse both full and stretched to their limits.

Speedo now sped up the pace of his fisting to keep up with Mohicans face fucking. Luke's hole was red raw, his pussy lips utterly destroyed. Speedo was fast and violent with his actions, sometimes pulling his arm all the way out, other times pulling half way out. Each time though he re-ntered a little deeper. By the time he was at full speed he was pushing his arm in all the way to his elbow. His hand was closed into a ball and he punched his way in and out of Luke's quivering pussy. Out it popped then punched back in, Lukes ring was now a mess. Swollen, battered and wide open it stayed gaping each time Speedo pulled out. It's lips pulsed and fluttered trying to deal with the abuse they were receiving.

Not content with using just his right arm Speedo then alternated the fisting with his left arm. He punched his way into Luke with his left, then right , then left arm over and over again. Each time up to his elbows. In those brief moments between being fisted Luke's hole farted and erupted out the mix of lube and sweat it held inside. All this whilst his mouth was pounded by Mohicans cock.

While this was happening Lukes cock hung down trapped inside the cage, now a tighter fit than it had been. His balls bounced back and forth as his body was abused and from deep within him his body was busy filling his nuts with seed.

2 days 10 hours 23 mins 12 secs..13 secs..

Speedo actually started to tire from the fisting he was administering, and sweat poured off of him. As if sensing his teammates tiring Mohican pulled his cock out of Luke's mouth and walked round to join Speedo. With his right arm Speedo wanked Mohican and as he did this he pulled his left arm out from Luke leaving his hole gaping open.

Invitingly.

Speedo continued to wank Mohicans cock and as he sensed it was about to burst he pressed it into Luke's wide opening and wave after wave of warm cum burst into his guts. He filled the boy up with his seed. Luke's anal walled was lined with cum and it travelled down deep into his body. As he shot more it became too much for Luke's hole and it overflowed out of the fluttering opening spitting on to floor. Before he was drained Mohican thrust forward into Luke, cum gushing out around his shaft as he pushed in. Mohicans nuts swirled as they emptied and he fell forward having to hold onto Lukes back for support.

Not wanting to miss the fun Biker then walked over with his camo jeans undone and his huge rock hard cock in his hand. He was beating it frantically as he stood in front of Lukes face. The skinhead was wanking into Luke's open mouth intending to fill him with his seed. As he got close to spilling his load he shoved his cock down Luke's throat and erupted a fountain of cum. Luke gagged and almost choked on it, desperately trying to swallow each wave. Cum flew from his mouth like a warm geezer but most flowed down his throat and into his stomach. Despite his mouth being held wide open he swallowed as much as he could.

The pounding Luke's arse received did do him one favour . It utterly numbed it, in fact it numbed all the area around it and that was a good thing because as Mohican and Speedo stood up and walked away, high five'ing eachother as they did so Harness grabbed a small stool and pushed his trolley towards poor Luke.

On his trolley was an assortment of medical looking things. Things that looked very out of place in this dungeon.

He placed the stool down in between Luke's widened legs and sat on it awardng himself perfect access to Luke's hairless perineum.

With the trolley by his side he then got some cold numbing spray off the trolley and sprayed it onto Luke.

The cold temperature made Luke flinch but actually helped ease the pain he felt. Glancing up over Luke's back towards his head Harness then looked over at his trolley and picked up a large rounded needle. He was being very matter-of- fact about what he did and didn't hesitate to press the needle through Luke's sensitive skin just below his ripped hole. He pushed the needle into Luke and bought it out about a cm away. Luke screamed in pain and desperately tried to wriggle out of the restraints. Hopelessly of course. He wasn't going anywhere. Again briefly glancing up at Luke as he cried out Harness carried on his work. From the trolley he picked up a small swab and wiped away some of the blood that had now appeared where the needle had punctured Luke. He also wiped away some of the mess that was now dribbling out of Luke's engorged rectum. A sticky messy mix of lube, cum, sweat and blood.

Harness then picked the small box off the trolley and opened it. Inside was a collection of silver rings, all different sizes. He carefully selected one of the smaller ones and closed the box. Then he opened the ring apart and using the holes from the needle he pushed it through. Once it was out through the other hole he closed the ring back together and sat back admiring his work.

Luke was now the proud wearer of a Perineum piercing.

Wiping away the small amount of blood Harness then performed this same action two more times on Luke. Each using the same size rings. By the end of the procedure Luke had three silver piercings about 1 cm apart from eachother in the small area of skin between his balls and his anus.

It hurt like hell and Luke was quietly crying. The only occasional relief coming from the cold numbing spray.

When done Harness pushed the trolley away and wiped Luke. He then simply closed up the zipper which had given the three men access to Luke and walked the trolley back to where the others stood.

The damage to Luke's rectum, the swollen rosebud, and the three piercings were now all hidden by the Latex. Once again he was encased. Hurting, bruised, weeping and unsure what exactly Harness had done to him Luke panted with exhaustion.

Biker then walked over to him and roughly removed the head harness and the rubber gag from Luke's mouth. As the gag came out a huge trail of sputum came with it and arc'd between the gag and mouth until the line broke. His cheek muscles ached from having been forced open for so long and Luke was grateful for the chance to open and close his mouth, trying to regain some feeling. No sooner had the gag been removed but the same Russian style gas mask that Speedo was wearing was placed over Luke's head once again. He was very familiar with the routine now and actually mumbled a "thankyou" to Biker as he did this. Taking deep breaths in and out Luke enhaled the mix of Nitrous and poppers that was supplied to the mask from above. Within about twenty seconds he was overcome with the aroma and inside the mask his eyes rolled back into his head. His body now needed these drugs.

Luke was now just an object to these men. Any identity he had was being removed. He was getting dependent on the drugs he was being given. He was just something to fuck. Something to fist. Something to milk. No longer a boy. Now just an 'It'

The clock on the wall continued to count. It never stopped counting.

2 days 14hrs 56mins 09secs..10secs..

2 days 23hrs 01min 45 secs..46 secs..

It was kept high on drugs and the Hypno session restarted. It was milked again.

3 days 10 hrs 14 mins 11 secs..12 secs..

Harness pierced It's nipples. Both of them with silver bar piercings. Then it has It's nose pierced with a silver hoop. The Hypno session continued.

4 days 09 hrs 12 mins 56secs..57 secs...

Harness tattoo'd "No 5" across Its left pec. It's tounge was pierced with a silver stud. The Hypno session continued

After 5 days 12 hrs 14 mins 12secs

This Hypno session ended. For now.

This routine of hypnosis and of guests arriving meant It's training continued without any let up. The sessions were intense. They were relentless. Endless edging and milking Its bruised cock. Sometimes, usually infact they lasted many hours. On occasions there were as many as Eleven guests at a session. It's hole was battered and destroyed, it's pussy lips were permanently engorged and pronounced. Eventually It's head was shaved short. It no longer needed it's long hair. It was kept in chastity permanently. It wasn't allowed to get erect and definitely wasn't allowed to cum. Ever. It was kept dressed in Latex. Every part of it was covered except It's eyes and mouth. The only talking It was allowed was to answers questions directed at It. After some pain It learnt this.

As a reward It was given a new identity.

From now on It was called No. 5.

62 days 09 hrs 11mins 14 secomds.

No. 3 and No. 4 were successfully sold to another Guest.

No 5 was now alone.

198 days 1 hr 23 mins 11 secs..12 secs..

After 198 days in the dungeon and endless sessions of hypno therapy and Guest Session's No. 5's training was complete. No. 5 knew that to get food in it's bowl it must suck any cock put in front of it. It knew that its arse was for others to use. It felt safe and warm in Latex and always wanted to be wearing it. No. 5 was comforted by Sir's kind gestures. Kind things like letting it drinks Sir's piss. Like letting Sir cum in its mouth. Luke letting Sir beat It. It wasn't to walk anymore but was allowed to crawl on all fours. No. 5 was taught to love the taste of cum. As a reward No.5 was allowed to get high. No. 5 was still locked in chastity but if it was good Sir said he would unlock No. 5 for an hour every month.

No. 5 didn't know what an hour or month was.

358 days 18 hrs 12mins 15 secs..16secs...

Looking up at the display on the wall No. 5 didn't know what those strange numbers meant anymore.....

The End of Luke's story.

The story of No 3 and No 4 will come next....

[hypnoandstuff]

Luke

Stranger Danger

Chapter 8. The escape.

2 days 04 hrs 14mins 45secs...46secs..

Luke had cried himself to sleep over 10 hours ago. He had slept the sleep of the truly fucked, both physically and mentally. His arms were no longer taped but his forearms were held closely together at his wrists by a metal bar and his hands were tightly placed through round hoops on each end of the bar. On each hoop where they clamped shut was a padlock. Firmly snapped shut. It meant though he could move his arms a little he couldn't separate them by more than the bars length which was about 12 cm's. They were like medieval handcuffs.

He lay on the mattress in the fetal position with his legs curled up to his chest and his hands to his front. It was the same position he had always slept in at his home. Home where his comfortable bed was. The comfortable bed in the comfortable bedroom that was full with the sort of things that young lads like. Old posters of his favourite bands, some lanyards hanging from the desk light from gigs he had attended. His guitar standing up in the corner and clothes strewn across the floor near the tall wicker laundry basket. His gaming console next to his laptop on the desk. Just ordinary nice comforting things.

Oh how Luke's life had changed. Things were now far from comfortable and were the very opposite of comforting. Now he lay on a piss stained mattress on a cold concrete floor in the basement of a man who had tricked him two days ago. Chained to the floor, unable to stand he could only crawl about on all fours. Food given to him in a dog bowl. He had endured hours and hours of abuse already and he had been here for just two days so far. He was wearing the latex bodysuit that covered every bit of him. Hands , feet, head, everything. There were very few of Lukes features visible now but what was still visible were his beautiful mesmerising hazel green eyes and his oh so kissable cute pouty lips, all framed perfectly by the tight thick Latex of his hood. Looking as good as he did despite everything, he really was his own worse enemy.

Quietly out of the darkness Jack came into the light, nervously looking behind him at the stairwell. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue long sleeved t shirt and on his feet he wore black and white high sided Converse sneakers. He walked over to where Luke lay and knelt down on the cold floor

"..hey, wake up man.." he whispered as he reached out and gently shook Luke.

"....wake up, c'mon man. Look at me.."

From his slumber Luke heard Jack's voice and slowly opened his eyes.

Jack was glancing over his shoulder as he continued..." man I'm so fuckin sorry dude for what we've done to you but it's gone too fuckin far and I want out.."

Luke looked at Jack as he slowly woke up and started to digest what he was hearing.

"...these fuckin guys want this to go on and on but it's too much man! I can't fucking sleep anymore, I'm a fuckin wreck and I want out, this has already gone way too far.." Jack was still whispering "...I've got a chance to get you out of here but we've gotta move fast. The others are all upstairs getting stoned and drunk and their running out of beer. They've told me to go get some and that's my chance to get you out of here before they get bored and come back down to continue with you..."

Luke's eyes blinked with confusion and disbelief at what he heard, his head looking around the dungeon . He nodded eagerly in agreement and tried to sit up, the chain only allowing him to a little. "...fuck!! Yes please Jack, please man get me out of here. I'm fuckin terrified.." he was visibly shaking as he said this. "...please please.." he spluttered on the verge of tears again.

" We've gotta move quickly and quietly but there's a problem" said Jack in hushed words ".. I've only got the padlock key for the chain from your collar to the wall but Mohican has got the ones for everything else..."

"Everything else..?" Luke said curiously.

"Yeah I don't have the ones for the back of your hood or your wrist locks but it doesn't matter, I can use bolt cutters on them when we get away from here and back to my place...!" as he was saying this he was using the key to unlock the chain where it attached to the wall hoop. With a click it opened the padlock and Jack released the chain.

Luke was now able to stand up for the first time in hours. He climbed off the mattress and stood up next to it stretching his body, his arms reaching high above his head. He wanted to get out of the Latex suit too, the smell of it reminding him of the hell he had been through whilst down here but he knew that until the locks were cut off he had to stay in it just a little while longer.

Jack walked back to him and touching his shoulder gently said.." I've gotta get you to my car in the garage next door. Then we can drive out of here and get the fuck away! Okay?"

"Sure!" said Luke. Though he was confused by Jack's change of attitude he was also desperate to leave this hell.

Almost sensing Luke's confusion Jack said "...these fuckin guys upstairs are really nasty pieces of work and they've got me over a fuckin barrel. They've been blackmailing me for over a year now and they've cornered me into this shit.." he was gesturing around the dungeon as he said this. " you've gotta believe me I've had no fuckin choice but to do as they tell me otherwise I'm a fuckin dead man. I'd rather have prison than them controlling my fuckin life anymore!..."

Luke nodded, to be honest he didn't really care what Jack's backstory was right now, all he wanted was to get as far away from here as possible and fucking quickly. Back to his old life before all this began.

"..right, keep quiet and follow me" said Jack as he walked over to a door in the far corner of the dungeon. He unlocked the door and opened it a little turning to Luke as he did so. "...my wagon is the other side of this door, when we get in the garage I'll open the boot cos you're gonna have to get in that otherwise when I drive out their gonna see you on the back seat, and then there'll fuckin kill us both. Got it..?"

" Yeah no problem man, I gotta jump in the boot so no one sees me. Please let's just hurry up!" replied Luke, his desperation obvious in his voice. He was really shaking now both with nerves and the cold air that was blowing through the garage and into the dungeon.

Jack opened the door and peered inside. "Okay no one's there, follow me. Quietly!" and with this he walked through the door. Luke followed him into the garage. Inside was a bright well lit room painted pure white. Two cars were inside. One black Range Rover and a white Tesla. There was a tool rack on one wall and some bikes in a corner. Luke recognised one of them as his own. Jack used the fob to unlock the Range Rover and the boot lid opened. "Right climb in and don't make a fuckin sound or we're both in deep shit"

Luke was standing in the bright light of the garage just behind the boot of the black car. It was a strange sight, he looked so out of place in this very ordinary setting, standing there as he was head to toe in his shiny Latex suit. His hands held together by the handcuff bar. He didn't need telling twice though and climbed into the boot.

Jack stood behind him and reached for the boot lid, as he closed it down he pulled the cargo cover over the top of Luke, concealing him from view.

Luke was laying in the same position he slept in, his legs curled up to his chest and his cuffed arms in front of him as there wasn't much room in the boot. He heard Jack open the driver's door and felt the car rock a little as he climbed in. Then the engine started and the car started to move forward. "Remember don't make a sound cos we're about to drive right past everyone okay?"

"Okay Luke whispered back, not sure if Jack had heard his reply. He was really shaking now, his nerves were fizzing in his system and the cold air was hitting his body.

The car slowly pulled out of the garage and started to drive across the gravel towards the driveway. All of Jacks "guests" were outside in the garden drinking and smoking, laughing with loud music playing. Seeing the car leave the garage Harness jumped up out of his chair and stood in front of it blocking it's path, beer in one hand and a joint in the other.

"..where the fuck are you going in such a hurry?" he bellowed as Jack lowered his window.

"getting some more beers and stuff" replied Jack. Luke could hear this conversation from his hiding place and he actually crossed his fingers hoping the plan would work. How cute.

Harness looked over Jack's shoulder onto the back seat "...okay but don't be long man. We're nearly out of smokes.."

"No worries, be back in a bit" Jack said as he closed his window and Harness stepped back and let the car move on.

Luke felt the car move forward again and started to quietly cry with relief as he was driven away from the house, away from the dungeon and down the drive.

After a few moments, a little way down the driveway Jack said " right, we're on our fuckin way outta here man. We've done it. I don't wanna stop so your gonna have to stay in the boot until we get to mine Okay?"

Luke was overwhelmed with relief "yeah Jack that's fine! thankyou, thankyou!" answered Luke as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

For the next five or ten minutes Luke felt the car drive on and with every second he was getting further away from the house. He started to think of his parents, of his friends and of his happy life before all this had started. He was worried about having to tell them everything that had happened, because he felt dirty and ashamed of what he had been through and he feared his parents would never see him as their Luke again but he just wanted to be home. He shivered with utter exhaustion and relief, but for the first time in days a smile formed on those gorgeous fucking lips.

But then he heard them. Voices. Voices from the front of the car.

"Fuckin hell man, I think he actually fuckin believed you" the man said laughing

"He totally fuckin believes me" said the other man. Luke recognised that voice as Jacks.

Luke was confused, who was Jack talking to? Was he on a phone call to someone?

Who did he mean about believing him? Did he mean Harness believing his smokes and beer story? Something felt wrong. This no longer felt like a rescue should feel.

"Jack, whats going on, can you stop and let me get in the front with you"?

Laughter from up front.

" Hold on boy, we're nearly there" said a voice. But not Jack's voice.

Luke realised something wasnt right and a wave of absolute terror swept through him again. He tried to kick the boot lid open but there wasn't much room and he couldn't get any purchase from his legs.

"stop the car Jack, please! Let me out!"

Then the car stopped abruptly and the engine turned off. Luke heard Jack say "right, we're here. Let's see his fuckin face!.." Then Luke heard two doors slam shut and footsteps on gravel walk round to the boot. As the boot opened and the cover was pulled back Luke looked up and when he saw who was there he actually pissed himself through the Latex.

Standing at the boot of the car was Jack, Mohican and Biker.

"No! oh please no not back here, please let me go ....please!.." was all Luke could splutter out as he realised what had happend.

"..You stupid fuckin prick!" said Jack "did you actually fuckin believe what I said to you? Did you actually think I was rescuing you!?" They all laughed at him as Luke cowered in the cars boot. The crotch of his Latex was now wet with his piss and he began to lose all hope. He began to realise that this was never going to end for him, he was never going to return to his home. He tried to figure out what had happened, that Jack had been tricking him and that he must have just driven around the block before returning to the house. They must have all known what he was doing all along.

"Fuck you" said Luke in a last ditch attempt to show his strength " you fucking bastards, you're fuckin twisted..!" This attempt at strength was met with more laughter.

Standing with the others at the back of the car Mohican was still wearing Lukes Castelli skinsuit, but now it was covered in someone's cum. Splattered with white patches, some fresh some a little older it clung to his body the mix of sweat and seed. His cock was still standing through the ripped material and was as hard and angry as before.

Skinhead Biker was just wearing his blue and white camo jeans now, his hard cock clearly making an outline in them. His boots were laced up high, his red braces now hanging down by his side. He was also covered in sweat and was smoking a huge joint. He took a deep breath in and leant forward into the boot of the car where he blew the smoke into Lukes face.

Jack then grabbed Luke by his collar and lifted him out of the car by it. Luke desperately tried to hold onto the side of the boot but with his hands cuffed together it was hopeless. He screamed and yelled out loud as he was literally dragged across the gravel by his collar. He grabbed the sides of it trying to loosen it as it choked him. His legs kicked out in a pointless struggle as his feet scuffed across the gravel surface. He was utterly at the mercy of Jack's superior strength. Crying now and screaming out for help, no one heard. "Fuck no, please please no!" he yelled "help me! Somebody help me please!!" He was dragged kicking and screaming into the garage and towards the door that he thought he had escaped through just half an hour ago. Biker pretty much threw him through it, and then Luke was back in the dungeon.

From the outside of the house, his screams and yells grew quiet. Then silent as the door was firmly shut behind him.

The music in the garden however continued unabated.

2 days 6 hrs 09 mins 23 secs..24 secs..

Inside the dungeon Luke was dragged over to another corner still screaming for help. He was held up against a wall and his arms were held out up high to his sides. Both were strapped to the wall. His legs were placed wide apart and also strapped to the wall. Across his chest went two further straps, all buckled up tight.

"Ok, I'll do what you want, just please don't hurt me!" Luke pleaded

"..listen you fuckin piece of shit" said Jack his face just inches from Luke's. " ..you don't have fuckin choice but to do what we want. You aren't in any fuckin position to negotiate. Oh, and just to be absolutely crystal fuckin clear we abso-fuckin-lutely do want to hurt you. We want to really hurt you" with this he spat a huge gobfull of spit into Luke's face which landed straight in one of his eyes. With his hands strapped up Luke couldn't wipe his eye clean and so had to let the spit slowly drip away, leaving a stinging redness to his left eye.

Biker then reached round and unlocked the zip at Luke's lower back and unzipped his suit round to the front exposing his now flaccid cock. Enough time had passed and so any remnants of the Viagra had long left Luke's bloodstream and there was no chance of him getting a boner naturally right now. It's hard to get erect when your terrified.

Mohican then did something unexpected to Luke. He covered his cock and balls in shaving cream and started to shave him down there. Now Luke had always kept things neat and tidy, he always preferred the look and feel of smooth nuts and his pubes were kept short and clipped. Mohican however wanted things even more clean and so swiftly and efficiently shaved any remaining pubes away. After he was done he threw some bottled water over Luke's crotch and admired his work.

Luke was now completely shaved. Not a single pube was left.

"What the fuck are you doing?" asked Luke. Mohican ignored the question.

Then Biker came over with a trolley. From this trolley he picked up two things. Two metal things. One was a round hoop with a small stud at the top. The other was a weird looking cock shaped set of rings joined together by a piece of metal.

Biker slipped the ring over Luke's nuts so that it sat behind them, swelling them like the cock ring had earlier. Then he got the cage and slipped it over Luke's flaccid cock. When it met the stud on the ring it snapped into place and the two were joined together. Biker then got a small lock off the trolley and padlocked the two things together.

Jack walked up to Luke and looked down at Bikers handywork.

"..right you little fuckin faggot" shouted Jack. "...you're now locked into this cage and there's no chance you're ever getting a boner or gonna cum again until I fuckin say so. You're gonna stay locked in this. Don't fuckin think I didn't notice your cock dribbling cum when you were getting stoned earlier. Or that I didn't fuckin hear you groan and moan when you huffed on the poppers. I fuckin saw it all you little wanker. And that's exactly what you can't be anymore. A wanker. Your balls are going to be fuckin ready to burst by the time I unlock your cage.. understood?"..

Luke nodded but he really didn't understand. He didn't understand any of this. How could this all me happening to him. He was terrified of these men.

Luke then had another gas mask placed over his head by Biker, this one with a large bottle attached at the front.

"...now I really really fuckin suggest you take the deepest fuckin breaths you've ever taken cos what we've got planned for you next is definitely gonna fuckin hurt. You want to be off your face with poppers you little pig.."

Luke started to breath in deeply, he knew that Jack meant what he said and wanted to be as high as possible if it dulled the pain.

As Luke snorted through the gas mask Jack and Biker undid the straps and dragged him over to another part of the dungeon.

Here was a piece of equipment that although modern in it's build, looked medieval in it's design.

Similar to the padded stool that Luke had been strapped to before this piece of apparatus had something quite different at one end though.

As Mohican forced Lukes body over the stool Biker and Jack lifted and tightened the two body straps across his back. They did these up even tighter than before and Luke cried out in pain as they were buckled up. The two men grabbed a leg each and forced them into the kneeling position. Both did up the restraints that would hold them down, four straps per leg. Two above the knee and two below. While this was being done Jack used a key to unlock one of the padlocks on the wrists cuffs attached to the metal bar. A key he had on him all along. Jack then forcably pulled that arm behind Luke's head and held it on his lower back with his knee. He then pulled the other arm with the bar still attached behind Luke as well and shoved Lukes free hand back into the metal cuff. With a click he then shut the padlock closed once again. Then Biker got two additional straps, much longer than the others and tied them around Luke's torsoe and arms, buckling them both up tightly. Luke was now straddling the bench with his arms strapped behind him and handcuffed at the wrists. His legs were strapped down to the floor so all he could move was his head.

But not for long.

For the thing that made this piece of apparatus different from the one before was that it had a set of stocks at the head end and once Luke's head and neck had been placed through it was closed shut and padlocked. Now Luke couldn't even move his head. All he could do was scream out.

But not for long.

For what they did next was truly barbaric. Over the top of the Latex mask that Luke was wearing Biker placed a head harness with a large mouth gag built in. The harness sat ontop of Luke's head, under his chin and around the back of his head were straps that were tightened up. His mouth was forcably opened by Mohican and the mouth gag was shoved in. The gag itself was a large black tube type thing. What it did was to make Luke open his mouth wide to accommodate it but the centre was hollow. This meant Luke's mouth was now being held wide open but the gap through the centre of the gag gave anyone full access to Luke's open mouth. Luke could no longer talk or scream really. All he could do was make weird noises as he tried to beg the men to stop.

So here he was, strapped down to the bench with his hands strapped down and handcuffed behind him. His legs were spread wide and also strapped down. His head was placed through a stock and he had a mouth gag on that forced his mouth wide open.

Of course what Luke could still do and in fact was encouraged to do was to cry. And cry he did.

Jack unlocked the padlock at the bottom of the zip on Lukes back. He then opened the zip downwards until Luke's perineum was nicely on display. Which of course also meant that Luke's hole was also now displayed.

His hole had taken a battering earlier by Bikers fist. It was still red and swollen, it's opening still puffed up.

What Luke didn't know was that Harness and Speedo were now entering the room. Speedo was still wearing the same outfit as before. Russian gas mask, tight black speedos, wrists straps and lace up boots. Harness was wearing something that looked more at home in an abattoir. Over the top of his chest harness and leather jock strap he wore a large leather apron. On his feet were big black boots.

What Luke also didn't see was that Speedo went over to the shelves and placed two huge tubs of fisting lube on a trolley. He then wheeled it over to behind Luke. Speedo then took the lids off both tubs and took off the wrists straps from both his arms. He then took the lube and started to lube up both arms. Not just his hands, but right up to his elbows........

Luke was going to wish he had taken much deeper huff's on the poppers very soon.....

2 days 8 hrs 14 mins 12secs..13secs..

To be continued....

[hypnoandstuff]

Luke

Stranger Danger

Part 7 - Disorientation.

1day 5hrs 12mins 23secc...24secs....

For over 4 hours Luke had been left, though he had no idea how much time had passed. The stopwatch on the wall was obscured by the large screen that had been placed in front of him. In fact it obscured everything. Apart from the screen and the floor below him he could see nothing else in the dungeon. The strobe lighting was having a real effect on his vision, disorientating him. The loud music in the headphones was interspersed by long bursts of white noise. Loud and all consuming it was. As time had passed the music got less and the white noise had got more. The porn playing on the screen in front of Luke was relentless. The longer clips had now been replaced by images of men. Naked men, men wearing Latex and Lycra, men fucking, men masturbating.....The images were changing constantly. Lasting only a fraction of a second they were shown just enough for his addled brain to register what it saw before changing. It was like the images and the lighting were strobing in unison. It was extremely hypnotic. Extremely dissorianting. The only relief from the images was for Luke to close his eyes but the white noise in his ears made any chance of rest hopeless. So for nearly 5 hours he had remained like this. He was crying uncontrollably once again and desperately tried to free himself from his restraints but couldn't. They were done up far too tightly. And so he layed there, straddling the bench with his hands and feet tightly strapped into place on the floor. Mohicans cum dripping from his swollen pussy, strobe lights flashing, the white noise in his ears and nothing else to watch but men fucking eachother... Despite all of this due to utter exhaustion and fatigue, though seemingly impossible to achieve with the tears falling off his face Luke actually fell asleep...well he actually passed out.

1 day 8 hours 11 mins 18secs..19secs..

Time passed. Slowly. Hour after hour after hour. During this time Luke was drifting in and out of consciousness, his brain fogged by the endless hypno therapy but he had been mildly aware of someone coming into the dungeon and placing the gas mask over his head once again. He hadn't the strength to resist.

What he didn't see was that the person putting the mask on was Subject 3. Subject's 3 and 4 were both in the dungeon now, both still wearing their full latex bodysuits. The gas masks over their latex hoods and their cocks now concealed behind the suits' cod piece. Even though their butts were still on view and invited attention they weren't here to pleasure anyone now. Now they were here to work. Or to prepare. To prepare Luke. Silently and efficiently No. 3 lifted the mask off the trolley and placed it over Luke's head. Then it undid the hose from the connection above that had supplied him with the poppers he had so greedily snorted some time earlier and attached it to another hose. There were several hoses hanging from the ceiling, all supplied a different thing. No 3 opened the valve and with a hiss a fresh supply of Nitrous now travelled down the hose and into the gas mask. Luke didn't know he was breathing it in but the effect was almost instant. He was rushed to a place of calm euphoria. No. 4 was also in the room and was preparing more things for the trolley. Tubes, pipes, hoses and a small machine were all placed onto it and it was then wheeled to the side of Luke. No. 4 knelt down and undid the chain that pulled Luke's stretched balls from the hoop in the floor. They gratefully sprang back and hung below him, tender and full. They were still encased in the original cock ring and ball stretcher but were now at last free from the added abuse of the chain pull. Luke's cock was still leaking pre cum. No 4 noticed this but concentrated on his work. It had been trained well to not be distracted by such things, unless of course Jack had instructed them to be things of pleasure. But this was not that time, now it busied itself with the task it had been set. The pipes were connected to a large transparent plastic tube. Imagine a very large plastic test tube. The tube was closed at the top and had a transparent pipe coming out of it. Attached at the side near the base was another tube that was connected to the machine on the trolley. The bottom of the tube had a rubber seal on it with a small opening in the middle. No. 4 held it's hand out under Luke's cock and interrupted the flow of pre cum. It covered it's gloved fingers with it and rubbed them over the seal at the bottom of the tube, lubricating it. Next it held the tube underneath Luke's cock and through the small hole in the rubber slid it over his still hard member. The rubber gripped his shaft and created a vacuum tight seal. The Viagra had been in Lukes system for about a day now and normally it would be loosing its effect but experience had taught Jack that the amount he had given Luke would keep him hard for at least another 12 hours.

The plastic tube now encased Luke's swollen cock, the weight of it pulling it straight down. One of the pipes was now connected to the machine on the trolley and the pipe on the top of the tube went into a large silver flask that No.4 had placed onto the concrete below Luke.

As he lay there bent over the stool with this thing attached to his cock it looked as if Luke was about to be milked like a cow.

No. 4 then turned on the machine which made a vibrating noise as it whirred into life. Pulses of air were sent to the vacuum chamber which resulted in making the whole tube jerk up and down Luke's cock, gripping it's shaft and pulling the skin back revealing its red circumsised tip.

Luke was indeed being milked.

On top of the machine was a dial which allowed the user to increase or decrease the amount of air and therefore movement of the vacuum chamber. The three options were 'Prolonged' 'Regular' and 'Rapid'. No.4 set it to 'Prolonged' and stepped away from Luke. It joined No. 3 and both just stood there looking at him. Watching.

What they saw before them was an unconscious boy hunched over a stool, his arms and legs strapped into place unable to move anything apart from his head. He had headphones on and was being forced to watch porn. All this was happening under the hypnotic effects of the strobe lighting. On his head he wore a gas mask and was being made to inhale Nitrous gas to keep him calm. Underneath him hung a milking machine attached to his cock that was pulsating and jerking up and down teasing his cock but not enough to make him cum. If he did however it would all drain into the flask on the floor, a flask that Jack had plans for later. But no the intention was to keep him on the verge of an orgasm. To edge him. To teach him control. For fuckin hours.

No. 3 then switched over the tubes in the gas mask from Nitrous back to Poppers. Luke, in his sleep like state breathed heavily almost pleased to be inhaling the familiar gas once more.

His cock swelled within the milking machine as he breathed and he groaned through the rubber of the mask.

Though part of their work was now complete No. 3 and 4 had one more task. They went to the opposite corner of the room and wheeled another trolley over to Luke bringing it to rest behind him between his spread legs. This trolley was lower than the other and on the top of it was a large black rectangular machine which had a pulley wheel on its side with a pulley arm attached. This arm was connected to a long thin pole that came out of the front of the box. No. 3 adjusted the shelf of the trolley so that the pole was at exactly the height of Luke's hole. Whilst it did that No. 4 went over to the industrial shelving which had the various toys on it, surveyed the collection and made it's choice. The one it chose was 12 inches long and had a circumference of 9.5 inches. Quite the beast but by no means the largest. No. 4 attached it by it's base to the end of the pole. No. 3 then clicked a button on the side of the machine and a green light came on, then it turned a dial which had the numbers 1-10 on it to number 4. This was the machines speed setting. Another dial had four options which were 'Shallow' 'Medium' 'Deep' and 'Random'. This was how far the pole moved. No. 3 selected 'Random' and then pressed the start button to check everything was working. As it did this the pulley wheel on the side started to rotate and in doing so moved the attached arm in and out. This movement meant the dildo moved in and out by the same amount.

The machine was then turned off and all the movement stopped. No. 4 opened a tub of lube and generously smothered the entire length of the dildo with it and then took a big blob of it and smeared Luke's still swollen pussy with it's fingers. It inserted one sticky finger deep into his ring just to make sure. Both 3 and 4 then slowly moved the trolley so that the tip of the greasy dildo was pressing into Luke's spinchter. It didn't quite penetrate it but was placed so that the dildos tip pushed Luke's hole inwards slightly, just on the brink of sliding without actually doing so.

No. 3 then turned the machine back on and pressed the "start" button. It whirred into life and immediately and without any hesitation pushed the dildo forward. As the depth setting was on 'random' the amount of movement in and out wasn't a gradual build up and this first 'push in' was actually pretty fuckin severe. Almost all of the dildos 12 inches sank into Luke quivering hole and as it did, through his Poppered induced state of arousal he groaned through his gas mask and tightened his fists into balls as he did so. His toes also curled slightly as he was being machine fucked by the dildo. The machine withdrew the dildo by half way then quickly pushed it in again by a small amount. In and out it went sometimes deep sometimes shallow but always at the speed setting of 4. The lube on the dildo was helping it slide in and out as it stretched Luke's hole wide. As it pulled out his sphincter was gripping it tightly and the skin around his entrance was pulled out with the dildo. Then it was pushed in as the dildo rammed it's way back home.

Their work done No. 3 and 4 simply left the room, they didn't look back at Luke as they left.

Luke was alone again. He was high, he was tied up and was being milked and machine fucked as he lay there. The white noise in his headphones continued and if he opened his eyes he would see the flashing images of men. The strobe lighting pulsed. His pussy being fucked and his cock being milked.

Luke was being removed and No. 5 was getting it's training.

On the wall the stopwatch counted up...

1day 10hrs 11mins 03secs..04secs..05secs

He was milked. He was fucked. He was hypnotised. He was drugged. He was milked. He was fucked. He was hypnotised. He was drugged.

He groaned.

Time passed.

1 day 12 hrs. 34mins 56 secs.....

1 day 13hrs 23 mins 12 secs.....

1 day 15hrs 45mins 22 secs.....

1 day 18 hrs 09 mins 44secs...45secs...

Luke stirred, he was waking up. But something was different again and he was no longer hunched over the stool. No longer was he strapped to the floor. Now he was lying on a small dirty matress that was placed directly on the concrete floor and he was back in the corner of the dungeon where he had eaten the bread. Somebody had dressed him again and now he was back wearing his full latex bodysuit. He was once again totally encased in Latex, even his hands and feet were covered . On his head was the mask he wore before with the eyes and mouth cut out. This suit though had a cod piece at the front covering the hole his cock had been squeezed through earlier. He was actually slightly relieved to be back wearing the suit. The smell and feel bought him comfort and he felt less vulnerable wearing it, like it protected him. He tried to touch his sore throbbing member and find out why it was so painful but to his horror he realised his forearms had been folded up and tightly bound with silver tape to his upper arms so that his hands were touching his shoulders. On his hands were weird rounded mitts which meant his fingers were useless. Even if his arms were freed he couldn't use his hand at all and that was a problem for Luke as despite all the trauma he was going through he had a desperate urge to feel his cock. To play with it and to empty his swollen balls. They were feeling like they were going to burst. For some reason that Luke couldn't explain they were full of seed. Of course he had no memory of the hours of edging and milking he had been through. As a result of this his young tight balls had been filled with sperm. Ready for release later.

On his neck he wore the same collar as before again chained to the floor so he couldn't stand up.

"...fuck..." he said quietly to himself. He was sore, really sore. His cock hurt and so did his arse. He couldn't see it but his once tight boy pussy was now enflamed and swollen, it's sphincter muscles were puffy and red from hours of abuse and stood proud like the entrance to dirty cave. Unlike before they hadn't recovered and snapped back to their original tightness. He still had lots of training to do but his ring was just starting to look the way he Jack wanted it to. Luke of course had no memory of anything that had happened after the headphones had been placed on him and the screen had been put in front of him. Why the fuck did his cock and arse hurt so much?

"..what the fuck have you done to me?" he asked nobody in particular. His ears were still ringing fom the hours of loud white noise pumped into them, in fact he thought he was still listening to the headphones and his eardrums were probably permanently damaged. His vision was still trying to recover from the hours of stobe lighting and white flashes blinded him so he blinked desperately trying to clear them.

He had endured over 5 hours of hypno treatment before he had been placed on the mattress though time meant nothing to him anymore.

What he also felt was hunger as it had been over a day since he had eaten a proper meal. He looked around hoping to see the plate of food laid out on the floor like before but saw something that at first he didn't understand. There was indeed food left for him just to the left of where he was laying but gone was the neat matt and plate. Instead a large silver dog bowl was dumped on the bare concrete floor. It was filled to the top with a soft brown mix of of food, some of which had spilled over the edges. Luke couldn't quite believe what he was seeing and once again he started to cry as he looked around to see if he had missed something. He hadn't and he realised that this was how he was to eat his food now. The hunger was overpowering and so Luke had no choice but to crawl on all fours across to the bowl and using his mouth began to consume the food. With tears running down his cheeks he devoured it, gulping it down like a greedy puppy.

No. 5's training was well under way.

And he hadn't had the pleasure of Speedo and Harness yet.

But he soon would.

..to be continued.