hypnoandstuff

[hypnoandstuff]

All it took was a couple glasses of Moonshine to turn that atheist liberal city boy into a mighty fine GOD fearing Christian who loves his country and his new papa.✝️💪🦅🇺🇸

[hypnoandstuff]

Three nights ago, Spiderman had been patrolling through the street. It was all quite, but his spider senses were tingling. Something was amiss, but wherever he went all seemed normal. As the night went on, the feeling of unease grew, but he couldn't find anything. As the night grew weary, he decided to go home.

As he entered his apartment, he immediately noticed something was amiss. He smelled smoke. Cigarette smoke. He looked around and calmed down a bit when he saw the familiar silhouette of Superman standing at the window. Whenever he was around, they used to get together to have a good time. He felt his ass twitch in anticipation. He didn't know that the super hero smoked, though. But, to be honest, he didn't really know a lot about the him. Their contact was mostly physical.

"Hey, Spiderboy," the super hero said in a gruff voice, slightly mocking voice, "good to see you. I have been waiting for you." He took a step closer to spiderman. Spiderman noticed, that superman looked differently. He looked more muscular... and he had shaved his head. His outfit also looked darker, but that could be just the lighting. "Hey, superman, sorry, I was out there all night, patrolling, you know?" "No problems, Spiderboy, you are here now and it looks like you could use some fun." Spiderman grinned in agreement. He wasn't sure what had happened to Suoerman, he was usually not so straightforward, but thatbwas perhaps because he had waited for him all night. He actually quite liked it. Superman took a step closer and exhaled a cloud of smoke towards Spiderman. Spiderman coughed slightly. The other superhero smirked darkly. "So, what's up with the new outfit?" Spiderman asked. "Ah, you know," the superhero answered, as he took another step towards spiderman, towering now above him, exhaling smoke directly into his face, "we decided it was time for some re-branding. Don't you like it?"

Spiderman looked up into Superman's eyes. They seemed to glow red. The smoke was making him a bit woozy. In all honesty, he couldn't barely remember, how Superman used to look like. It was as if the superhero had always looked like the way he did just now. He caressed the sleek outfit of the superhero. He smelled the smoke on the superhero. It made his mind so cloudy with horniness.

"Yes, I love it, Superman," he answered, while staring into his special friend's eyes, while his hand lingered down to the superhero's crotch. "Superman is the old me, spideyboy, I now go by Smokerman." Spiderman nodded. It was so hard to think. "Yeah, Smokerman suits you," he said, almost entranced. The re-branded superhero smiled. It was going all according to plan. He guided Spiderman to the bedroom and made him lay on his back. "You should give it a try too, you know," he said, as he started to enter Spiderman, "you would feel so much better. Spiderman didn't hear a word. He was completely focussed on the Man of Steel entering him. He seemed to be larger than last time. Rougher too. There was no tenderness, but he didn't mind. It felt so good. This was what he wanted... what he needed. Superman... Smokerman... he just craved that rod of steel deep inside him.

Smokerman started to thrust harder and deeper. His eyes seemed to glow brighter and brighter as he kept fucking Spiderman and blowing his smoke over him. He didn't slow down to light up cigarette after cigarette. He smirked as he saw that the more he fucked, the more Spiderman started to succumb. Smokerman felt how the superhero started to push back, making sure that his Rod of Steel was going deeper and deeper.

An hour passed. Smokerman, having smoked more than two packs of Reds without missing a single beat, started to feel his balls getting tense. He smirked. It was time. He looked at the superhero's face filled with bliss. He looked so innocent. Smokerman smirked. Soo his face would look so much better...

With a final thrust, Smokerman started to unload, flooding the insides of Spiderman with his hot corrupted seed. He could feel how it started to spread inside his fuckbuddy's body, corrupting every cell in his body. When Smokerman started to cum inside him, Spiderman suddenly ooened his eyes. They glowed red. He wanted to scream, but only smoke came out. He then passed out.

Smokerman pulled out. His work was done. He put a pack of cigarettes and a lighter next to the unconscious superhero and left without looking back. Soon enough they would meet again.

A few hours passed. Smokerman was in his lair, when suddenly his door flew open. In barged a man. Smokerman feihned surprise. "Oh my, is that you, Spideyboy?" The man, formerly known as Spiderman grinned, his eyes glowing a sinister red. "Yeah, that was the old me, but I underwent some 're-branding'. I go by Sting now," he answered. Smokerman looked at Stings new outfit, admiring the red-glowing scorpion on his chest. "It suits you, Sting. All the criminals should be extra careful with you around," he commented. "Fuck those criminals," Sting said as he took the last Red out of his pack and lit it hungrily, his cock growing with every haul he took. "I serve a higher power now. I am going to make sure that everyone will feel my sting and I will fill them with my Marlboro venom. As a thank you for making me like this, you are going to be the first to feel it." Smokerman smiled and walked to Sting. "With pleasure."

[hypnoandstuff]

[hypnoandstuff]

Reblog, Revive, Redwave Rapture Link

Your eyes fixate on the glowing Red Wave Rapture link, and an eerie sense of weightlessness takes over. It’s as if the very light from your screen begins to pull you in. At first, it's subtle, but soon, your fingers begin to twitch, reacting to something deep within you. Your pulse quickens, matching the rhythm of the echoing words inside your mind: "You will submit, you will convert, you will give in."

The screen flickers, growing brighter, intensifying, and suddenly it's as though it's no longer just a screen—it’s a living thing, pulsating with life. The red light it casts reflects off the walls, surrounding you like a consuming fire. The glow burns into your retinas, deeper and deeper, until it feels as if your whole body is soaked in that glowing crimson hue. You try to move, but your muscles respond sluggishly, twitching, as though the light has taken hold of them too.

A buzz hums in the back of your head, faint at first, but growing louder and louder. The noise becomes almost unbearable, a high-pitched, insistent buzz that echoes one phrase over and over: "Commit to the red wave. Commit to be a man. Commit to the right." It grows, reverberating, pressing against your skull, drowning out everything else. It's painful now, sharp—your head feels as if it's vibrating, as though the words themselves are digging into your brain.

Your vision blurs, fog creeping over the edges of your sight, and you can feel your thoughts slip away, soft and distant, like mist melting into the air. Your old life—the things you used to care about—feel farther and farther away. It's all slipping, dissolving, leaving you behind.

The screen is now blinding, and you can hear the words almost like a command: "Reblog. Convert. The Redwave is upon you, bro."

Your hands move, slower at first, but it’s as though you have no control over them. They obey, clicking, typing, a compulsion deep within you that you can’t shake. Your mind grows fuzzier and fuzzier as your body submits, feeling only the pull of the red light, the call to give in, to become. Reblog the Redwave Rapture and become the man you were meant to be.

[hypnoandstuff]

Daniel, who had recently joined the army. He had enlisted thinking that he would finally be free to be himself now that the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy had been repealed. But as soon as he arrived to his training camp, he was immediately met with hostility and intolerance from his fellow soldiers.

One night, Daniel was attacked by a group of soldiers who had been watching him closely. They cornered him in his barracks room and began to physically and emotionally abuse him. They taunted him for being gay, and made it clear that he was not welcome in their ranks.

Despite the abuse, Daniel tried to stay strong and not let the bullies get to him. But over time, the psychological trauma of the attacks and the constant bullying wore him down. He felt isolated, alone, and completely overwhelmed.

Daniel finally couldn't take it any longer and decided to speak with his commanding officer. He nervously approached his office and knocked on the door.

The commanding officer looked up from his desk when Daniel entered. "What can I do for you, soldier?" he asked, sounding bored.

Daniel struggled to find the words, feeling scared and humiliated. "Sir, I need to speak to you about something important," he said finally.

The officer leaned back in his chair and studied Daniel for a moment. "Go on," he said gruffly.

Daniel took a deep breath. "I'm being harassed and attacked by some of the other soldiers," he said. "It's because I'm gay."

The officer's demeanor changed instantly. A look of disdain crossed his face. "Is that so?" he sneered. "And what do you expect me to do about that?"

Daniel felt his heart drop. He had been hoping for support, but he could tell right away that he wouldn't be getting any from this man. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I thought maybe you could help me."

The officer let out a derisive scoff. "Help you? Help you how? You enlisted in the Army, soldier. You knew what you were signing up for. If you can't handle a few insults and some roughhousing, then maybe you aren't cut out to be here in the first place."

The commanding officer looked at Daniel with a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "Lucky for you soldier," he said, "there's a new program that might just help you."Daniel felt a flicker of hope at the officer's words. "What kind of program?" he asked.

"It's a special rehabilitation program that was created by President Trump," the officer explained. "It's designed to help soldiers like you who are experiencing difficulties adjusting to military life."

Daniel was taken back by the mention of Trump's name. He had seen the President speak publicly against gay rights countless times. But he was desperate for help, so he kept his mouth shut. "What kind of program is it exactly?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, it's a combination of training and counseling, designed to help soldiers like yourself overcome their personal issues and become better soldiers," the officer said, his tone patronizing. "It's a win-win situation, really. You get the help you need, and we get a soldier who can perform his duties without being distracted by his own personal problems."

Daniel felt a wave of trepidation wash over him. He had a feeling that this "program" was not going to be about helping him, but rather about trying to force him to conform to a specific set of beliefs. But he didn't see any other choice. "When do I start?"

The officer smiled slightly, clearly pleased with James' response. "0-500," he said abruptly. "Pack your things and get ready to report to the rehabilitation unit. You'll be staying there for the duration of the program."

Daniel nodded and left the office, feeling like he had just made a deal with the devil. He had a sinking feeling deep in his gut that this "program" was going to change him in ways he couldn't imagine.

The next morning, Daniel packed his belongings and reported to the rehabilitation unit as instructed. He was met by a no-nonsense military official who introduced himself as the unit's director.

"Welcome to the Trump Rehabilitation Unit, soldier," the director said bluntly. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, so let's get a few things straight."

"First and foremost, I want to make one thing clear," the director continued. "You are here because you have some issues that need to be addressed. We're going to help you overcome those issues and become a better soldier. But we are doing this on our terms, and we expect Compliance."

The director's words sent a chill down Daniel's spine. He had a feeling that he was about to be subjected to a barrage of anti-gay rhetoric and propaganda. "Yes sir," he said again, feeling powerless.

"Good," the director said with a nod. "Now, there are a few rules that you'll need to follow while you're here."

The director then rattled off a list of rules, each one more restrictive than the last. James felt like he was being turned into a mindless machine, stripped of his individuality and autonomy.

The director went on to explain the structure of the program, which would involve days full of physical drills and weapons training, followed by evening "counseling sessions" that sounded more like political indoctrination sessions.

Daniel felt sick to his stomach. He knew that he had gotten himself into a dangerous situation, but he didn't see any way out. He was stuck in this program, and he had no choice but to comply with whatever they threw at him.

The first few days in the unit were brutal. Every waking moment was spent on physical drills and weapons training. Daniel was pushed to his limits both physically and mentally, and he felt like he was slowly losing his sense of self.

But the evenings were even more torturous. The "counseling sessions" were led by a stern instructor who spewed forth anti-gay and conservative rhetoric. Daniel felt like he was under a constant barrage of propaganda, trying to break down his beliefs and force him into conformity.

The instructor frequently disparaged Daniel sexuality, calling it a weakness and a liability. Daniel was required to sit and listen to the insults and insults without protest or complaint.

The constant barrage of insults and propaganda slowly wore down Daniel resistance. He felt himself begin to internalize the message that his sexuality was wrong and that he needed to change. Slowly but surely, the program was doing its job.

Despite his struggles, Daniel tried to hold onto his true self. He would sometimes find brief moments of solitude to reflect on his identity. But the program was tightly controlled and monitored. Any hint of independent thought was quickly squashed.

He felt isolated, alone, and completely powerless. The program had stripped him of his personality, his beliefs, and his very identity. All that was left was a soldier who was conditioned to follow the line of the GOP.

Daniel stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. His eyes looked dead, devoid of any hint of individuality or soul. He barely recognized himself anymore. He was a far cry from the man he used to be.

The constant barrage of insults and conditioning had finally taken its toll on Daniel. His mind had finally broken. He had become a loyal soldier, fully indoctrinated into conservative ideology, with no memory of who he use to be before the program.

Daniel had lost himself completely, but he didn't care. He had become soldier 2318 a true believer in the cause of the party, and he was proud to be a part of it. He was no longer a gay man; he was a soldier, a tool for the Trump administration. And he was content with that. In the depths of his mind, the last embers of individuality, the last flicker of his true self, flickered out. Daniel was no more only Soldier 2318.

Soldier 2318 took out his phone and snapped a photo of himself, staring blankly at the camera lens. He looked at the image for a moment, then tucked his phone into his pocket and headed out to report for duty.

As he marched through the corridors of the base, he felt a strange sense of detachment from himself, a feeling of being completely divorced from his old identity. He was now and henceforth completely loyal to the Republican cause.

He reported to his commanding officer and stood at attention, waiting for orders. His commanding officer looked him up and down, taking in his blank expression and robotic demeanor.

"At ease, soldier," the officer said gruffly.

Soldier 2318 relaxed his stance, but his blank expression didn't change. He waited for the officer's orders, feeling completely devoid of any hint of emotion or personality.

Soldier 2318 nodded obediently, his eyes dull and unfeeling. "Yes sir, the program has been very effective," he said in a monotone voice.

The commanding officer studied him for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good, good," he said gruffly. "You're shaping up to be a fine soldier. We need more men like you willing to stand up for the GOP and our values."

"Yes sir," Soldier 2318 replied obediently, feeling a sense of pride in being praised for his loyalty to the Republican cause. "I am ready to serve the party and defend its values at all costs. what is my mission?"

The officer smirked. "That's what I like to hear," he said gruffly. "You've got a lot of potential, soldier." He then handed Soldier 2318 a file containing his new mission information.

Soldier 2318 took the file and opened it, reading through the information on his new assignment. His eyes scanned over the details, taking in every word. He had absolutely no doubts, no questions, and no reservations about what he was being asked to do. He was completely and utterly devoted to the cause of the Republican Party.

"This is your assignment, soldier," the officer said gruffly. "I expect nothing but the best from you. You're one of our best now, and you need to prove it on this mission."

"Yes sir," Soldier 2318 replied obediently. "I will complete the mission to the best of my abilities. The Republican cause is my top priority, and nothing will deter me from fulfilling my duties."

[hypnoandstuff]

Daniel, who had recently joined the army. He had enlisted thinking that he would finally be free to be himself now that the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy had been repealed. But as soon as he arrived to his training camp, he was immediately met with hostility and intolerance from his fellow soldiers.

One night, Daniel was attacked by a group of soldiers who had been watching him closely. They cornered him in his barracks room and began to physically and emotionally abuse him. They taunted him for being gay, and made it clear that he was not welcome in their ranks.

Despite the abuse, Daniel tried to stay strong and not let the bullies get to him. But over time, the psychological trauma of the attacks and the constant bullying wore him down. He felt isolated, alone, and completely overwhelmed.

Daniel finally couldn't take it any longer and decided to speak with his commanding officer. He nervously approached his office and knocked on the door.

The commanding officer looked up from his desk when Daniel entered. "What can I do for you, soldier?" he asked, sounding bored.

Daniel struggled to find the words, feeling scared and humiliated. "Sir, I need to speak to you about something important," he said finally.

The officer leaned back in his chair and studied Daniel for a moment. "Go on," he said gruffly.

Daniel took a deep breath. "I'm being harassed and attacked by some of the other soldiers," he said. "It's because I'm gay."

The officer's demeanor changed instantly. A look of disdain crossed his face. "Is that so?" he sneered. "And what do you expect me to do about that?"

Daniel felt his heart drop. He had been hoping for support, but he could tell right away that he wouldn't be getting any from this man. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I thought maybe you could help me."

The officer let out a derisive scoff. "Help you? Help you how? You enlisted in the Army, soldier. You knew what you were signing up for. If you can't handle a few insults and some roughhousing, then maybe you aren't cut out to be here in the first place."

The commanding officer looked at Daniel with a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "Lucky for you soldier," he said, "there's a new program that might just help you."Daniel felt a flicker of hope at the officer's words. "What kind of program?" he asked.

"It's a special rehabilitation program that was created by President Trump," the officer explained. "It's designed to help soldiers like you who are experiencing difficulties adjusting to military life."

Daniel was taken back by the mention of Trump's name. He had seen the President speak publicly against gay rights countless times. But he was desperate for help, so he kept his mouth shut. "What kind of program is it exactly?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, it's a combination of training and counseling, designed to help soldiers like yourself overcome their personal issues and become better soldiers," the officer said, his tone patronizing. "It's a win-win situation, really. You get the help you need, and we get a soldier who can perform his duties without being distracted by his own personal problems."

Daniel felt a wave of trepidation wash over him. He had a feeling that this "program" was not going to be about helping him, but rather about trying to force him to conform to a specific set of beliefs. But he didn't see any other choice. "When do I start?"

The officer smiled slightly, clearly pleased with James' response. "0-500," he said abruptly. "Pack your things and get ready to report to the rehabilitation unit. You'll be staying there for the duration of the program."

Daniel nodded and left the office, feeling like he had just made a deal with the devil. He had a sinking feeling deep in his gut that this "program" was going to change him in ways he couldn't imagine.

The next morning, Daniel packed his belongings and reported to the rehabilitation unit as instructed. He was met by a no-nonsense military official who introduced himself as the unit's director.

"Welcome to the Trump Rehabilitation Unit, soldier," the director said bluntly. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, so let's get a few things straight."

"First and foremost, I want to make one thing clear," the director continued. "You are here because you have some issues that need to be addressed. We're going to help you overcome those issues and become a better soldier. But we are doing this on our terms, and we expect Compliance."

The director's words sent a chill down Daniel's spine. He had a feeling that he was about to be subjected to a barrage of anti-gay rhetoric and propaganda. "Yes sir," he said again, feeling powerless.

"Good," the director said with a nod. "Now, there are a few rules that you'll need to follow while you're here."

The director then rattled off a list of rules, each one more restrictive than the last. James felt like he was being turned into a mindless machine, stripped of his individuality and autonomy.

The director went on to explain the structure of the program, which would involve days full of physical drills and weapons training, followed by evening "counseling sessions" that sounded more like political indoctrination sessions.

Daniel felt sick to his stomach. He knew that he had gotten himself into a dangerous situation, but he didn't see any way out. He was stuck in this program, and he had no choice but to comply with whatever they threw at him.

The first few days in the unit were brutal. Every waking moment was spent on physical drills and weapons training. Daniel was pushed to his limits both physically and mentally, and he felt like he was slowly losing his sense of self.

But the evenings were even more torturous. The "counseling sessions" were led by a stern instructor who spewed forth anti-gay and conservative rhetoric. Daniel felt like he was under a constant barrage of propaganda, trying to break down his beliefs and force him into conformity.

The instructor frequently disparaged Daniel sexuality, calling it a weakness and a liability. Daniel was required to sit and listen to the insults and insults without protest or complaint.

The constant barrage of insults and propaganda slowly wore down Daniel resistance. He felt himself begin to internalize the message that his sexuality was wrong and that he needed to change. Slowly but surely, the program was doing its job.

Despite his struggles, Daniel tried to hold onto his true self. He would sometimes find brief moments of solitude to reflect on his identity. But the program was tightly controlled and monitored. Any hint of independent thought was quickly squashed.

He felt isolated, alone, and completely powerless. The program had stripped him of his personality, his beliefs, and his very identity. All that was left was a soldier who was conditioned to follow the line of the GOP.

Daniel stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. His eyes looked dead, devoid of any hint of individuality or soul. He barely recognized himself anymore. He was a far cry from the man he used to be.

The constant barrage of insults and conditioning had finally taken its toll on Daniel. His mind had finally broken. He had become a loyal soldier, fully indoctrinated into conservative ideology, with no memory of who he use to be before the program.

Daniel had lost himself completely, but he didn't care. He had become soldier 2318 a true believer in the cause of the party, and he was proud to be a part of it. He was no longer a gay man; he was a soldier, a tool for the Trump administration. And he was content with that. In the depths of his mind, the last embers of individuality, the last flicker of his true self, flickered out. Daniel was no more only Soldier 2318.

Soldier 2318 took out his phone and snapped a photo of himself, staring blankly at the camera lens. He looked at the image for a moment, then tucked his phone into his pocket and headed out to report for duty.

As he marched through the corridors of the base, he felt a strange sense of detachment from himself, a feeling of being completely divorced from his old identity. He was now and henceforth completely loyal to the Republican cause.

He reported to his commanding officer and stood at attention, waiting for orders. His commanding officer looked him up and down, taking in his blank expression and robotic demeanor.

"At ease, soldier," the officer said gruffly.

Soldier 2318 relaxed his stance, but his blank expression didn't change. He waited for the officer's orders, feeling completely devoid of any hint of emotion or personality.

Soldier 2318 nodded obediently, his eyes dull and unfeeling. "Yes sir, the program has been very effective," he said in a monotone voice.

The commanding officer studied him for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good, good," he said gruffly. "You're shaping up to be a fine soldier. We need more men like you willing to stand up for the GOP and our values."

"Yes sir," Soldier 2318 replied obediently, feeling a sense of pride in being praised for his loyalty to the Republican cause. "I am ready to serve the party and defend its values at all costs. what is my mission?"

The officer smirked. "That's what I like to hear," he said gruffly. "You've got a lot of potential, soldier." He then handed Soldier 2318 a file containing his new mission information.

Soldier 2318 took the file and opened it, reading through the information on his new assignment. His eyes scanned over the details, taking in every word. He had absolutely no doubts, no questions, and no reservations about what he was being asked to do. He was completely and utterly devoted to the cause of the Republican Party.

"This is your assignment, soldier," the officer said gruffly. "I expect nothing but the best from you. You're one of our best now, and you need to prove it on this mission."

"Yes sir," Soldier 2318 replied obediently. "I will complete the mission to the best of my abilities. The Republican cause is my top priority, and nothing will deter me from fulfilling my duties."

[hypnoandstuff]

"Oh my god, this can't be real," John muttered to himself as he stepped into his new apartment. The space was adorned with distinctly MAGA-themed items - red hats, banners with "Make America Great Again" slogans, and a couple of Trump-Pence signs, all immaculately arranged.

John, a staunch liberal and openly gay, felt a pang of disgust. How had he ended up here?

"This is a nightmare," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

John stood motionless for a moment, taking in the room's overpowering display of conservative regalia. Then, a thought struck him. Maybe he could just remove all this stuff. After all, it was his apartment now.

But as soon as he attempted to take down one of the MAGA banners, he realized something strange was happening. The banner refused to budge. It seemed to cling to the wall, as if the very paint was glue.

Frustrated, John tried again, putting more force into the pull. But the result was still the same. The banner seemed stuck in place, mocking him with its stubborn resistance.

He tried another item, attempting to remove a small MAGA badge from the dresser. But just like the banner, the badge defied movement. It felt glued to the surface, no matter how hard he tugged.

John's heart began to race, a mix of confusion and panic setting in. These items were immovable. Why? How was this possible? And more importantly, what was their purpose here?

He sank down onto the bed, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. This had to be a prank. Someone had planted these items here as a cruel joke, or some weird form of psychological experiment. There was no other reasonable explanation. Or... was there?

John scanned the room again, his gaze falling on more Trump-themed items - a red "Make America Great Again" mug, a framed photo of the former president, and even a small American flag with the slogan "Keep America Great" stitched onto it.

Each item seemed to stare back at him, its presence like a slap in the face. As if the room was mocking his own political beliefs and identity.

John felt a wave of anger wash over him, but it was swiftly followed by a pang of fear. Was he trapped here? Stuck in this MAGA-themed prison, with no escape?

He stood up and began pacing, the room feeling smaller with each step. He needed to think, to figure out what the hell was going on.

Frustration grew within John as he attempted to leave the apartment, only to discover the door was impossibly stuck. No matter how much force he applied, it remained sealed, as if it had been fused to the frame.

Panic set in as he tried to use his phone to call for help, but no signal could be found. He was completely cut off from the outside world.

He turned on the TV it was on Fox News. As John frantically flicked through the television channels, he was met with an unsettling sight. Every channel was broadcasting Fox News, without exception.

No matter how many times he clicked the buttons on the remote, the channel stubbornly remained on Fox News. It was as if the TV itself had been calibrated to play only this particular station.

Frustrated and bewildered, John tossed the remote onto the coffee table, the clatter echoing through the room. He couldn't escape the barrage of conservative news and commentary, no matter what he tried.

He plopped onto the couch, a sense of helplessness washing over him. How was this happening? What strange reality had he stumbled into where every electronic item seemed hell-bent on playing Fox News on repeat?

John clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He loathed Fox News with a passion, every segment feeling like a personal affront to his liberal beliefs. The thought of being forced to watch this drivel on a constant loop was enough to drive him insane.

He considered unplugging the TV entirely, but a sense of unease held him back. What if this was all part of some twisted plan? Unplugging the TV could have unintended consequences. He couldn't risk it.

The hours passed slowly, the TV's constant barrage of conservative news and opinion pieces wearing down John's sanity. The words "Trump" and "MAGA" seemed to be chanted over and over, a maddening chorus that filled the room.

He tried to distract himself with other activities - pacing around the room, flipping through books, even going on his laptop - but nothing could drown out the endless stream of right-wing rhetoric.

By nightfall, John was beginning to waver. He argued with himself internally, trying to hold onto his liberal principles, but the constant exposure to right-wing talking points had begun to chip away at his resolve.

He found himself agreeing with some of the opinions being broadcast, nodding in approval at times, and occasionally even finding himself agreeing with the hosts. This realization terrified him.

As he sat on the couch, John clutched his head, the internal struggle raging within him. He could feel his core beliefs being shaken to the core. Who was he? What did he truly believe?

The TV continued to blast, the host's voice droning on about the virtues of conservative values and the importance of preserving "true American" principles. Each word seemed to sink into his brain, implanting seeds of conservatism that began to take root.

John found himself agreeing more and more with what he was hearing. He started to understand the conservative way of thinking, nodding along to the rhetoric, and even feeling a pang of disappointment when they switched topics.

The liberal ideology that he had always held so dear was slowly fading away, replaced by a growing appreciation for the values being espoused by Fox News.

As the night continued, John could feel his core beliefs crumbling under the onslaught of right-wing propaganda. He was becoming increasingly receptive to the conservative narrative, no longer able to recognize the liberal values he had held for so long.

His mind was changing, slowly but surely. Fox News was rewiring his very identity, molding him into a supporter of the MAGA cause.

As John finally succumbed to exhaustion and dropped off into a fitful sleep, the room around him began to change.

Unseen forces began to take hold, slowly altering his physical form. His features sharpened, his body becoming more toned and muscular. The remnants of his once-liberal appearance faded into memory, replaced by a more rugged, conservative look.

John's hair too changed, falling out leaving him bald as a dark beard begins to grow out of his face.. His skin tone darkened subtly, taking on a more sun-kissed, masculine hue. tattoos form on his neck? thoat, arms. and hands.

As he slept, the physical transformation continued, shaping him into the epitome of a conservative man.

John's wardrobe transformed as well, even in his sleep. The liberal attire he once wore was replaced by more conservative clothing. Jeans became camo pants, his shirt became black with Make Men Men again writen across it, and boots took the place of loafers. Tattoos emerged on his body, each one reflecting a traditional, patriotic image.

He wasn't merely changing; he was being sculpted into a new person entirely.

The physical changes were drastic, but so were the mental ones. As John slept, his mind was being indoctrinated. His liberal beliefs and values were slowly being overwritten by conservative ones. He was dreaming now, visions of a strong America, traditional values, and unyielding patriotism filling his subconscious.

By the time John began to stir, he was a changed man. The physical transformation was complete; he looked every inch the conservative he was now.

His beliefs, too, had undergone a complete metamorphosis. He no longer held onto liberal ideals. In fact, he despised them.

As he sat up, groggy and disoriented, he found himself staring down at the tattoos on his arm, each one a testament to his new persona.

John's eyes flicked up towards a mirror hanging on the wall. The sight of his reflection sent a jolt of surprise through him. He couldn't believe the person staring back at him.

His appearance was that of a stereotypical conservative man. His bald head, the beard, the tattoos, the clothing - everything screamed "MAGA." He looked like a completely different person.

As he stood there, staring at his reflection in disbelief, John struggled to come to terms with his dramatic transformation.

He touched his bald head, feeling the roughness of his shaved skin. He ran his hand over his beard, tracing the thick strands that grew from his once-smooth face. He looked down at his clothing, seeing the MAGA shirt and camo pants that clung to his newly-toned body.

It was a nightmare come true. John tried to deny it, telling himself this was all just a dream. But as he pinched himself and felt the pain, he realized the horrifying truth: this was all too real. He was trapped in a body and mind he no longer recognized.

His heart raced, panic starting to kick in. He had to get out of here, find a way to reverse this nightmare. But when he moved towards the door, he found it still sealed shut.

John froze as a thought suddenly appeared in his mind, seemingly out of nowhere. It was like a strange inner voice, a thought that wasn't his own. It told him to "accept this."

He fought against it at first, resisting the idea of surrendering to the changes. But as the thought echoed in his head, it grew louder and more insistent.

For a long moment, he stood there, wrestling with his inner thoughts. The voice demanded his compliance, and it was becoming harder to resist.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggle, John's resistance broke. He couldn't fight the inner command any longer. He had to "accept this."

He took a deep breath, the realization sinking in. This was his reality now. He was no longer the liberal man he once was. He was a conservative, down to his bones.

With a mixture of resignation and acceptance, he stood a little straighter, embracing his new identity.

But as he made the mental shift, John felt another, more subtle change taking place. His emotions began to reshape themselves, shifting towards the conservative values now ingrained in him.

The panic and disbelief that consumed him moments ago faded away, replaced by a sense of conviction. He no longer felt the need to fight against his new identity. In fact, he felt a growing sense of comfort and even satisfaction with it.

The voice in his head grew louder, reinforcing the new emotional landscape within him. The liberal ideals he once held dear were replaced by a staunch conservatism, fueled by inner feelings of patriotism, tradition, and strength.

John began to understand that his transformation wasn't limited to the physical. It was a full-blown mental and emotional restructuring, shaping him into the perfect American conservative.

The more he delved into this new mindset, the more a sense of calmness washed over John. His past as a liberal seemed distant and almost alien.

Now, he had a deep understanding of conservative values and beliefs. He felt a strong connection to America, its heritage, and its future.

Most strikingly, John felt a growing dislike towards liberals and progressive ideals. He had become the very thing he once despised.

John opened the no longer locked door, stepping into the blistering Florida sun, squinting against the bright light. He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses. As he felt the heat on his skin, his new conservative beliefs began to solidify further.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the humid air. It felt like a homecoming, as if this new persona of his had been waiting to emerge.

With a determined stride, John walked down the street, a sense of comfort and certainty guiding his every step.

As he walked, the city seemed to come to life around him. He passed by people of all ages - some young, some old - but what struck him was the sense of unity that pervaded the air.

He saw American flags flying proudly, MAGA hats on people's heads, and bumper stickers supporting conservative values on cars.

This was his world now. A world where patriotism was celebrated and liberal ideas were left behind.

[hypnoandstuff]

Future Plans

“Don’t mind if I just pop these off real quick.”

Luke readjusted awkwardly on his yoga mat, carefully watching as Mr. Bergstrom plopped each of his massive feet out of their equally massive prisons.

“Oof!” Mr. Bergstrom exclaimed as he leaned forward to massage his feet. “These things have quite the kick to them.”

“Proof of a good workout?” The 18-year-old replied, unsure of how to continue forward with the conversation. He had not spoken to Mr. Bergstrom in almost six months, so it had come as a surprise when the middle-aged man had pulled him aside at the gym to discuss Luke’s "future plans".

Mr. Bergstrom chuckled, “I guess so.” Both sets of eyes followed Mr. Bergstrom’s hands as they peeled the grimy socks away, exposing two long, firm soles. The socks were then tossed aside between the pair. After a moment Luke was able to pick up on their slightly cheesy funk.

“Mr. Bergstrom, if you don’t mind me asking,” Luke knew he was treading on rocky ground. “Why did you want to speak with me?”

“As I said, I wanted to hear what your plans were moving forward.” Mr. Bergstrom put his calloused paws to work, rubbing away and massaging his feet. “My son already told me you’re going to a different university, I’m just curious to hear your reasoning.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably. He and Mr. Bergstrom’s son had grown up together, been best friends from elementary through most of high school. Mr. Bergstrom had practically been a second father to Luke, to the point that Luke’s own parents joked that they should have been paying for child support. That was until Luke had come out. Mr. Bergstrom promptly banned his son from ever speaking with “that homo” again.

“Well, I was offered a really great scholarship from the school. My grades were excellent this year, and my test scores were pretty much the same.” Luke was not trying to be boastful. “They are hoping to fast-track me through the engineering program, my counselor said I’ve got some real talent.”

The bustling noises of the busy gym were present, but dampened by the closed doors of their private studio. Mr. Bergstrom continued his cooldown, stretching his legs. “You know they’re just buttering you up, right?”

Luke’s face grew warm. Mr. Bergstrom continued, “You don’t really think your talents will be utilized by furthering your education, do you?”

Embarrassed, Luke found himself looking down. He would be leaving for college in a week, he already had made his mind up. He could not understand why Mr. Bergstrom was trying to convince him otherwise.

“I know you miss my son, Luke. And I know you miss me.” Mr. Bergstrom started, a friendly smirk smearing itself onto his face. Luke was familiar with that smile, its fatherly warmth attempting to lure him in. But he resisted, its friendliness almost artificial. “You should be less concerned about education and more focused on rebuilding the bridges you’ve burned.”

“What do you mean?” Luke queried without lifting his head.

“You can get a degree at any point of time in life,” Mr. Bergstrom argued. “But if a relationship has broken apart, you only have so much time to fix it.” Mr. Bergstrom’s fingers interlocked between his toes, smoothly caressing each of the pockets in between. “Your time at university will be, what, four years? But the bonds you make with others are for a lifetime. It would be selfish to put your own wishes before others, especially those you’ve hurt. And if this university really wants you, then they will be willing to wait."

Mr. Bergstrom sighed, "As an adult, it’s my responsibility to tell you this kind of stuff.”

Luke’s face was still flushed, but no longer out of embarrassment. The odor of Mr. Bergstrom’s feet had by now completely filled the room, its pungent, sour funk somehow warm.

“So, what do you suggest I do?” Luke’s eyes began to water, although it was unclear if it was out of despair or a reaction to the feet in front of him. Luke only realized now that this entire time he had been staring at the older man’s soles dancing in front of him.

“Put your actual talents to good use, kiddo,” Mr. Bergstrom’s face lit up with that fatherly pride once more, its affectionate smile inviting. The affirmation felt good to Luke. “You should cancel your college plans for the time being so that you can focus on your relationships. A gap year or two, or maybe three, or as long as it takes to make up for lost time.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to be best friends with your son again?” Luke asked.

“Well, he already left for school a few days ago, so he won’t be back until the winter holidays.” Luke was a bummed to hear this, beginning to reconsider Mr. Bergstrom’s offer. But before Luke could escape, Mr. Bergstrom wiggled his thick toes, drawing him back in.

“But in the meantime,” Mr. Bergstrom’s tone held its protective tone, as if it was only offering what was best for Luke. “You can work on rebuilding our relationship. You can live with me so your parents think you’re still at school, except I will be your professor. Won’t that be fun?”

Luke’s body began to tingle. Subconsciously, he could sense danger. But there was something so alluring about Mr. Bergstrom’s feet. His thick, juicy feet and their nauseating, mesmerizing, heterosexual scent.

“Whaddya say, kiddo? Do you trust me?” Mr. Bergstrom asked. 

Luke’s reply came out robotically, “...Yes.”

Mr. Bergstrom smirk reappeared, although this time the mask was off. It was now cocky, assured, but yet still familiar, as if this was not the first time. “Good boy, then lets give you your first assignment.”

The sweetness in Mr. Bergstrom’s voice had completely disappeared. “How about you start servicing these big manly feet." Mr. Bergstrom then threw one of his dirty socks right into Luke’s face, its sweat a metaphorical stamp on his future. "And while you’re at it, you can suck on this like the pathetic little faggot you are."

[hypnoandstuff]

[hypnoandstuff]

Sister's New Boyfriend - Redux

This story is a collab with the amazing @johnbrand! Hope you enjoy, guys!

"C'mon, bro, didn't you miss this?" Scott teased, while his massive size 13 foot plopped on the coffee table in front of me.

"Cut it out, Scott," I whispered, knowing my sister was about to summon us to the kitchen any minute.

"Why should I, Jap?" Scott smirked arrogantly. "We both know you want it."

I held back the blush threatening to color my face. "That's not true."

"It's been what, seven or eight years since high school?" Scott's smirk morphed into an exaggerated grimace. "Surely you haven't forgotten about me, have ya, Jap? And all the good times we had together?"

Unfortunately, I hadn't forgotten Scott, or the "good times" he was referring to. The constant bullying; the harassment, the slurs, and even some straight-up abuse sessions. It was painful to reflect on, us being the same age and yet emotionally assaulted by a guy who was twice my size. Since those years, the gym and my therapist had helped me overcome those vulnerable moments. Even though I'd struggled to find a relationship, I was stronger now; a fighter well-supported by a network.

"Luckily for you, I've moved on, and don't call me that! Me and your girlfriend are both Korean," I shot back, eyeing Scott.

"I don't think you have moved on," Scott's smirk returned. "Otherwise, you would've bailed the second you saw me."

I never expected Scott to be my sister's new boyfriend. The guy she had been bragging about for months, this "kind, sensible, and loyal" being who had corrupted her life to the point of being all she talked about. I never would've imagined my sister - my highly educated older sister - would end up with the malevolent jock who had destroyed my self-esteem all those years ago. And after brief introductions, in which I realized I was still physically smaller than my former tormentor, I quickly felt the impending danger of the situation.

"I'm not abandoning my sister," I retorted.

"You won't be abandoning your orders either," Scott replied, a bit to my confusion. Scott apparently had dropped out of college, but become a fitness influencer in the years since, raking in massive financial figures. It was hard not to reflect on the fact that even without a degree, Scott had still come out on top. "Stop lying to yourself, buddy."

Instead of another indirect defense, I felt a slow warmth settling into my bones. My frustration ebbed away as a peaceful, almost artificial calm spread. My usual concerns were smoothing out, something Scott immediately recognized.

"Yes, that's right, buddy." Again, the word sent a pleasant heat through my entire body, tingling my toes and making the corners of my mouth twitch into the beginnings of a dopey smile. "Looks like those years apart didn't weaken my conditioning on you, huh?"

I knew better than to respond. In therapy, I thought I had discussed all my doubts about Scott. Every memory I managed to recover had been thoroughly investigated, scrutinized, and then analyzed to create a plan for my future proceedings. But it wasn't until that moment, in my sister's living room, reunited with my high school bully, that I realized I had only covered half of the relationship Scott had created for us. The memories my therapist and I had discussed were only the ones Scott had allowed me to remember.

"No, sir," I replied, the title suddenly seeming appropriate. "Not at all. I still masturbate to your magnificence at least twice a week, like you commanded, sir."

My eyes widened as Scott's smile turned sinister; this truth laid bare between us.

"What, you didn't think I'd just let you go after graduation, did you?" Scott's words cut deep, my shame finally flushing my face. "Guess my hypnosis was better than I thought back then. I like to keep all my boys on a leash, in case they become useful to me again."

Before I could respond, Scott snapped his fingers and pointed to his foot. Immediately, I was on my knees before him, my nose inhaling his divine scent and my tongue tracing the sacred valleys of his sole. Each breath sent another wave of adoration through me, the submissive alter ego Scott had created for me in high school overriding all the defenses I had built since then.

"Who'd have thought one of them would end up my brother-in-law?" Scott mused. Even as my former life and independence were rapidly evaporating, his arrogant victory brought a single tear to my eye.

"I thought I'd give the news!" My sister called from the kitchen, finally joining the conversation, but apparently oblivious to what was truly transpiring. "Dinner will be ready in a minute!"

"Thank you, dear," Scott called back, before pinning his eyes directly on me. "Hope you're ready to be an uncle too, buddy."

This revelation momentarily snapped me back to consciousness. "What... no, that's impossible!"

"Oh but it is, Jap! You're gonna be Uncle to little Scott Jr. And that got me thinking. Your sister's become the perfect woman with my help. But a boy needs male role models in his life, the right male role models. Just the thought of something happening to me and Scott Jr. having someone like you as an example... no way. So as much as I've enjoyed reminiscing about our time in school and taking great pleasure in putting you back in your place again, it's time for a change, Jap... congrats, you're getting a promotion!"

"What? I... I don't understand..."

"I can't have a fucking faggot, foot-sucking, cock-gobbling piece of shit as an example for my son if I'm not around, Jap. I need someone more like me. It'll be hard to part with such a docile servant, but it's necessary! Look at me!"

And I looked... looked into those cruel eyes and felt the malice within them would be far greater than any before. Foreseeing what could be my total obliteration, I prepared to flee... but my sister... my nephew! I would have to resist... I would resist!

"Great, I always did love seeing that defiant look in your eyes, Jap, loved watching it succumb to worship and obedience... ah, don't fool yourself, those things will still be there, even greater, for they'll be sincere, but the challenge won't go away... no, it'll grow, become a self-confidence bordering on what some would call arrogance! But only those beneath us, and for you, there'll be only one above, me, Jap!"

"No... no... my name not..." I needed to cling to something, to who I was and not what Scott was trying to make me.

"Jap, it's your nickname... always has been... you don't give a shit where your ancestors are from... you're American and damn proud of it... and if some dumbass leftist tries to say anything, you either laugh at their idiocy or beat their ass... right, Jap?"

"I... I... no... I'm a... a proud..."

"Yes, a damn proud American."

"That... just a nickname... it's a nickname..."

"It's funny!"

"Funny... yeah... haha" I found myself agreeing, though inside I screamed that it wasn't right, even as my memories of time spent in Seoul during my childhood before moving to America began to blur... I... had never left the US, had I? And so what if my grandparents came from somewhere else... no... no...

"Jap, focus on me! I want you to go back to the day we first met, I have no idea when it was, but you'll certainly remember and tell me!"

"It was... in high school... gym class... I'd just moved from... where?"

"Doesn't matter, it was some American town... now what happened in that class?"

"D-dodge ball... you..."

"Ah yes, now I remember... you refused to play! And when the coach made you, I had to teach you a lesson. Know it was your fault, Jap, if you'd just shown a little grit from the start... nah... you were too good a target! But... you're shaking, man, what the fuck?!"

"I... I... I don't like remembering that..." that was one of my most hated memories, the start of my torment.

"I get it, buddy! But you... you could like it... I'm just wondering if that day you'd shown a little more machismo, things could've been different... I might've seen a bro instead of a... buddy. Ha! Probably not, but lucky for you I like your sister and she's gonna be the mother of my son so... let's just imagine that day instead of taking the first steps to becoming my buddy, you took the first steps to becoming not just my bro, but my best bro, someone worthy of caring for little Scott Jr if I'm not around!"

"What...?" What new brand of insanity was this?

"Let's go back to that day, Jap. But this time I want you to remember it correctly because on that day, you weren't a sniveling crybaby like you recall, quite the opposite. You showed up with a chip on your shoulder and challenged me! You got your ass kicked, sure, but you fought back, even managed to hit a few of my buddies, not me of course. After that, I had to teach a lesson, you remember what happened in the locker room?"

"I... no..." That hadn't happened... none of that... or had it?

"I beat the shit out of you, Jap, and along with it, gave you your nickname. You got pissed, tried to fight back, got your ass kicked some more... but in doing so, you earned something important to me and you, my respect."

"I... respect?"

"Yeah, respect, bro!" Scott replied with a grin, as if he knew very well what having his respect would change in my life, and I could feel it too, something shifting within me, alien, different...

"Of course you were still a scrawny little fucker, but you were my scrawny little fuck, my feisty little mutt, and not so little for long, am I right? 4 years of training and when necessary, a few performance-enhancing drugs made all the difference, didn't they? Soon you were almost as big as me. Course, for some things to come in, others gotta go, right? For every hour in the gym, one less studying, every party moment one less dedicated to the arts, but who cares about that, not my brother Jap, certainly!"

"I... I..." I could remember what he was talking about, hours in the gym sculpting muscle, sports teams at school, boozing with the guys, and... pranks... yeah, pranks on the nerds... the same ones who did my homework... no! No! I did my homework! I went to... "...college..."

"What about college?"

"I went... college!"

"Of course not! With our grades, bro? Never! But who needs college when you've got a body and charm like ours? You're the top salesman after me at my dad's car lot, charm and a smile getting us through, and a few sleepovers with the female clientele on the side, of course!"

"But you're with my sister now!”

"So? What she doesn't know won't hurt her, you're always saying that, bro!"

"I... no, no!" I needed to protect her from him, not this, never this!

"Yes, Jap! It was you who insisted I meet her, that I put her in her place, the annoying sister who tried to diminish you just because she went to college, who nagged you just because you were one of the guys, who never cared about academic success! You practically begged me to fix her!"

"I... I." Yes, no, protect her!!! But that's what he did, isn't it? He put her in the hands of the person he most admired, his best friend, and ensured she was... correctee! There was a place for the man and a place for the woman, and she was better with a man by her side, and so what if he sometimes strayed? A man has his needs, he himself... he had his needs... so why was Scott talking about him sleeping with clients... women...?

"Scott, I'm grateful for what you've done, you're my best friend, the only one I let call me that stupid nickname... but I... this can't be right... me sleeping... with women? You know I'm gay!"

"Again with that, Jap? We've had this conversation before. So let me reinforce one last time: you're not gay, never were! You confused the admiration you have for me, the true idolatry of my person, with homosexuality, you're not and have never been gay, the trail of women you've conquered is the biggest proof of that, isn't it?"

"I... no... NO!" The little that remained of my original self mustered one last defiant act, Scott wasn't taking this last thing from me.

"Ah but yes, you're exactly like me, Jap, identical in almost every way, always have been, always will be. You know why? Because the alternative to being my bro is being my buddy... being humiliated, crawling at my feet? Is that what you want, bro? Because I can arrange it!"

"I... I..." What more could I do? "I'm your bro, Scott."

"That's my bro!" He responded with a grin, as everything around me became a whirlwind and I felt myself change, become the man Scott wanted me to be, the last vestiges of my original self consumed in a wave of arrogance, masculinity, and power, and in the end... in the end, even that part of me liked what happened, for deep down, a more primal, animalistic part of the old me had always wanted this. Curiously, Scott himself changed before my eyes as I changed before him, becoming even larger, stronger, more handsome and dangerous, I knew this was happening because he had me, an almost-him to make him even more than he was, one feeding the other. Knowing this made me smile.

“And to think that when my sister told me she had a new boyfriend I thought I was going to have to find a way to get rid of a wimp. I'm glad that won't be necessary.”

"Me to, bro! So, Jap. What do you say about being the godfather of your sister son.?” Said Scott, smiling after repositioning himself.

“Fuck my sister, I’ll be the godfather of my best bro son!”

[hypnoandstuff]

True Test

My nephew Brandon grew up in a deeply conservative household, where masturbation was strictly forbidden. He had been raised just like his father and I had been by our own parents, and their parents before them. We were built by traditions, maintaining them as they had maintained us throughout our childhood and adolescence. Certain words were never said in the house, certain ideologies never acknowledged. 

It had been my brother’s hope for Brandon to never see a naked woman before marriage. Everything had appeared to have been going to plan, for by the time Brandon reached his 22nd birthday, he was still exceptionally shy around the whole topic. My brother and I had been so proud; his little boy had made it through all of college without being tainted by “progressive” ideas or gone astray from our values. Unfortunately, that image was shattered when I arrived at  Brandon’s room to fetch him for cake, finding him jerking out a quickie to hardcore gay porn on his laptop.

Both of us stood in shock for a moment, unable to move as the realizations hit us. I had discovered his secret, he believed his perfect facade was about to collapse. Brandon opened his mouth to explain but I had already left the doorway. By the time we got downstairs, everybody had been waiting for us. They had no idea what I was about to tell them.

“Before Brandon blows out the candles, I have one last birthday gift to give him.” Brandon rushed in behind me, his face red with embarrassment. My brother eyed me, caught off guard by this sudden announcement. “After college, he will stay with me out in the country for a few months to learn some more physical skills. All expenses covered by me, just one last hurrah before Brandon’s adulthood begins!”

Brandon’s eyes grew wide as the room cheered. My brother gave me a solid pat on the back, laughing and thanking me for such a great opportunity, insisting it was too much. I argued the contrary, watching as my nephew hesitantly paced over to his cake.

———

What none of my family knew, not even my brother, was that my property out in the country also doubled as a conversion camp. My institution had stayed afloat for three primary reasons. First, my property was an exclusive institution. I worked one-on-one with my clients, meaning my property was truly intimate. This tied in my second aspect, privacy. It was not special that no one in my family knew of my alternate career, as I kept my side gig well under the wraps of a decent, average country farm. Finally, I had never had a complaint. All my clients converted perfectly to my standards.

When Brandon had arrived at my farm for the summer, he had assumed there would be a combination of heavy farm work and awkward conversations. To be fair, at the surface level this was true. I had my nephew working from dawn to dusk every day, filling him with hearty, animal protein-heavy meals that along with the exhaustion would knock him out immediately after dinner was served. 

There was no time for anything but labor and my conversations with Brandon. I also allowed no devices beside my work computer, which was off limits anyway, meaning not only did my nephew have no time to jerk off, but nothing to jerk off to. Eventually, Brandon’s brain became too overworked from the constant tug of war between exertion and exhaustion, forcing his will to fall back in line. It became easier to just listen and absorb, to sponge up my opinions rather than react to them.

Over the summer months, I watched as my nephew’s slim, faggy form bloated into that of a man. He grew taller, broader, muscles slowly piling on thanks to the proper diet and obnoxious amount of exercise and training. One by one I replaced his articles of clothing with more appropriate attire: cheap tees that could get dirty, thrifted jeans, my old boxers already stretched to fit his thickening size. Brandon had not made any comment when his razors had disappeared, nor when his shoes were replaced with much larger, well-worn boots. His growing feet had needed them anyway.

The mental changes were harder. Our conversations, which eventually became nothing more than lectures, where discussions focused around the family's values. I spent the majority of our time peeling back Brandon’s progressive ideology, stripping down to the traditional conservative roots. In between it all, I would constantly scatter in mentions of girls, vulgarly tossing tits and pussy language so that it became all my nephew heard. At first it pissed him off, but once Brandon began to simply ingest it all, I knew the conversion had already begun. 

By our last week together, Brandon had become an entirely different man. The 22-year-old now physically resembled our family pride, his masculinity now at par with the textbook definition. As a final test of my work, I brought my nephew into my office and sat him next to the sole computer on the property. I instructed Brandon to open the screen, stepping away as the old monitor booted up a lesbian porno I had already booted up.

“Like what you see?” 

I chuckled as Brandon’s cock hardened, completely mesmerized. Thanks to the lack of exposure, my nephew’s brain was flooded with waves of sexual pleasure forgotten to him, now redirected with my instruction. With his instincts realigned, Brandon’s former life would be no more. I reached over and quickly turned off the monitor, knowing his aching cock threatened immediate release.

“You’ve passed the test,” I announced. “You’re a real man now, Brandon.”

I motioned towards the open bathroom, Brandon's massive cock still throbbing for the opposite gender. I offered my permission without saying a word, grabbing for the door. To my surprise, and delight, my nephew cockily questioned my expertise.

“I disagree, uncle,” his voice was deep and authoritative. “The true test will come after I lose my gold star.”

[hypnoandstuff]

STUDENT TO WORKIE

‘Dave, can you deliver this present to my father when you are back in town.’

Tony asked.

Dave had been spending the weekend with his friend in his university town. and was on his way home.

‘Sure thing mate,’ Dave replied. ‘I haven’t seen your father for years’

‘Neither have I much as he and Mum rarely speak.’

‘What does he do?’

‘Something in the building sector. He should be around in the evening. I’ll give you the address. Just hand it over on the doorstep and anyway I’m sure he won’t even ask you in. He is a bit rough but to be honest he buggered off soon after I was born. Never remarried, probably because he is so difficult.’

The day after getting home, Dave took his bike and went round to the address given by his friend. Ringing the doorbell he heard a deep voice shouting from the other side.

‘No need to push so fucking hard I heard you.’

The door flew open and standing in front of Dave taking up most of the doorway was a man with full HiViz kit. This was not what Dave was expecting.

Something in the building sector, Dave thought he would be a bit like himself a Surveyor. But standing in front of him was a well built hunk of a man wearing only a HIViz waistcoat his large hairy chest from neck down showing, with a slight beer belly pushing out over his workgear trousers. The waistcoat was back enough to show a pair of nipples that looked unreal as if they had been pulled out to be large and juicy. Both arms were hairy and covered in tats all the way down to is wrists which then a fat hands with nails ingrained with dirt. The man had a thick moustache and unshaven around the chin, his hair cut to a No 1.

‘Christ’ thought Dave h’ow can this be Tony’s father. No wonder they hardly talk. Who’d want this guy as a father?’

‘Who the fuck are you,’ the man said staring at Dave

‘Er, I’m a mate of Tony and he asked if I would drop by and give you a present. I suppose it’s your birthday.’

‘I get a present once a year from that little shit and he never bothers to contact me. Mind you I ain’t any better. He’s a right little ponce thinking he is much better than me. I suppose you are also a little mister big shot eh?’.

‘I don’t think Tony is at all like that and a bit unfair of you to say that.’

‘Oh a right little mouthy are you?’

‘Well I suppose if you have cycled across town you might as well come in and have a beer. I have just opened a bottle for myself.’

As Dave walked into the kitchen he could smell the man, unwashed and a smell of stale ciggies. The guy handed Dave a bottle and said

‘Want a ciggie?’

‘No I don’t smoke.

‘Well all workies like a good smoke so if you don’t mind I will.’ he said lighting up.

‘So tell me a bit about yourself.’

Dave explained how he knew Tony and how he was studying surveying.

‘So you are the posh guys that come on site and tell me what to do eh.’ The man said laughing. ‘Anyway I am Pete which you probably know from my son. Not like me is he. Probably like his ma all slim and pretty, a bit like you eh?’

‘I wouldn’t describe myself as pretty.’

‘Well you’re hardly man mountain are you?’

The two guys continued to talk and had another beer and then another till Dave said ‘I think I need to get back but after all these beers can I go for a pee please.’

‘Just before you do let me get you a HiViz waistcoat as its now dark and you are on a bicycle. Hold on.’

A minute later Pete returned with a dirty Hi Viz waistcoat.

‘There you are, the bathroom is just next door.’

Dave went in and could smell pee and saw piss marks around the rim of WC. It all looked pretty untidy and then his eye caught sight of a jockstrap hanging out of a dirty laundry basket.

Normally Dave would have turned his nose up in disgust but there was something so manly and uncouth about Pete that he could not resist touching the jockstrap. It was covered in piss marks and as he handled it he could almost feel it slightly crusty as though it was died cum.

Before he knew what he was doing he stuffed the jockstrap into his pocket feeling his cock start to stir in his chinos. 

‘Shit I’d better get out before my cock is stiff.’

With the jockstrap in his pocket he walked back into the kitchen and thanked Pete for the HIViz.

‘Not a prob mate, bring it back any time I’m sure I’ll see you again’. he smirked.

Once home Dave for some reason kept his HiViz on, he wanted to keep it on but most of all when he took the stained jockstrap out of his pocket he wanted so much to smell it. He instinctively put it over his head and brought the deep yellow stained pouch down over his face rubbing it all over  as he took deep breaths. The odour of dried piss was overwhelming as he pressed the material tight against his nose. He could feel the dried cum brush against his face. The smell was intoxicating, it was almost making him dizzy but it so excited him knowing that this jockstrap belonged to his friend’s father, the uncouth workie, the beer swilling cigarette smoker with the hairy body and his HiViz gear. As he breathed deeper and deeper so the blood rush moved down to his cock. It was ramrod hard and he had got so excited the precum was oozing out of the tip. He smothered his face with the jockstrap feeling the stench become part of his face. He wanted to smell, he wanted to be dirty like Tony’s father. Shit the man was so fucking sexy even with his large belly but all that hair and unsahevn look was such a turn on. Knowing it was his best friends’ father made it even better. As he sucked the jockstrap so he could feel the piss and dried cum soften he let the taste run down his throat..His hand was now wrapped around his dick. The more he sucked at the jockstrap the more his hand slid up and down the shaft.

‘Shit I want Tony’s dad .I want to suck and fuck with the bloody workie.’

As the throbbing came to a climax he shouted

‘I only want fucking workies.’ And with that he shot his load over the floor whilst almost gagging with the jockstrap down his throat taking in every bit of piss and cum.

Without cleaning his dick he put on the jockstrap so the last few drops of his cum mixed with Tony’s father’s piss and cum. His cock immediately got hard again but Dave wanted his cock encased in the dirty jockstrap and he could feel his shaft rubbing against hardened piss and cum. It felt good to be wearing it and he put the Hiviz waistcoat back on and went to bed feeling almost as if he was part of Tony’ father workie body. He woke up the next day and stretched but as he did so he thought his body felt slightly different. Looking at himself there was a change but he could not quite understand what the difference was. He looked as if he had been working out a bit, there was more definition to his muscle arms and even the beginning of a 6 pack. His shoulders had widened a bit and the bulge within his jockstrap seemed a bit larger. He decided not to shower but kept the jockstrap on. He liked feeling dirty and having the older man’s piss make its smell . When he put his T shirt on he put the waistcoat back on.

There was something about Tony’s father that was drawing him to go back. The main was uncouth, a dirty workie with a high body smell.. Someone that Dave would quickly walk by, but it seemed odd but he found the man had a sexual power and thinking of him standing there with his bare hairy chest had his cock rigid. It was like a magnet but how could he go back. He decided he could make the excuse of returning the HiViz waistcoat and by going back a few hours later he reckoned he was being polite. Shit what would Tony think if he knew that Dave was getting off thinking about his father and wearing the filthy jockstrap.

He knocked on the door at the same time as the previous day and when the door opened Pete just smiled. He was wearing the same HiViz jacket with his hairy chest protruding but this time he was wearing a dirty very stained pair of joggers  which his belly fell over as well as a mud stained pair of rubber boots up to his knees. When the door opened Dave almost had to step back with the smell.

‘I thought you might be back sometime. Sorry about the turn out mate but it’ been a busy day down in sewers. Stinks a bit eh, but you quickly get used to it. Better than any aftershave’ he smirked. He waved Dave it and Dave could see that Pete’s hands were still filthy and probably covered in sewer shit.

‘I just wanted to return your HIViz.’

‘You can keep it. You can always try to wash it and get rid of all the stains. Anyway come in and have a beer.  The kitchen stunk of sewage But to Dave’s surprise the more he smelt it and was repulsed the more he started to take deeper breaths and found his crotch was responding and stiffening under his chinos. ‘Christ how could I like this bloody awful smell ‘he thought ‘but its turning me on.’

‘You told me you don’t smoke but if you have a beer with me you really should have a puff. It helps the stink in here. What say you eh?’

Dave didn’t even consider saying no, he almost instinctively took a ciggie out of Pete’s pack.

‘That’s better, let me light it for you.’

Having never smoked before Dave found he knew exactly what to do and he held the ciggie just like Pete drawing deeply and exhaling a large cloud of smoke.

‘See I told you . All real men smoke mate. Talking about real men, you seemed to have bulked up a bit. I thought you and Tony looked a pair of wimps but today you look better. Perhaps it’s the HiViz waistcoat, ha ha.’

Pete came forward to give Dave a can of beer and standing in front of him at eye level Dave could make out a long line of cock stretching down one side of the joggers. He was clearly commando.

As Dave took his first gulp, with Pete still standing in front of him staring down.

‘So you stole my jockstrap did you?’

Dave almost spat out his mouthful of beer

‘Don’t give me a fucking excuse boy. I left it out knowing full well what you would do. You couldn’t resist it could you, all nice a crusty and yellow stained with my piss. Bet when you got home the first thing you did was have a massive wank eh. Thinking of me wearing it no doubt. You liked the idea of Tony’s dirty workie of a dad wearing it The problem is mate that I ain’t got anything under me joggers so me cock has been bouncing around all day and the more it moves around inside the more horny I become.

As he said this he put one hand down inside his joggers and stroked the full length of his cock moving forward to stand right in front of Dave. As he took his hand out the cock was like a rigid pole tenting outwards and a small stain of precum showed itself through the cotton.

‘Bet you got my jockstrap on now. Admit it.’

‘Er yes.’

‘And bet you love it and don’t want to take it off.’

Dave was silent.

‘Well if you steal something then you have to pay back.’

Dave’s eyes were glued to the crotch with Pete’s erection forming a good 8inch tent. Pete put down his beer and with one hand slipped his hand down his belly and into the joggers, pulling out a massive erect prick. Dave could not believe it, the guy was wearing a thick steel cock ring, making every vein of his shaft stand out almost pulsating. As the cock sprang out so the foreskin was pushed back revealing a large glistening head. The slit of the cock was straight in front of Dave’s face and he could smell the unwashed cock.

‘So you take from me and now you pay back. You love the smell of my piss stained jockstrap so now you can suck the real thing, unwashed and smelling of several days of piss. Don’t think you are just going to lick my tool, you are taking the full length down that throat of yours.’

Dave could smell the rank cock in front of his face but the smell was like an aphrodisiac. It made him so horny and he knew the only thing he now wanted was to have the massive cock all the way down his throat

‘What are you fucking looking at. You don’t give blowjob just looking boy.’

Pete grabbed hold of Dave’s hair and pulled him in. For a moment Dave almost gagged at the smell but at the same time he wanted to savour the stench of the cock before swallowing it down his throat.

‘I want you to take the whole throbbing fucking length of my dick so your mouth is pressed up against my cock ring and you can taste the metal.’ With his free hand Pete wrapped his dirty hand around his shaft and pushed it to force Dave’s mouth open.

‘That’s it boy take my fucking stinking cock. Open yer mouth nice and wide.

As Dave opened his lips he felt the precum tip of cock force its way into his mouth and the smell of piss rode up through his nostrils. The more he smelt the piss the wider his mouth opened. 

Pete still held tight Dave’s hair pushing his head further and further up to take more and more of the throbbing shaft.

‘You love my cock don’t you. Wonder what Tony would think of you gagging to give his father a blow job. Not such a prissy boy now are you taking a workie’s dirty cock all the way down yer throat.’

Dave let his saliva work overtime to allow the cock to sink further and further into his throat.

The idea of sucking off Tony’s father was even more of a turn on. By now Dave’s cock was sore it was so hard in the jockstrap but he was so engaged in sucking he could not unzip himself.

‘Don’t even think of wanking yerself. I want all your concentration on my big cock.

‘That’s good boy I can feel my prick sliding down the back of your throat.. Nice and big for you. Not really a pay back though as you are loving it. Now I can see your lips touching my cockring. Feel the metal pushing against you and now you have the full length and can feel my precum slipping down inside you. It’s time to thrust this dick up and down inside that throat of yours.’

Dave did not need to be told what to do. With his mouth fully into Pete’s thick hairy bush, the piss smell ran through his body down to his own cock and the jockstrap was nearly ready to burst inside him. Pete took hold of Dave’s head with both hands and gripping him he started to move his prick back and forth at first slowly so he could savour Dave’s spit around his shaft.

‘You fucking know how to suck. Bet you have only ever sucked a boy off before but now you are giving a good workie blowjob. Keep your spit going boy as I love pumping you.’

Pete pushed in and out with greater speed taking his head almost to the edge of Dave’s lips so he could feel his helmet ridge on the point of coming out and then he rammed back in right up to his pubes. Faster and faster he pumped and the more he pumped the more Dave wanted.. 

‘Shit boy you are fucking great I am ready to fucking explode.’

With that Pete withdrew his cock grabbing his spit covered shaft and shed his thick white creamy cum over Dave’s face and down the front of his T shirt.

‘That’s it boy lick it all up around your face.’ 

Dave could feel the cum dripping down his chin onto his shirt. 

Having all the cum over him was too much for Dave’s cock and he exploded his load into Pete’s jockstrap the cum oozing out through the cotton and through his chinos forming a large stain in his groin.

‘Fucking great. That’s what I call a blowjob.’ Pete said and looking down at Dave and saw the large cum stain on his chinos.

‘Looks as if you enjoyed it too mate. You can’t go home looking like that all my cum on your shirt and now that nice big stain on your trousers.’

Strip off and I’ll get you something to go home in. But keep my jockstrap on as a minder as you obviously love it.’

Pete came back in with a Hi Viz short sleeved shirt and a pair of De Walt  grey workgear trousers , both covered in mud and grease marks.

They ain’t clean but at least better that all that cum. Go on and the get the fuck out of here and you can take a can of beer and this pack of ciggies with you.’

As Dave put on the gear thrown at him he could smell how much they had been used and it was as if they had been down the sewers with Pete. For a second Dave thought it would be better to wear his own gear but the smell of what he had been given was good and made him feel more like a man.

Pete looked at him. ‘They look for now as if they are a bit big but don’t worry about that. Keep the Hi viz waistcoat, tell you what, you are looking a bit more like a workie. So why don’t you come a see me at work and see that you think. It’s in Bank Street and you will see the portacabin. Come later tomorrow afternoon. OK?’

It seemed more of a command to Dave rather than something to consider. Besides, that had been the best blowjob ever and even now Dave could still smell the man’s cum as well as his piss and now the sewage smell of the borrowed clothes

‘I’ll bring this gear back to you.’

‘That’s up to you. So now get off I need a few beers after this.’

When Dave got home  the first thing he did was open the beer and slurp it down. There were 5 ciggies left in the packet Pete had given him. He was desperate to smoke them all just the way Pete had done. He hoped by smoking them all his hands would look covered in nicotine, just like Pete. He now loved puffing. Why the fuck had he never smoked before. In all the workie gear it seemed only natural to smoke, right down to the tip. He had decided to keep the clothes on when he went to bed. He wanted to feel  the Hiviz against his skin and he liked the smell of the gear he had been given. The clothes did seem a bit large but so what? The next morning he work up and the smell hit him. It felt great and when he got out of bed to look at himself he could not believe it, the clothes were no longer big but a snug fit, the yellow HiViz shirt was tight against his chest showing off a true 6 pack, the arms were bulging with muscles. He looked at the De Walt trousers. They were no longer too long but he seemed to have grown 4 inches and were now nice a tight around his crotch showing a decent bulge. He was almost looking like a workie but his hair was still that floppy fringe though he thought he seemed to have a darker heavier growth around his face. When he went to piss and opened up his flies to take his cock out from the jockstrap it seemed so tight in the jockstrap. The first thing to hit him was the rancid smell of piss and cum and then as he flipped his cock out to pee his cock was now thicker, really thick where it jutted out of his now dark really hairy pubes with a long foreskin sliding over his helmet.

‘Fuck’ he said ‘this looks a whopper. A real workie cock’

After breakfast we knew there was a place he needed to go to. The barbers. He chose a place he knew was frequented by the local workies having seen then sitting waiting for a cut with all their Hiviz gear on. There were a couple of guys being cut when he went in all in their HiViz They looked round and one said.

‘You’ve been down a fucking sewer mate. Doing a real dirty job eh.?’

Dave just smiled and sat down. One guy was then finished and left so Dave sat in the chair. The barber said

‘So what do you want?’

The other workie said “Get rid of that stupid long hair for a start’

Dave knew what to say. ‘I want you to take a razor to the sides and then cut the top to give me a full chav cut with a really short straight cut across the forehead.’

‘That’s it mate give him a real chav cut . Then he will start to look like a workie.’

The barber took the razor and gave a number one cut going on to give a real pudding bowl cut to his top.

Even the barber said, ‘That’s better mate I think we all agree this suits your clothing and as you are a workie then you need to look like one.’

The other workie got out the chair and leant over to whisper into Dave’s ear.

‘Great bod you go there mate Would like to see a bit more of that sometime. You could do with a few tats. I go to a place just right for a new boy. Gimme yer phone and I’ll give you my number. Us workies need to stick together.’

Dave handed his phone over as the guy typed in his number. As he did Dave looked at the guys crotch which had a good bulge showing in his Hi Viz.

As the guy handed back the phone he again whispered

‘I see what yer looking at. You won’t be disappointed. By the way I like yer smell a real turn on for us workies.’ And with that he paid and left the shop.

The barber smiled as he finished Dave off .’Think you have made a conquest there. That’s what a good chav haircut has done for you.’

Dave looked in the mirror, with his chav haircut and those muscles he really did look like a workie. Gone was the prissy student. He now wanted to go and show his friend’s father his new look so walked down to Bank Street and saw the portacabin door open.

Looking inside he saw Pete sitting at a desk who looked up and spluttered

‘Christ what a change in you boy. Thank fucking Christ you are now looking the part. A real little chavvy workie eh. See those rubber boots over there put them on. They are nice a dirty but that won’t matter when I take you down into the sewer. Also put the hard hat on, need to be safe. I’ll put a torch on mine so lets go. Dave caught sight of himself with the full kit on and with such a covering of mud on his clothes and the hard hat he could hardly believe the change.

Pete opened up the manhole and told Dave to climb down the ladder into the bottom tunnel. Once both were down Pete switched on the torch. The first thing Dave was aware off was the smell but it was only a stronger version of how he smelt. He breathed it in and found his cock starting to rise.

‘Like the smell now don’t you ‘Pete said. ‘Turns me on every time I am down here.’

Before Dave could reply Pete grabbed hold of Dave and spun him round pressing him up against the wall of the tunnel. Leaning in against Dave’s back Pete whispered in his ear. ‘You and I have some unfinished business. Its payback time again. First you steal my jockstrap but now you owe me for making you a man and Christ you now look fucking horny. And don’t tell me that having my dirty cock down yer throat you don’t want it up that nice bubble butt of yours. I know the idea of being fucked in a sewer by a real man turns you on.’

Pete took his big rough hands and let them ride over Dave’s cheeks and then placing his hands around Dave’s waist unbuttoned the workgear trousers pulling them down to his knees. Dave was now unable to move

‘I wanna fuck you with the jockstrap on, my jockstrap. Now stick that nice arse of your out to take my prick. ‘

As Dave did as commanded so Pete undid his flies and flipped his sweaty cock out letting a large godbof spit onto the shaft

‘I’m nice and sweaty after working down here today and you can feel that stick of my dick going right up to the hilt in yer arse.’

Dave now only wanted to be fucked Since giving Pete the blowjob he knew that he had to be fucked by this monster tool. Shit what could be better that being fucked in a sewer by his best friend’s father.

‘Go gentle will you please.’

‘That arse of yours could take a baseball bat so quit the pathetic tone with me. You had my cock rammed in your mouth so you managed that no prob. Then you can take my prick up inside you.’

Dave felt his cheeks being parted as Pete pressed against him. His cock searching for the hole

‘Nice big hole you got there mate. No probs taking my dick or perhaps you’d prefer the baseball bat?’

‘No just let me have your cock. Make me feel like a real workie being fucked.’

Dave could feel the spit on Pete’s head finding the hole and then the push. For a moment he winced as the head found its way into the hole. But once past he was ready for the full length of Pete’s shaft.  As Pete pushed his tool up the hole he put one hand to his mouth releasing a large gob of spit then put his arm around Dave’s head smearing the spit all over his face before wiping the dirt and muck off the wall in front of Dave and wiping that on top of the spit.

‘Now you look like a real dirty workie who has been down the sewer. Your vface all covered in sewer shit and spit. Bet you like the smell of my spit and the muck eh?’ 

‘Sure  it is making me feel like a real workie. Fuck any studies. This is what I want to be a real man always dirty with me beers and ciggies like you and have a good fuck with the lads.’

‘That’s what I knew you wanted as soon as I set eyes on you. Now take my cock right up to the hilt.’

‘Shove as far up as you want, I want to feel your spunk shooting right up my body and now your cock is so far up get my cock out of this jockstrap.’

Pete moved his hand down to Dave’s groin and peeled back the jockstrap to let Dave’s cock spring out. As it did so Pete grabbed hold of the shaft wrapping his hand around the throbbing cock.

‘Shit man you’ve got a good one there. Any workie would be glad to have that rammed up them. Now let me give you a good wank and have you shoot all over the sewer wall.’

As Pete slid his hand up and down the down the shaft so he pushed his own cock in and out with increasing ferocity his cock ring almost vanishing into Dave’s hole. Both men started groaning with pleasure and Pete leant forward to kiss the back of Dave’s neck. One hand was now round Dave’s waist so he could have full hold and the other was wanking faster and faster. He knew from the throbbing that Dave was on the point of orgasm and this made him so horny and ready to cum himself. Dave wiped some more sewer mucj off the wall to smear across his face. He wanted to feel fucking dirty

‘Let it go mate I’m about to shoot my load into that lovely arse of yours .’ Pete shouted

‘Fuck me man let me have every drop of your spunk.’ As Dave thrust his arse out to take in the full length of the cock so he came his spunk spurting out against the sewer wall. Pete unloaded his cum inside Dave making Dave feel as if it would come out his mouth such was the force of spunk.

Pete took his cock out giving a quick wipe before putting it back into his joggers.

‘No point is washing it mate. Smells better this way. As for you, cover that smeared cock of yours with the jockstrap and make it even more crusty

So Workie Dave, happy now?’

‘Too fucking right, this is the real me , a man and fucking workie. Give me all the dirty jobs. Who wants to wash when you can stink like this. Being fucked by my best mate’s father was awesome.’

‘Tell you what boy, why don’t you ask Tony to come home. You and I can have some fun and make a man out of him. That would be a turn on eh? Tony you and feel sucking and fucking.’

‘Fucking amazing’ Dave replied ‘ I’ve always wanted to get my cock up his arse.’

Dave then took his phone out of his pocket.

‘Being a workie sure gets the pick ups from the other guys. This real hot workie gave me his number and I reckon now my cock would love a good fuck and his bod looked just right. Plus he said he’d take me to his tattoo place. Can’t be a workie without a good few tats, just like you. Shit man give me a ciggie’ 

Handing over his packet Pete said

‘Well make sure we keep your workie gear on when you meet the guy’

‘Is there any other way to fuck?’

[hypnoandstuff]

Yusuf Says

When Raymond and I had decided to pause take a break so I could reorganize my life a bit, I had thought that him moving in with his coworker Yusuf was a smart play. My lovable white twink of a partner had nothing in common with the brutish Arab whose scattered English revolved around soccer scores and picking up girls. Raymond and I had even lightheartedly joked that he would pick up a thing or two from Yusuf by the time he came back, somehow be influenced by the overwhelming persona. I would have never expected for that comment to become more than just something to laugh about.

Three months, that was how long we had planned for our separation to be. I had so much on my plate with work and family that I needed time alone to figure everything out. Yusuf had been more than welcoming to Raymond, poking fun at the fact that the two would become “closer than boyfriends” by the time my lover returned back to me. He had even promised to take him out on “dates”, taking over my role as I got knocked back like a divorced dad who only got to see his son on weekends. It was hard, but Raymond and I both knew it was for the best.

The first time I got to visit Raymond at Yusuf’s apartment, I was greeted by the immediate blast of pure masculine stench at the door. It was a combination of used gym clothes, foul-smelling shoes, and strong body odor all fruitlessly covered up with some cheap body spray. I commented on it immediately after hugging my boyfriend, although he noted he did not smell anything. “Yusuf says men should show off their body odor,” Raymond shrugged. “Men should stink and let their pheromones flow naturally.”

This “Yusuf says” statement became a recurring phrase in all of our conversations. Whenever I brought something new up, Raymond would respond with what Yusuf had to say about it. “Yusuf says that men should be muscular, helps us secure our place in society,” “Yusuf says men should spend more time worrying about sports than literature, as it helps relate better to other men.” I should have been worried by my boyfriend’s newfound obsession with Yusuf, but I knew the Arab was not his type. Raymond liked guys that looked like me: hairless, a little twunky, but just barely large enough to make it evident who was topping.

Over the first month, I did not notice many changes about Raymond, but some things did point themselves out as odd. The first time I discovered body hair on my boyfriend I was shocked. “What?” Raymond had asked innocently. “Yusuf says that growing out your hair is natural, it displays masculinity.” I had had no comment to that, surveying the black fur that had begun to coat my boyfriend’s arms, legs, and chest. I had not even known Raymond's body hair was black, as he was a natural blond. 

It was not long until the muscles came too, although I knew that had been coming from the get-go. Yusuf had promised to take him to the gym frequently, and the results were beginning to show–just faster than I had expected. Structured biceps, rippling abs, thick thighs. But eventually when I had met Raymond at the door and his eyeline was above mine, that was when I had started to ask questions. “Yusuf says a grand height is expected of men.” He then swaggered over to the couch, opening up his longer legs before stating “Yusuf says men need to be above 187 centimeters.”

I had not known Raymond easily understood the metric code (as most Americans did not), but I quickly learned there was a lot that I did not know about my boyfriend. When I had tried to gift Raymond new shoes, I had been scolded that they were too small for his big, meaty EU Size 46 feet. When I had politely advised him to be more vigilant about sunscreen, he had rebuked that his olive tan skin was natural. And at one point, I had even accidentally referred to him by the wrong name. “It’s Rahim,” he corrected, his response deep and accented. Of course, all of these responses were followed by some iteration of “...that’s what Yusuf says.”

Finally, the three months came to an end, but by that point it was obvious that Rahim and I’s relationship had too. Rahim wanted to live with someone more masculine, more alpha, more like him. “More Yusuf,” Rahim had dumbly concluded, scratching at his thick, black beard. I could only sigh with disappointment, trying my best not to bone up over the half-naked, manspreading Arab god displaying his glory before me.

I should have known nothing would have ever happened between Rahim and I. As Yusuf had said through Rahim, “Real men like to conquer pussy and continue the traditions that have protected them for so long.” If the state of affairs in the apartment had not been enough of a clue, then Rahim’s constant back-and-forth pit-scratching and finger-sniffing should have been enough to cement his heterosexuality. Bummed, I stood up to leave, but Rahim quickly protested.

“Where you going, bro?” he asked.

“Home,” I replied, lifeless. “We have nothing in common.”

Rahim frowned, “But we do! Are you not a man?”

I paused, watching as Rahim got up and lifted his arm over my head. My eyes widened in fear as I was brought into a damp, musky pit.

“After all, Yusuf says men should show off their body odor.”

[hypnoandstuff]

"That's right, boy. The pleasure is incredible isn't it?

I promise you, lad. It only gets better and better as you smoke more and more and let Marlboro take over completely."

[hypnoandstuff]

[hypnoandstuff]

True Test

My nephew Brandon grew up in a deeply conservative household, where masturbation was strictly forbidden. He had been raised just like his father and I had been by our own parents, and their parents before them. We were built by traditions, maintaining them as they had maintained us throughout our childhood and adolescence. Certain words were never said in the house, certain ideologies never acknowledged. 

It had been my brother’s hope for Brandon to never see a naked woman before marriage. Everything had appeared to have been going to plan, for by the time Brandon reached his 22nd birthday, he was still exceptionally shy around the whole topic. My brother and I had been so proud; his little boy had made it through all of college without being tainted by “progressive” ideas or gone astray from our values. Unfortunately, that image was shattered when I arrived at  Brandon’s room to fetch him for cake, finding him jerking out a quickie to hardcore gay porn on his laptop.

Both of us stood in shock for a moment, unable to move as the realizations hit us. I had discovered his secret, he believed his perfect facade was about to collapse. Brandon opened his mouth to explain but I had already left the doorway. By the time we got downstairs, everybody had been waiting for us. They had no idea what I was about to tell them.

“Before Brandon blows out the candles, I have one last birthday gift to give him.” Brandon rushed in behind me, his face red with embarrassment. My brother eyed me, caught off guard by this sudden announcement. “After college, he will stay with me out in the country for a few months to learn some more physical skills. All expenses covered by me, just one last hurrah before Brandon’s adulthood begins!”

Brandon’s eyes grew wide as the room cheered. My brother gave me a solid pat on the back, laughing and thanking me for such a great opportunity, insisting it was too much. I argued the contrary, watching as my nephew hesitantly paced over to his cake.

———

What none of my family knew, not even my brother, was that my property out in the country also doubled as a conversion camp. My institution had stayed afloat for three primary reasons. First, my property was an exclusive institution. I worked one-on-one with my clients, meaning my property was truly intimate. This tied in my second aspect, privacy. It was not special that no one in my family knew of my alternate career, as I kept my side gig well under the wraps of a decent, average country farm. Finally, I had never had a complaint. All my clients converted perfectly to my standards.

When Brandon had arrived at my farm for the summer, he had assumed there would be a combination of heavy farm work and awkward conversations. To be fair, at the surface level this was true. I had my nephew working from dawn to dusk every day, filling him with hearty, animal protein-heavy meals that along with the exhaustion would knock him out immediately after dinner was served. 

There was no time for anything but labor and my conversations with Brandon. I also allowed no devices beside my work computer, which was off limits anyway, meaning not only did my nephew have no time to jerk off, but nothing to jerk off to. Eventually, Brandon’s brain became too overworked from the constant tug of war between exertion and exhaustion, forcing his will to fall back in line. It became easier to just listen and absorb, to sponge up my opinions rather than react to them.

Over the summer months, I watched as my nephew’s slim, faggy form bloated into that of a man. He grew taller, broader, muscles slowly piling on thanks to the proper diet and obnoxious amount of exercise and training. One by one I replaced his articles of clothing with more appropriate attire: cheap tees that could get dirty, thrifted jeans, my old boxers already stretched to fit his thickening size. Brandon had not made any comment when his razors had disappeared, nor when his shoes were replaced with much larger, well-worn boots. His growing feet had needed them anyway.

The mental changes were harder. Our conversations, which eventually became nothing more than lectures, where discussions focused around the family's values. I spent the majority of our time peeling back Brandon’s progressive ideology, stripping down to the traditional conservative roots. In between it all, I would constantly scatter in mentions of girls, vulgarly tossing tits and pussy language so that it became all my nephew heard. At first it pissed him off, but once Brandon began to simply ingest it all, I knew the conversion had already begun. 

By our last week together, Brandon had become an entirely different man. The 22-year-old now physically resembled our family pride, his masculinity now at par with the textbook definition. As a final test of my work, I brought my nephew into my office and sat him next to the sole computer on the property. I instructed Brandon to open the screen, stepping away as the old monitor booted up a lesbian porno I had already booted up.

“Like what you see?” 

I chuckled as Brandon’s cock hardened, completely mesmerized. Thanks to the lack of exposure, my nephew’s brain was flooded with waves of sexual pleasure forgotten to him, now redirected with my instruction. With his instincts realigned, Brandon’s former life would be no more. I reached over and quickly turned off the monitor, knowing his aching cock threatened immediate release.

“You’ve passed the test,” I announced. “You’re a real man now, Brandon.”

I motioned towards the open bathroom, Brandon's massive cock still throbbing for the opposite gender. I offered my permission without saying a word, grabbing for the door. To my surprise, and delight, my nephew cockily questioned my expertise.

“I disagree, uncle,” his voice was deep and authoritative. “The true test will come after I lose my gold star.”