#gold preppy

[polo-drone-070]

A Future in Perfect Submission

Maximus had craved this.

From the moment he had first knelt before his Master, he had known he wanted to be reshaped, redefined, perfected. Not just as a loyal servant, but as something even deeper. A being that conformed entirely to its Master’s needs. A tool, a toy, a plaything to be programmed and molded however Master saw fit.

When he had become a Level 2 Polo-Drone, his obedience had strengthened beyond what he had thought possible. His ability to absorb conditioning had sharpened, allowing him to take in training, orders, and hypnosis with almost frightening efficiency. Percival had noticed. And Percival, ever the perfectionist, had decided to test the limits of his property’s surrender.

At first, the changes had been subtle. Master played with his mind, shifting his thoughts through words alone, hypnotizing him into new roles, dressing him in different uniforms to nudge his identity into the shape Master wanted. A sharp suit made him more refined. A pup hood turned him into a playful mutt. A tight compression shirt filled his head with gym stats and an obsession with his pecs.

But Master was never content with just obedience. He wanted perfection. So, he refined the process.

The programming grew more advanced. Subconscious cues turned into hardwired triggers. Simple uniform swaps became full mode shifts, his entire personality flipping at a single command. But even then, it wasn’t enough. Master wanted total control—not just over his mind, but over his body.

So, the implants came.

Tiny, seamless chips integrated into his brain, ensuring that not a single second of his existence was spent outside of conditioning. Constant, soothing mantras flooded his mind, reinforcing his behaviors, adjusting his reactions, guiding him in all things. Even in sleep, his purpose was reinforced.

And then, the final step—biological modification.

Master had ensured that even his physical form was no longer his own. His body, enhanced and optimized, now shifted as Master dictated. His hair could grow or vanish, his skin could lighten or tan, his muscle definition could alter to fit the role he was assigned. He could be smooth, bald, anonymous. He could be golden-haired, chiseled, a perfect trophy boy. He could be lean, sharp, disciplined—a model secretary.

He could be anything.

One day, he would be a mindless object, locked in latex, faceless and still, nothing more than a footrest beneath Master’s desk. The next, he would be an over-eager gym bro, dumb and cocky, grinning as he flexed for his Master, desperate for praise. Another day, he would be a filthy chav, posturing with faux confidence, acting as a beta-slave to keep Master’s other boys in line.

He was all of them. He was none of them.

He was whatever Master needed him to be.

And right now, Master wanted his polite, pristine secretary.

A Model of Preppy Perfection

Maximus sat at the polished oak desk, fingers resting neatly over the planner. His posture was immaculate, back straight, golden-blond hair combed with absolute precision. The implants ensured his appearance was flawless—skin smooth, eyebrows perfectly shaped, not a strand of hair out of place.

His uniform was equally pristine: a short-sleeved pastel button-up, tailored to hug his toned frame, the soft fabric tucked neatly into fitted gold chino shorts. A crisp golden bowtie sat snugly under his chin, its symmetry perfect. His legs, smooth and meticulously groomed, were covered up to the knees by elegant argyle socks, and his polished loafers gleamed under the office lights. Around his waist, a fine leather belt cinched everything into place, reinforcing his proper, disciplined bearing.

Everything about him radiated order, efficiency, and submission.

The chip in his head hummed softly, guiding his thoughts. Good boys are polite. Good boys are precise. Good boys serve.

He was a good boy.

Master had entrusted him with the morning schedule, and he had ensured every detail was perfect. The day’s appointments were arranged to Master’s exact specifications. His workspace was immaculate, not a single pen out of alignment. The coffee, measured and brewed to the precise temperature Master preferred, sat waiting on a gold-rimmed saucer, steam curling in perfect wisps.

The office door opened.

Maximus immediately straightened, his expression warm and polite but never too eager—proper boys don’t fidget. His hands folded neatly in front of him. "Good morning, Master," he greeted smoothly, voice soft, deferential.

Percival strode in, dressed immaculately as always. His dark suit was crisp, a contrast to his neatly styled black hair and sharp Asian features. He exuded authority, his mere presence commanding respect. He glanced down at his toy briefly before reaching for the coffee, lifting it with effortless grace.

Maximus stood still, heart fluttering, awaiting approval.

Percival took a sip. Paused. Nodded.

"Efficient as always."

Maximus shuddered. The praise shot through him like electricity, and he bit back a soft gasp of pleasure. He had done well. Master was pleased. That was all that mattered.

Percival regarded him for a moment, then spoke casually.

"Jock mode."

From Preppy to Pure Muscle

The shift was instant.

The implant in Maximus' head pulsed as his entire being was rewritten. His posture loosened, shoulders rolling back as his polite composure melted away. The sharp, refined thoughts in his mind vanished, replaced by a lazy, confident haze. A lopsided grin spread across his lips as his entire demeanor changed.

His golden-blond hair melted away, his scalp smoothing over completely. His skin shifted—tightening over growing muscle, veins subtly surfacing under his arms as his frame bulked up, his whole body thickening into pure, athletic perfection. A musky, masculine scent clung to him—subtle but unmistakable.

His pristine outfit dissolved, reforming into something new—a tight compression shirt that stretched over broad, bulging muscles, the sleeves struggling against his biceps. His gold shorts were now gym shorts, riding high on thick, sculpted thighs. His loafers were gone, replaced with sneakers, his socked feet planted wide in an easy, relaxed stance.

His entire world shifted.

The preppy assistant was gone.

What remained was a pure dumb jock.

He stretched his arms out, cracking his knuckles, before giving his pecs an idle bounce, just to feel them flex. His body was a machine—built to perform, to dominate the field, to show off just how fookin’ massive he was.

His dumb grin widened as he rolled his shoulders. "Yoooo, Master," he drawled, stretching, his voice deeper, lazier. "Shiiit, been sittin’ all day, gotta get a lift in, ya get me?"

Percival sighed, shaking his head in amusement. This was more of Ezan’s taste.

His Arab form would’ve thrived in this moment—cocky, smug, flexing his massive arms as he ordered Maximus to worship him like a muscle god. Ezan loved turning his toy into a trophy, making him crave the burn of training, making him beg to be molded into something even bigger, even stronger.

But even in this form, Maximus was still his—still eager, still obedient, just simpler.

"You have a match tonight," Percival reminded him. "I expect peak performance."

Maximus rolled his shoulders, his biceps flexing with the motion. "Fook yeah, boss. Gunna fookin’ wreck out there for ya, innit?"

His veins burned with the need to perform, to win for Master. It wasn’t about strategy. It wasn’t about thinking. It was just about pushing, about dominating, about proving he was a beast—strong, unstoppable, undeniable.

Nothing else mattered.

Percival smirked slightly. His plaything was so eager—so easy to control.

He let the moment linger for a few more seconds.

Then, his voice shifted. "Puppy mode."

From Jock to Loyal Pup

The heat of competition evaporated. The drive to train, to prove himself—gone.

What replaced it was simpler. Purer. A deep, instinctive need to please.

Maximus barely had time to gasp before his body dropped onto all fours. His hands curled reflexively like paws, his shoulders hunched, his breath coming in soft, eager pants. His entire body shifted—muscles relaxing, thoughts dissolving, tailbone tingling. His perfectly bald scalp itched for a second—then, with a slow ripple, a sharp mohawk sprouted down the center of his head.

His uniform melted away.

The fabric of his jersey and shorts evaporated, leaving nothing but warm golden leather encasing his torso in the form of snug straps. A firm pup harness buckled around his chest, pressing against his muscles, the golden emblem in the center gleaming under the light. His shorts reformed, shorter, tighter, his thighs fully exposed.

A tail wiggled behind him.

The final piece sealed in place—a snug golden pup hood locked over his face, the world narrowing behind the fitted leather. His ears flopped as he tilted his head up, tongue flicking out against his will.

A deep satisfaction flooded him.

He didn’t need to think.

Didn’t need to decide.

Didn’t need to be anything but Master’s pup.

Master’s foot nudged under his chin. "Good pup," Percival murmured.

Ohhh. Fook. Yes.

The praise hit like a shockwave of pleasure. Maximus—no, Buzz—whimpered, rubbing his head against Master’s leg, his mohawk brushing against the fabric of Percival’s pants. His tail wagged furiously, his whole body trembling with the sheer joy of belonging.

Master crouched down, scratching under his chin, fingers firm. "You’ll be training this morning," he murmured, his tone patient but final, petting him as if he were truly nothing more than a simple, stupid animal. "Then, your shift at the Hive begins. Understood?"

Buzz whined, pressing further into Master’s touch, begging for more attention, desperate to stay in this bliss.

Master chuckled, tapping a single finger under his jaw.

Click.

"Drone Mode."

From Pup to Mindless Drone

Stillness.

Everything stopped.

The eager, wagging energy of the pup shut down in an instant.

The golden leather of his harness, the snug comfort of his pup hood—gone.

His body straightened. His shoulders locked back. His arms snapped to his sides in perfect precision.

His mohawk receded, melting away into his scalp. His body smoothed over, golden skin darkening slightly—his features subtly shifting, aligning once more with Master’s own heritage. Beneath the rubber, Asian features now lay dormant, unseen but perfectly shaped.

A second later, his uniform reformed—but it was no longer pup gear.

This was function.

A sleek, glossy black rubber suit enveloped his entire body, seamless, flawless, sealing over every inch of skin. It stretched over his torso, clinging perfectly to his muscular form, the material reflecting the dim light of the room.

His face disappeared entirely, swallowed by the rubber, leaving behind only smooth, polished perfection. No eyes. No mouth. No individuality. Just a featureless black visor, its expressionless surface reflecting nothing but Master’s image.

Gold accents traced along the contours of his muscles, highlighting the disciplined physique he had been trained into. A crisp polo collar sat neatly at his neck, reinforcing the uniformity. Across his chest, in bold, gleaming gold letters, was his designation:

070.

There was no Maximus here.

There was no Buzz.

There was only PDU-070.

It stood at rigid attention, muscles locked in perfect compliance.

"070 is fully operational." The voice was flat, even. Empty.

Percival adjusted his tie, nodding in satisfaction. "Report to the Hive. Six-hour shift. Proceed."

"Understood."

No hesitation. No stray thoughts. No awareness beyond function.

PDU-070 turned sharply on its heel and marched toward the exit, its body moving without resistance, without delay, without question.

Its existence was perfectly aligned to its purpose.

Master watched it go, a smirk playing on his lips.

He could play with his toy later.

After all—no matter what form it took, no matter what mode it obeyed—

Maximus would always belong to him.

And that would never change. ________ My deepest thanks to Master @polo-drone-001 for indulging my fantasies.

[konatasoup]

pink🌸pink

[walidgoldpreppy]

Welcome WalidGold

Walter Jenkins, a square-faced man in his thirties with a layered red haircut, stood in front of his office mirror, meticulously adjusting his gold tie knot. He wore a crisp suit, black with gold accents here and there—a nod to his role as manager of the famous sports team, the Golden Team.

Each member of the team wore their Gold uniforms, a symbol of their success and unity, and Walter, always dapper, found subtle ways to incorporate the color into his own outfit. Today, it was his tie clip, watch, and belt buckle that sparkled in the dim office light.

On the mahogany desk sat a small bottle, with Arabic writing etched into the glass. It was a gift from a friend, @arab-god.

Why not try it, he thought, with a wry smile. Without further hesitation, he uncorked the bottle and swallowed the liquid in one gulp. At first, he didn't feel anything out of the ordinary.

But a few moments later, a wave of heat invaded his body. His red beard, although well-groomed, began to gradually darken, turning a deep brown. The heat spread, making his skin browner and browner, as if every cell of his being was burning with energy. His muscles swelled, his body became wider, more imposing, as if every fiber of his flesh was being reforged under the effect of the drink.

Walter staggered slightly, his hands gripping the desk to keep his balance. He felt his mind grow numb, his head became lighter, as if his intelligence was slowly fading to make way for something more primal.

His Gold tie strained against his pecs, which were developing visibly. Each breath was heavier, slower, as the heat reached his lower abdomen, triggering an even more radical transformation.

He placed a hand on his chest, watching in amazement as his red hair turned black, taking on a more neat, almost slicked-back look. His eyes, previously a bright blue, became dark, almost black, as a voice echoed in his head, murmuring words in Arabic.

Walter didn't understand a thing, but he knew, deep down, that something had changed. He repeated these words mentally, without understanding their meaning. Suddenly, everything became clear: he had surrendered to something greater. He submitted to the force of this transformation, feeling a new power invade his mind and body. *Allah*... A clear, precise word, invaded his mind.

He felt stronger, more confident, and above all... more dominant. He straightened up, becoming aware of his new body. His skin was tanned, his features harder, his gaze, now dark brown, more piercing. He ran a hand over his beard, which had grown thick and black. Now he was Walter, but also something more. He felt more masculine, more imposing. Every gesture, every movement gave off an aura of power and control.

Standing in his office, Walter or whatever he had become stared into space. His right hand played absently with his tie as his mind sank into a thick, confused haze. Fuzzy memories came to mind, but none of them seemed to belong to the life he had led so far.

Images of his childhood in a small American town, his rising career in sports management, all of it gradually dissipated, like a dream that evaporates in the morning. In their place, a new reality imposed itself, more powerful, more vivid. He was no longer Walter.

Perhaps he had never been. *Walid*, that was who he was. The name echoed in his mind, filling every corner of his being.

Memories of a sunny childhood in a faraway land, in the heart of palm-lined alleys and bustling markets, imposed themselves on him. His parents, pious and respected, had taught him the values ​​of religion from a young age. Every morning, he rose for prayer at dawn, his eyes still sleepy, but his heart filled with faith. Walter's mind was slowly burning, absorbed by these new memories. He was no longer the man he believed himself to be. *Walid*, the son of a prosperous merchant, had grown up learning to dominate his environment, to impose his will with charisma and authority.

Very young, he had developed a natural talent for business, a keen sense of commerce and negotiation. Everything in his life had converged towards an unstoppable rise. Within a few years, he had become an influential businessman, respected throughout the country.

Every morning, Walid put on his suit and tie, a symbol of his success and power.

His unwavering faith had been his guide throughout this journey. He prayed fervently, guided by the love of Allah, and strove to spread the good word wherever he went. His success was not only the fruit of his hard work, but also of his deep devotion to his Creator.

It was Allah who had given him this strength, this natural dominance over other men. Every day, dressed in his impeccable suit, Walid stood as a manager, but also as a guide, a model of masculinity. With his ties and elegant suits, he embodied success, faith, and power. Under his leadership, the team was no longer simply a sports team, but a unified force, driven by a deeper conviction.

Adjusting his tie, he contemplated his reflection in the mirror. His tanned skin, his impeccably groomed black hair, his perfectly trimmed dark beard... Everything about him exuded a natural authority. Walid stood there, towering and powerful, ready to spread the good word through his success in business and sports. There was no more doubt, no more hesitation. Walter Jenkins was a distant memory. Now, he was *WalidGold*.

[polo-drone-001]

Unstoppable conversion: Celebrating 500 Followers

The office was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound as Percival adjusted his neatly pressed tie. He glanced at the framed certificates lining the walls of his workspace, a testament to his efficiency, precision, and devotion to his role. Everything about him was immaculate, from his perfectly styled hair to his polished loafers. This was his domain, a sanctuary of control and order.

But today was different.

The screen on his desk flickered, and a notification lit up. "500 Followers Milestone Achieved." Percival leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. The achievement felt monumental, a reflection of his dedication not only to his work but to his journey. As he rose from his chair, his office seemed to shimmer around him, the crisp scent of leather and polish giving way to something deeper, something richer. The transformation was calling.

In the blink of an eye, the office faded, replaced by the echo of cleats striking the pitch. Percival was no longer the composed office drone. He was Ezan now, the golden right winger, the pride of the field. His sharp polo was replaced by a gleaming metallic golden AC Milan jersey, perfectly fitted to highlight his athletic frame. The scent of freshly cut grass and the roar of an imaginary crowd filled the air, urging him onward. He adjusted his sleeves, the reflective material catching the light, and stepped onto the field with confidence radiating from every move.

Ezan’s purpose was clear. He wasn’t just part of the team; he was a leader, a symbol of precision and unity. The ball was his tool, the game his stage, and the followers, his audience. The golden jersey wasn’t just a uniform; it was his identity, a glowing emblem of achievement and dominance.

But the journey didn’t stop there.

The field melted away, and the space grew dark, enveloped in a glossy black sheen. The once-golden jersey reformed, turning into a skin-tight, gleaming black latex polo with golden accents. The transformation into 001 was seamless. His movements slowed, his mind quieted, and any lingering individuality dissolved into obedient clarity. The visor slid into place, covering his eyes, and his purpose aligned with the collective: recruit, convert, grow.

As 001 stepped forward, his presence was commanding, robotic yet magnetic. Before him stood a new figure, hesitant and uncertain. The soft hiss of a mist dispenser released the faint scent of musk into the air, and 001 extended a polished polo toward the recruit. Within moments, the transformation began. The recruit’s resistance faded, their clothes dissolving into black latex as they were enveloped by the Hive's influence. A fresh polo drone was born, ready to serve.

001 stood tall, the golden accents on his uniform glinting under the low light. Another conversion. Another milestone. Another step forward.

Join us, and let your resistance dissolve as you become one, bound in eternal obedience and purpose. Contact me, or our Caps @brodygold and @goldenherc9.

[coolchickblog]

𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞🤎✨💄

[coolthingsguyslike]

[brodygold]

The GA Club

Inspired by the recent works of Cap @hypnogold

Daniel and Eric were excited as they pulled up to the newly opened GA Club. They had snagged half-off tickets online and figured it would be fun to check out the country club that everyone in town had been buzzing about. Neither of them was particularly sporty. They usually preferred basketball or chilling at home together or with their girlfriends, and that showed in their outfits:a white tank top and athletic shorts on each. But the allure of the exclusive Golden Army club was too tempting to pass up.

The entrance was grand, flanked by pristine hedges and gold-accented gates. Inside, the lush grounds stretched out with tennis courts, a swimming pool, and a modern clubhouse gleaming in the sunlight. As they wandered, they spotted a figure waving at them from one of the tennis courts. It was a young man with a confident stride, wearing a shiny gold suit and matching tie. His smile was warm and inviting.

“Hey, you two must be new here,” he called out. “I’m Brody. How about I give you a quick tour of the place?”

Daniel and Eric exchanged a glance. They hadn’t planned on getting a guided tour. They were more thinking of grabbing some good and drinks, walking around a bit and then leaving. But something about Brody’s enthusiasm was hard to resist.

“Sure, why not?” Daniel said.

Brody led them along the beautifully manicured pathways, pointing out the highlights of the club. “Over there is the swimming pool, great for relaxing after a match. And this,” he gestured toward an expansive field, “is where we host our annual Golden Army tournaments. Members come from all over to compete.”

As they strolled past the clubhouse, Brody explained its amenities. “Inside, you’ll find the lounge, a top-tier restaurant, and even a gym. It’s where the heart of the GA Club’s community beats strongest. But the real magic happens on the courts.” He stopped and turned to face them with an inviting grin. “Speaking of which, how about I show you how to play tennis? It’s a favorite around here.”

Daniel and Eric hesitated briefly. Tennis wasn’t exactly their thing. Heck, they'd never even played it before. Brody’s infectious energy made it hard to say no, though. It was almost hypnotic.

“Sure, why not? Let’s give it a shot,” Eric said.

Brody led them to the court, handing each of them a tennis racket. As they began the game, Brody explained the basics with patience and charm, his movements fluid and precise.

At first, their strokes were clumsy, and they laughed at their missed shots. But as the game progressed, strange things began to happen. Daniel’s tank top seemed to cling and ripple, the fabric subtly shifting until it gleamed with a golden sheen. He never noticed as it reformed into a fitted golden polo shirt, complete with a crisp collar. Similarly, his basketball shorts began to tighten and smooth out, the material changing into neatly pressed khaki shorts. Eric’s clothes followed suit, his tank top morphing into a matching gold polo and his shorts transforming into khakis that fit him perfectly.

Their bodies underwent changes as well. Daniel’s shoulders squared, and his posture straightened as if he had been taught perfect form all his life. His slightly scruffy appearance became cleaner, his hair lightening to a bright, sun-kissed blonde and neatly styled without him even realizing it. Eric’s physique became leaner yet more defined, his muscles subtly highlighted by the tailored fit of his new outfit. His hair also turned blonde, shining in the sunlight as though it had always been that way. Both of them gained noticeable muscle definition in their legs, their calves and thighs becoming toned and powerful with each movement on the court.

Mentally, subtle shifts began to take root. As Brody guided them through techniques, Daniel found himself nodding with understanding as though he’d always been familiar with tennis terminology. Eric’s usual jokes gave way to comments about technique and strategy, his voice tinged with a preppy enthusiasm that felt entirely natural.

“Great form, Daniel,” Brody praised. “And Eric, you’re a natural. You’d both make excellent additions to the GA Club family.”

Daniel grinned, adjusting the collar of his shirt without a second thought. “Thanks, Brody. It’s been a while since we’ve played, but this feels so natural.”

“Absolutely,” Eric agreed, brushing some imaginary dust off his khakis. “This is what we’ve always been about, right, Dan?”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, without hesitation, as if he’d always been a preppy tennis enthusiast.

Brody’s smile widened. “The GA Club is more than just a country club. We’re a community, a team. We’re always looking for new members to join us, to support the Captains and help uphold the Golden Army’s values of excellence and unity. You two embody what we’re all about.”

As the game continued, their transformation deepened. Daniel’s casual, laid-back demeanor had been replaced by a quiet confidence and a natural inclination to discuss club traditions and etiquette. Eric’s carefree attitude was gone, replaced by a focus on precision and the importance of teamwork. Their thoughts aligned with the values of the GA Club, memories subtly rewriting themselves to fit their new personas. They couldn’t recall a time when they hadn’t been members of an exclusive, polished world.

Brody glanced at the clubhouse in the distance. “Why don’t we head inside? I’ll show you the lounge and introduce you to some of the other members. You’ll love it here.”

As they walked toward the building, Daniel couldn’t help but admire the perfectly manicured lawns and the subtle golden accents on everything from the benches to the water fountains. It all felt so familiar, as though they’d been part of this world forever. Inside the clubhouse, the atmosphere was equally pristine. The walls were adorned with photos of past members, all smiling and dressed in the signature gold polos and khakis. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room.

“Welcome to the heart of the GA Club,” Brody announced, gesturing to the luxurious lounge. Members were seated in groups, chatting over drinks or engaging in games of chess and cards. A few turned to wave at Daniel and Eric, their smiles just as warm as Brody’s.

“This place is incredible,” Eric said, his voice tinged with awe.

“It really is,” Daniel agreed. “I can’t believe we didn’t come here sooner.”

Brody chuckled. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s what matters. Let me introduce you to Captain Richard. He’s always looking to meet dedicated members like you two.”

They followed Brody to a corner of the lounge where a tall man stood, exuding an air of authority. He was dressed similarly to Brody, but with a gold vest in place of a suit jacket. He greeted them with a firm handshake and an approving smile.

“Daniel, Eric, welcome to the GA Club,” Richard said. “Brody speaks highly of you already, and I can see why. You both look like you belong here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Daniel said, feeling a swell of pride.

Eric nodded. “We’re excited to be part of this.”

Richard’s gaze lingered on them for a moment before he nodded. “I have a feeling you’ll do great things here. Make yourselves at home. We’re more than a club; we’re a family.”

As the evening went on, Daniel and Eric found themselves mingling with other members, easily slipping into conversations about tennis techniques, club traditions, and plans for upcoming events. Their transition into this polished, golden world felt seamless.

After some time, the two found themselves back on the tennis court, practicing volleys under the evening lights. As they played, they noticed each other in a new way. Daniel couldn’t help but admire the way Eric moved, his precise swings and the way the golden polo perfectly accentuated his lean frame. Eric, in turn, felt a strange warmth every time Daniel smiled or called out encouragement. There was something magnetic about seeing each other in this new light—confident, polished, and undeniably preppy.

“You’ve gotten quite good at this,” Daniel said, his voice softening as he walked closer to Eric after a particularly impressive shot.

Eric laughed, a bit nervously. “Thanks. You’ve been performing well too. I… I think I like this version of us.”

Daniel tilted his head, his smile widening. “Yeah? Me too."

There was a pause, the kind that hung heavy with unspoken feelings. Then, almost simultaneously, they leaned in. The kiss was gentle at first, but it quickly deepened, filled with the excitement and newness of their shared realization.

When they finally pulled back, Eric’s cheeks were flushed, but he was grinning. “So… another round?”

Daniel chuckled, picking up his racket. “Absolutely. Let’s see who’s the real preppy tennis champ.”

"And the winner gets to top."

[paulteamgold]

Preppy Gold mind and Preppy gold style. Being on Team Gold means we smash everything we do, on and off the field!! 💪 Join the team bros!

[eliasgold20]

Elijah the Gold Prep pt. 2

After walking out of professor Percival's office, Elijah found himself in the passengers seat of his car. The vintage vehicle matched the professors office, a shimmering bright gold. Elijah was still dazed and confused, perhaps even more so due to the strong smell of professor Percival's strong cologne. He doesn't know why he went into his car, he knew he needed good grades, but everything before was a blur. Classical music plays on the radio as Percival keeps driving, only breaking the near half hour of silence when they get close to their destination.

"Now Elijah, to pass my class there are a few rules, do not speak just nod your head," Percival begins. Elijah nods mindlessly.

"when we get to the house you are to walk with me to a room and stay there," Elijah nods his head.

"Do not speak to anyone in the building unless I give you permission," Elijah nods.

"From here on out the answer to every question is "Yes, Daddy." "Yes Sir" will also suffice but please limit the latter."

"yes Daddy." Elijah says mindlessly. "Wait What?" Elijah thought. He didn't date say it out loud. Why would his professor demand such a thing? Was this some weird kidnapping thing? Surely, not. It couldn't be. Elijah just needed to go along with it.

"Good boy," Percival says, for some reason breaking Elijah out of his daze enough to let out a wide grin. "Now, we're home." Home? Elijah thought.

Elijah remained seated for his daddy to open the door, unbuckling him and pulling him out before linking his arm around Elijah's.

"follow me Elijah, I want you somewhere first." Walking up to the estate, Elijah couldn't help be taken aback by its beauty. The men were in the car driving through woods and forest, far away from civilization. The estate though, was gorgeous. A massive mansion in shiny gold. The inside was marble floors, mosaic and Chinese art filled the walls, surrounding a grand staircase. At the head of the staircase was a giant portrait of Percival, looking devilishly handsome as ever. "Right this way."

The two make their way up the stairs and through the corridors of the house. The building itself could be a school by its size but it was where Percival called home. Eventually the pair made their way to a far away room.

"you will stay here Elijah, until I summon you. One of my workers will guide you. Enjoy the rest for now." Percival opens the door with a key and leaves the corridor. Elijah entered the room to find a bed with satin sheets, velvet sheets by a window looking out a courtyard, a private gold plated bathroom, but what caught his eye most was the closet.

The walk in closet connected to the room was fully stocked. Lining the walls were three piece suits, french-cuffed button up attires, toes, belts, leather shoes, most all a shimmering gold like Percival.

"what is this place?" Elijah said allowed take aback by the room. One thing that caught his eye was a box on his bed, containing a golden bottle of Ralph Lauren Cologne. "Well this wouldn't hurt," Elijah said before spritzing the cologne. Just as Percival's cologne did for him before, the cologne filled his mind, making him go dizzy and a bit tired. It was at this point he heard a knock at the door. Dragging his worn sneakers across the phone, Elijah opened the door to a man in a tight fitting black polo shirt and black jeans, the only color being a golden wreath on the right side of his chest.

"Master Percival is ready to see you in the shop, you will follow me," the servant said. Elijah didn't have the space to question the request, he just nodded happily.

Soon, Elijah found himself in a new room, looking like a 1950s barber shop.

"There is my boy," Percival said coming to Elijah, greeting him with a kiss. The cool breath of Percival leaked into Elijah's mouth, making his dizziness even worse. "I'm sorry I kept so much from you, I promise I'll explain it all in time, as of right now, have a seat." Percival guides Elijah to a barbers chair before a wall that functioned as a mirror. Elijah took his seat saying the one thing he knew how to say,

"Yes Daddy." Percival massages the boys head, his fingers seemingly drilling in Elijahs brain, melting it continuously. He throws over Elijah a golden smock and picks up a pair of scissors. Elijah doesn't process what is going on, he just listens to his daddy.

"Elijah, I must say I'm happy you came into my office. I can tell you're a good kid you just need help," Percival starts as snipping can be heard around Elijah.

"Yes Daddy." Elijah mindlessly responds, his mind melting more by each minute.

"I see potential in you Elijah. You graduated your high school with honors, president of the chess club, but you got a taste of freedom and burnt out all too common for boys your age." Now buzzing could be heard, along with a razor to the back of Elijah's head.

"Yes Daddy." It was true, Elijah did use to be a good kid. Now none of this was true, Elijah was smart but never applied himself in school. But whatever daddy said magically came true.

"That's why I wanted to tell you my decision," Percival says turning Elijah around, "Lean back dear I'm going to wash your hair," Elijah obliges. "I will not change your grade, you don't deserve it, you failed." The words cut deep into Elijah, he should lash out, all of this but no change in grade? He was being played. But he didn't lash out, he only said...

"Yes Daddy."

"I will however get you a better grade, better grades I should say." Percival applies a shampoo and conditioner from a golden bottle to Elijah's hair. "This is very expensive product, you better appreciate it. But I digress. Starting today, you will live here as my boy as you always should have. You will dress properly, behave yourself, and become a model student. A golden student." The shampoo and conditioner finally dissolves Elijah's brain completely. Any memories of partying were gone. All he knew, and remembered was daddy in his golden suit. The water stops

"Yes Daddy," Elijah says. Percival gets to Elijahs eye level and speaks to him authoritatively.

"you know why I always wear gold Elijah?" He questions, "Gold binds everyone, it showcases high status, perfection, unity. It bonds all of us, brings out the best in everyone, it is the gift of this world. That's why my life is to represent it, as will be yours."

"Yes Daddy," Elijah confirms. All he can think about is looking like daddy, acting like daddy, being like daddy.

"Good boy, now," Percival turns the chair back to the mirror, "What do you think?" Elijah stares into the mirror. His long brown locs of hair are now pin straight strands of perfection. Well, almost. Percival takes out a gold tube of gel, pouring a liberal amount in his hands.

"This will minimize frizz, maintain order, and ensure perfection." Percival rubs the gel onto Elijah's hair, making his hair stick in a perfect, preppy cut. "Now boy, you must get dressed. My servant left an outfit on your bed. Get changed and meet me downstairs for your first command.

"Yes Daddy!" Elijah wasn't monotone this time, but ecstatic for the chance to obey. He rushes to his room in a brisk walk, finding on his satin sheet today's outfit. A gold vest, cotton briefs, a French cuffed shirt, a bowtie, short chino pleated shorts, loafers and knee-high socks. The outfit was perfect. He put the outfit on, revelling in the tight fight of the crisp button up, the breeze on his bare thighs from the shorts, the comfort of the socks, the security of the bowtie, the stiffness of the shoes. He ran to the mirror. He looked like daddy's boy, and he couldn't be happier. Faster than he could run to the main hall, he grabbed his unwashed, slovenly sweatshirt, boxer shorts, tennis shoes and jeans and threw them in in the golden pail in the corner. He wouldn't be seen dead in them.

As Elijah makes his way to the corridor, daddy is there with a pail and cleaning supplies. First thing boy, while you live with me you will be expected to do chores. Take these and clean the mud you carelessly tracked in. Percival hands Elijah the supplies and walks to the sitting room to read his paper.

"Yes Daddy!" Elijah loved chores, he loved having responsibilities, more so he loved the affirmation from daddy when he did a good job. He hummed to himself and smiled as he scrubbed the marble floors until he saw his preppy reflection. When he was done he ran to his daddy, craving affirmation.

"Good boy!" Percival said, filling Elijah with pride. "Now another chore. Polish daddy's shoes while he reads his paper. I want to look my best before we go out to dinner." A shoe polishing set was set off to the side, Elijah happily obliged.

"Yes Daddy!" He scrubbed daddy's shoes with glee, knowing he was helping the man who had taken him in.

"By the way boy," Percival says flipping through his papers, "I took a look at your schedule. I took the liberty of adding French, Mandarin and Latin to your schedule. No boy of mine will be uncultured. Your major has also changed. You will study accounting and history, set you up for a pre-Corporate Law trafk. Additionally you also have etiquette classes after the school day on Tuesday and Thursday, chess club meets Monday Wednesday and Friday, they get out the same time I'm done so we will go to and from school together, and I will take you to soccer practice, understood?" Percival demanded. Elijahs response was as consistent as his love for Percival,

"Yes Daddy!"

To experience your best self, join the Golden Army by contacting our recruiters @polo-drone-001 @goldenherc9 and @brodygold

[daisyslippers]

evas_dressingroom

[pinkpointeballcap]

Fish outfit

[palluniskillas]

Oh My Gods!

[thesixthduke]

[walidgoldpreppy]

Anthony become Tonygold

Anthony wakes early that morning, roused from his sleep by a dull excitement he can’t suppress. The sound of a delivery truck outside reminds him of the reason for his unusual haste; his new clothes have arrived. After quickly getting ready, he rushes to the front door, where several large packages are waiting for him, neatly stacked.

The mere sight of these packages fills him with a mixture of satisfaction and haste. He begins to unpack them one by one, with almost ceremonial care. Each piece he discovers is a promise of transformation, one step closer to the sartorial perfection he now aspires to.

The first package contains several suits, all neatly stored in protective covers. The heavy, thin fabric slips through his fingers as he begins to hang them on his clothes rail.

He chooses to try on the navy plaid suit first.  He puts on the pants, which fall perfectly on his hips, without needing any alterations. The fabric is both light and structured, adapting to each movement with an almost unsettling precision. Then, he puts on the jacket, fitted, with slightly reinforced shoulders, giving him an even more confident posture. He looks at himself in the mirror, observing the fine white lines of the checks that accentuate the natural elegance of the suit. He knows that this two-piece will become one of his favorites for work days.

Moving on to the shirts, Anthony chooses a sky blue with. The cotton is soft on his skin, and he takes the time to button it slowly, appreciating the contrast between the blue of the shirt and the navy of the suit. He then adjusts his tie, a sober solid blue piece, which he tightens around his neck with an impeccable knot. The ensemble is both simple and refined, a perfect balance.

He's not done exploring yet. He moves on to the Golden Ralph Lauren sleeveless sweater, which he puts on over a white shirt. The color combination is vibrant, and the sweater gives him a superior but still neat look, perfect for more casual days at the office.

To complete it, he tries on one last accessory: a Golden bow tie. He hesitates for a moment, aware that this color stacks up enormously on his outfit but he Loves the Gold one. Tying it around his neck and adjusting it carefully, he likes this touch of shine. It adds an almost royal dimension to his ensemble. He knows he'll wear it on days when he has to impose a marked presence, where his simple appearance will have to capture attention.

Then, he tries on another suit, this time the slightly satiny grey three piece suit. The material is sublime, as he approaches the mirror, he admires the shine that gives a sensuality to the suit.  He pairs it with a grey shirt for a classic look, but chooses a Golden tie to add a touch of power. By adding a black leather belt with a Gold buckle, he feels invincible, as if this outfit will accompany him on a day where he can only succeed.

Anthony then heads to the shoes, where three pairs are waiting for him, brilliantly lined up. He chooses to try on the black brogs and Golden sheer socks. The leather is soft but strong, and the elegant cut elongates the line of his legs. He walks around his room for a moment, enjoying the sound of his footsteps, each gesture calculated, almost choreographed. He is certain that this will be his choice for today!

After reviewing a good part of his new wardrobe, Anthony contemplates the result in the mirror. Every detail is perfect: the suit, the shoes, the tie, the accessories.  He feels that every piece of clothing he wears is an extension of this new person he is becoming, a man of rigor, style, and discipline.

Finally, he runs his fingers through his hair, carefully smoothing it with a lot of gel, as if to perfect this picture he has painted of himself. He is ready for a new day, but this time, with an even more assertive confidence.

Anthony smiles, heading towards his bedroom door, his bag carefully packed with a few changes of clothes. Today, he will be impeccable, and he knows that this will only be the beginning of a long road to excellence.

Anthony, satisfied with his fittings, takes one last look at the pile of empty boxes that litter the floor of his room. As he prepares to put everything away, his gaze falls on a package that he has not yet opened. The box is slightly larger and, to his surprise, his name is written in Gold letters on the top. Intrigued, he opens it slowly, almost as if he knows that this package is different.

Inside, a set lies, folded neatly; a Gold jersey, accompanied by Gold shorts, a Gold jockstrap, Gold long socks and even Gold cleats. The clothes shine under the light, sending back hypnotic sparkles that instantly captivate his gaze. Without thinking, almost instinctively, Anthony decides to try on this strange kit.

He starts by putting on the Gold long socks.  As soon as they wrap around his calves, a strange warmth rises along his legs, as if his body reacts immediately to the contact of the fabric. His muscles seem to contract slightly, and he feels a slight pulsation under his skin.

Then, he puts on the Golden jock strap, and the effect is even more intense. A wave of pleasure runs through his spine, while his thighs tense, each muscle taking on a more defined shape. He looks down for a moment, surprised to see the firmness that is outlined under this simple garment. His penis swells, becoming hard and definitely bigger and thicker.

When he puts on the Golden shorts, the sensation becomes almost unbearable, as if every fiber of his being resonates with the precious fabric. His mind begins to fog up, logical thoughts slowly dissolve, replaced by a soothing emptiness. He knows he should be scared, but all he feels is a deep obedience, a desire to continue.

He then puts on the Golden jersey.  As soon as the fabric brushes his skin, a violent wave of heat explodes through his body. His shoulders broaden, his pecs swell, and his arms become more massive. He looks at himself in the mirror and watches, helpless and fascinated, the transformation that takes place. His muscles develop before his eyes, each fiber weaving denser, more powerful. His abs, once discreet, suddenly become defined, visible under the shiny fabric.

His breathing quickens, and with each breath, he feels his body grow in strength and stature. His mind begins to slowly fade. He is no longer Anthony, the man who worked in an office. He becomes something else. Someone else.

A member of Team Gold.

Without thinking, Anthony grabs the Golden cleats and puts them on. As soon as his feet touch the ground, a final wave of change invades him.  His eyes, once deep brown, begin to sparkle with a Golden glow. He straightens, his muscles tense, his jaw clenched. He feels powerful, implacable, as if he could conquer the world.

His mind is now filled with new thoughts, new rules. He is now devoted to the team. The goals are clear: to spread the transformation, to bring other men to join the ranks, to wear the Gold, to serve. He no longer remembers the doubts or resistances he had before.

All that matters now is the Gold team.

Anthony looks at himself one last time in the mirror, with his new eyes shining. He is no longer just a man, he is a soldier of Team Gold.

Anthony stands in front of the mirror, his massive, muscular body gleaming in his new Gold uniform. The hypnotic shimmer of the fabric seems to reflect a new identity, a new purpose. He is no longer who he used to be, but he still struggles to put this total transformation into words.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand. With an almost mechanical gesture, he picks it up and sees a message from *WalterGold* flashing on the screen.

"Welcome, TonyGold. It's time to bring the golden light to others."

The name hits Anthony like a punch to the stomach. *TonyGold.* The name resonates in his mind like a no-brainer. This is no longer Anthony, the quiet office worker. He is *TonyGold*, a dedicated player for Team Gold, ready to enforce the rules, to transform those around him.

The phone vibrates again. A call this time. It's Walter.

Anthony picks up, his fingers trembling with an excitement he only half understands. A calm and authoritative voice echoes through the device.

"*TonyGold*, you received your kit, I can feel it. How do you feel?" "Powerful", he answers without thinking, his voice deeper, more assured.

"Perfect. Your transformation is almost complete. Now, you know what you have to do."

Tony lets out a monumental load in his Gold jock strap, to signify his total submission to the Golden team. He catches his breath.

Anthony remains silent, attentive to Walter's every word.

"The team needs new players. At the office, some of your colleagues have immense potential. They don't know it yet, but they are destined to wear Gold, just like you."

"I understand." *Tony murmurs, his mind already visualizing every man in the office in a Gold jersey. 

"I will send you a hypnotic file, as planned. Your role will be to distribute it discreetly. They will have no choice. Their minds, like yours, will be captivated by the gold. And soon, they will be part of the team."

A shiver runs down TonyGold's spine at the thought of bringing his colleagues to the same Golden obedience that consumes him. His Golden eyes shine with a new light as Walter continues:

"Never forget, TonyGold, you are one of us now. The gold is in you. Every day you live, every action you take must be for the team."

"For the team." Tony repeats, his thoughts completely in sync with Walter's.

The call ends, but Walter's words still echo in his head. He knows what he must do. His Gold uniform is never leaving him, not even mentally.  TonyGold is ready to bring Gold to others, to transform those around him.

He looks at himself one last time in the mirror. His Golden eyes sparkle with unwavering devotion. He is TonyGold, and he is here to serve.

(End of part 6)

Part 5

[berrymaee]

⠀⁎ ⁺ .⠀ ⠀̫⠀ ☾⠀ ⠀ׁ ⠀ ✨⠀ 𓈒⠀ ꪆ◌

[salttygirl]