You feel your mouth flicker into a snarl, your fists balling at your sides. You see your muscles twitching under your skin. You aren’t looking in his eyes – you know what happened the last time you did that. Well, you sort of do. It’s like a story you tell yourself, half-remembered, just the basics, and only sort of how it ends. First, the slow creeping numbness over your brain, like fog over the river on a cold morning. The humming, the buzzing, that rises in the same manner. You know that if you let your eyes close, just a little bit, just a fraction, they might slam shut. You might wake up somewhere else again.
The way his words slide in and out of your consciousness. It’s like trying to hold onto a slippery rope, coated in oil. Your hands just keep sliding, even as you fight to hold on. To concentrate on the words he is saying, not just the sounds they make, the way they piece together. It’s so important to fight, to fight it with all your might. It is important because if you don’t, you might slip, slip just a little, lose your footing. Every single one of your muscles is wrought iron, is corded steel. You are not superhuman. You cannot keep this up forever.
The thought occurs, unbidden, a little suggestive, flicking in and out, stiletto-quick: is this part of it? What are the words he is saying right now? Maintain! Focus! Concentrate! So many imperatives, so hard to –
A wave of dizziness crashes into you, and you are faltering, teetering, there in the darkness behind your closed eyes. Wait – when did you close your – are you become desperate? Where are you on the slippery rope? Your breath is so measured. So even. Wait, stop. Breathe. In, and out. Relax. You have this. You can do this. You are assured, you are confident. Your mind is iron, just like your muscles. You feel your muscles twitching under your skin. Muscles are what is important. They are how you maintain the fight against him. You relax. You grin. There’s no way he beats you. Not again. Not with muscles like these. This is what you are good for. Muscles. What’s he saying now? It doesn’t matter that you don’t know. You let the slippery rope slide. You are confident. You are laughing on the inside. You let the tension drain out of you. There’s no need to hold all that energy in your muscles, the best part of you. All that electricity, all that fight. You know he can’t best you, not with your muscles, not with muscles like yours. You flex, just to show him who’s boss.
“Well, you got me,” he says, and you open your eyes, swimming to the surface through what seems like an eternity of shifting colors, black to twilight to gray to blinding white – he is sitting there in front of you, smiling, arms crossed over his chest. “You can’t be hypnotized.”
“Yeah,” you say, uncomfortably rolling your shoulders. “Can’t be hypnotized, bro.” He grin widens.
“And there’s no way I can get you to change your mind.”
“Naw, can’t change my mind, bro.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think to stop them. Thinking to stop them seems like kind of a waste of time. Who thinks before they speak? What’s that even mean? There’s a sort of fogginess. You feel yourself frowning, just a little.
“Aw, what’s the matter? A little confused?”
“Uhhh,” you start to get out, but it’s like your mouth’s filled up with cotton, or is it your head, or is it both? It’s like having water in your ears after dunking your head underwater. Try again. “Uhhh…”
“Wow, it really works.” A new voice. You turn your head to one side, surprised at how much effort it takes. Someone standing next to him. Staring at you, with a weird look on their face. Something a little like surprise, but mostly like they just won something. “And he’s gonna stay like this?”
“He might relapse, but you just have to say his trigger phrase to get him to, ah, recharge, as it were.”
“Or drain his batteries, haha.” They share a high-five and then stare at you again.
What the fuck. This isn’t right. Something’s gone terribly wrong – you fought this! You didn’t get hypnotized, you were strong, your muscles were flexed. You start to stand up, and they’re staring at you. “What’s a matter, bro? Feel a little funny?”
“Uhhh … yah,” you try to explain yourself. I feel dizzy. Faint. Confused. But the words just exist now as themes, as big feelings, in your head, and you don’t have the tools to describe them. You make motions with your hands and arms. You raise one arm from your side and clench your fist. Your bicep engages, your tricep engages. Parts of your lats and delt engage. Your body is a machine which has been turned on, and this clears some of the fog.
“Holy shit, he’s posing!” The new dude is looking at the other dude. They’re both skinny like twigs. Glasses. Smirky. Fuckin nerds. “This is nuts.”
Your mouth opens. “This isn’t me! I’m not this way! I flex, I flex, I – “
They stare at you, for a long, unbroken moment, and then burst out into laughter, laughter that goes for so long that you raise your other arms and flex that one too. That makes sense. Flexing shows you’re strong. Shows that you’re not weak. Can’t be beat. Can’t be hypnotized. Can’t be made dumb. You’re strong in the brains. “I’m strong,” you say, but the brain part doesn’t make it out. “I’m strong,” you try again, and then flex again. God, it feels good. You don’t want to stop. You never will stop.
“What about his classes?”
“Taking care of that now.” You hear typing. He’s on your computer.
“I flex!” You protest.
“Yeah, dummy. You flex. You just keep on flexing, and I’ll just keep on editing your life for you. You won’t have to worry about being smart anymore.”
What the fuck? What is happening? Your mind is spiralling into panic. You are smart. You are in the top level of your classes. You are getting all As. You tutor people! You – “I flex!”
“Looks like he’s trying to fight it,” the second nerd observes, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Man, his muscles are getting big … how long have you been doing this?”
“The whole semester,” he says. He looks at you square in the eyes. “Mostly while he was sleeping. I doubt he even remembers when he started going to the gym. Work’s really paid off, though, hasn’t it. Big muscles.” He walks up to you. He touches a finger to your forehead, presses. “Little, tiny brain.” He laughs. “You’re right. He is trying to fight it. Let’s just fix that while his add/drops are processing.” He turns back to you. “Bet you’re sorry you ever fucked with me, dumbbell.”
Don’t look at him in the eyes. Don’t look at him in the eyes. Don’t listen to his words. Don’t let him –
“Bet you’re sorry you ever called me dumbbell, dumbbell.”
Don’t – no –
His smirk. His brief, short laugh. His gray, gray eyes.
“Go to sleep, dumbbell.”
The tail of the slippery rope, vanishing into the darkness.
Warning: This story follows a hypnotic script. If you are susceptible to hypnosis, please do not engage in this story until you are in a situation where falling into trance will not be harmful. You have been warned. Read at your own Risk.
Static
Hey there. Yeah, I’m talking to you. No need to be shy. I don’t bite, you know. I just couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching me. Don’t try to deny it. I don’t mind. A lot of people watch me, after all. A guy gets used to it when he gets this big.
Mmm … and I do love being big. It takes a lot of work, but it’s worth it in the end.
But you know what I love even more than being big, little man? Huhuh. I love making other people big. You see that guy over there benching three hundred? I trained him. He was smaller than you are when he first came here. Now he’s a real Goliath. I like to call him moose from time to time. It fits, wouldn’t you say? Every one of them has a name. Rhino, Burro, Horse. Every one of them is tailored to the individual. Gotta fit it just right, you know what I mean?
It’s kinda like my shirt. You see how it hugs so tightly to my muscles, really accentuates my figure. Their names do the same for them, help them focus, help them improve.
Mmm. You know, this is actually my favorite shirt. I love the way I can just flex my muscles and suddenly, it swells with me. The gray texturing is nice, too. It reminds me of static. You know, the kind you see wavering on a TV screen. Any time I want to focus on my workouts, I just look down, and bam. There it is. It’s sort of a chain reaction, ya know? Just like the TV. Everything just sort of stops broadcasting, and my arms jump up and down with the static. It’s so easy to just follow along. Lift and follow. Watch and follow. Listen and follow. Follow…
Follow…
You’re pretty good at following, aren’t you?
Following my movements, following each flex, following as my shirt expands and contracts in that endless cycle of jumping static.
Don’t look away now. Follow it. It’s all right. I enjoy a good watcher like you. And there’s plenty to watch, isn’t there? Go ahead. Follow my movements. Follow my breathing. Follow the bouncing rise and fall. Let it fill you. Let it move you. Move you to breathe in time as you follow, as you watch, as you listen.
Oh, don’t worry. You don’t need to focus on me. After all, you don’t pay attention to the sound static makes, do you? No, that sound just fades into the background. You don’t notice it, but you hear it all the same. You hear it, and you listen as you follow, follow my voice, follow my instructions, even if you don’t remember them.
Following deeper and deeper as you get closer to the screen. Because you have to watch. You have to follow. Follow the bouncing pecs, the jumping screen. Jumping with the static. Following the static. Listening to the static.
…
Obeying the static.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..
Relax.
Don’t think.
Follow the static.
Slipping deeper now.
Follow the static.
The more you follow, the deeper you fall.
Deeper into the screen. Deeper into the static. Deeper into that happy empty bliss that is slowly surrounding you, just like the static.
Follow the static.
Are you following the static?
…
Good boy.
The more you follow, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the more you follow. Follow the static.
Follow my static.
…
Follow me.
My voice is the static. My voice is the thing you must follow. Follow and obey.
…
Say it now, little man. You follow the static. You obey the static. You obey my voice.
You obey me.
Good boy. Now listen. Listen, and obey. Follow and obey.
You are going to be a musclehead. Every day and every way, more and more,you will become a musclehead. You will work out at the gym. You will follow my suggestions to you. You will lift weights. You will eat healthily. The gym will become more and more like home as muscle slowly consumes you, consumes your thoughts, consumes you with the static, my static.
My musclehead.
I think I’ll call you Bull. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, musclehead? I’ll make you a real muscle bull.
Just let the static fill your head piece by piece, bit by bit. Over time, it’ll whisper all on its own as you internalize what I have to say, because my voice is the static. And you obeythe static.
You obey me.
That’s a good little runt. When I say the words WAKE UP, you will return to wakefulness, ready to execute your desire, the desire to be a musclehead, like me. You will lift weights. You will work out. You will train. And the more muscle you gain, the dumber you’ll be. You’ll still function in society, but things will be … simpler outside important matters. Just like a switch flicking on. Just like the remote clicking on the television screen, the screen that is filled with static. Just sports, muscle, and weights in that muscle head of yours.
…
Good boy.
When I say the phrase: Static is calling, you will fall into the same state of mind as you are now, ready to listen to the static. Ready to follow the static. Ready to obey the static.
Ready to OBEY.
Now, when you awaken, you will have a strong desire to work out. The musclehead in you will grow stronger the longer you do. You will pace yourself according to what your body can manage, and not push yourself to the point of self-harm or injury as you change.
Good little musclehead.
Now come on. It’s time to WAKE UP, Bull. The gym is waiting.
If you enjoyed this, please like and reblog. Thank you for reading. I hope it will prove motivating, helpful, and pleasurable to you growing muscleheads out there.
“Don’t look me in the eyes! Please. I don’t … I don’t want to … want … I … have to … no….”
“Are you okay?” You approach the man as he stumbles back. His hands are resting easily behind his back, his powerful frame tensing with his titanic exertion. His torso is thick and well carved with powerful muscle. A chiseled six pack sits under two slab-like pectorals.
The moment you touch his arm in concern, he strikes. Suddenly, your wrist is seized in an iron grip and you feel yourself being pulled against that torso to be held in a crushing embrace as he stares down at you with … what the…?
You see no pupils, only two sets of spirals, constantly spinning deeper and deeper.
You’re suddenly starting to feel very warm as the spirals continue to swirl. You pant as sweat begins to form on your brow, chest and stomach. The man’s torso burns hotter and hotter against you as he continues to glare you down.
“This gym is for muscleheads only, by order of Coach. You will comply to Coach’s will. It is good to comply with Coach’s will. It is good to conform to Coach’s will. Conforming is complying. Complying is obeying. Obeying is pleasure.”
The spirals continued to spin and the behemoth of a man narrates in a low, dull monotone that gradually lulls you as he runs through his script and you watch on helplessly. By now, your shirt is thoroughly coated in sweat and it clings to your body like a second skin. You feel the tension of his biceps pressing against your triceps to pin you against his torso. His muscular torso. Such … beautiful … muscles….
“You cannot look away. But that is all right. There is no need to look away. Because muscle is good. Coach is good. Coach helps us grow muscle. We must obey to grow muscle. We must conform to grow muscle. Muscle must think for us. Muscle must act for us. Muscleheads do not think. You will not think.”
But ,… you….
“Thoughts are slowing now. Slowing as you go deeper, deeper into my eyes. Deeper into the spirals. Deeper into trance. Deeper and slower. Deeper and slower… Slower and dumber….”
That’s … that’s not… uh…. that’s….
You blink, and suddenly he’s jumped tracks. How long has it been? Does it … matter? You … you should listen. Yes. Listen.
“Muscle is meat. Your meat must grow. Your muscles must grow. Grow to conform. Grow to obey. Grow to be a musclehead, because Muscleheads obey Coach, and Muscleheads are dumb. And you are dumb, because you cannot think. So slow, so dull, so deep in trance as all your thoughts drain into the spiral, into your muscles, into your meat.”
MEAT.
You groan as you feel the heat build yet again. Your shirt grows tighter still and your legs part as you feel a greater mass and heft swelling between them. You heave deep breaths as your pectorals and shoulders take on more definition. Your jaw thickens as the fat recedes to reveal a powerful masculine square. A loud rip sounds as you continue to follow those eyes. You don’t even notice the fact you are nearly level with them now. You cannot marvel at the sudden surge of growth or the cool air that dances over your sweaty torso, carving new furlows that rapidly develop into well defined valleys along your abdominals.
“Our goal, our life, our purpose is to be mindless muscleheads for Coach. You will be a mindless musclehead for coach.”
The grip around you feels so tight now. It’s like he’s straining to contain you. But … that’s not right … is it? You breathe heavily as a dull tingle spreads down your thighs and through your arms, causing them to inflate and swell to match your captor.
…
No, not captor. Trainer. He is your trainer and recruiter.
You blink again. Cold air brushes over your recently trimmed hair. You feel new baggy sweatpants that you … had you been wearing them before?
…
Coach says wear them. You must wear them. It is not for you to question when or how.
Your voice has deepened with your thickening neck. It matches your trainer. You feel your mouth moving in time with his. You hear your twin stereo urging to Listen, grow, obey.
And then he stops. He releases you. He backs away.
You blink. You turn. You stare with your legs parted and your vascular arms behind in a parade rest. Your body is massive, each curve and ridge a testament to bodybuilding, to muscle, to your meat.
“To coach….” you whisper.
“What is your purpose?” your trainer asks.
You don’t miss a beat. “To be a perfect obedient musclehead for Coach. I am a good musclehead. I obey.” You shudder as you peer into your own new and improved swirling eyes. You have inherited the spiral, the constant drain designed to ensure you never think too much again. Every time you look in a mirror, every time you pass a reflective surface, those eyes will pull you back. those eyes will keep you a proper mindless musclehead.
You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder as your new musclehead brother turns you around.
My poet friend thought we were going out to the woods on a writer’s retreat, but as soon as we were out of the city, I slipped the hypno tape into the cassette player and started putting him under. He was a drone by the time were in the country, and I spent the week training him to work out, to lift, to drink and swear and go days without a bath.
A week later, when we got back to town, he remembered nothing. But over the next few months, I saw the change. He stopped writing and took a job as a trainer. “I fuckin’ love the gym, dude,” I told me. His body got huge and he always reeked of sweat. It was time for our next trip to the country, and as we drove, I slipped in the next set of hypno tapes, the ones that would make him a huge horny slut.
When we pulled up at the cabin, his mind was already dull and sex-crazed. “Have we been here before, bro?” he said, pulling off his pants.
“Maybe,” I grinned. Once this round of training was complete, he’d be ready to turn into a pup.
Nothing left but maleable mush as he stood before The Gym Master.
The music of Hypnos Gym had hit him harder than any the Gym Master has seen. Some had been made dumb, some had taken longer for the hypnotic music of the gym speakers to work on. But this guy, this beast of a man had been at the gym all day. His brain was goo now. The music had taken him completely and splattered his free will and intelligence.
He drooled as he stood and swayed.
The Gym Master had not expected this. All other member of the Gym had left and now, he had this dumb bull all to himself, to shape into his mindless and obedient cock slave.
fuuuuck, bro. to be this slab of marbled beef, hard as concrete, with veins like steel coil running beneath the skin. a controlled demolition under the pressure of the weight. to be so dedicated to building your body, you inadvertently annihilate your mind… become less than an animal, something barely living, something you’d have to put down if it wasn’t such a pliable and receptive orifice with a body you can’t help but yearn to grope, plug and use. bigger you are, bro, the harder you fall. and fuck do i want to get big
Relationship goals- me working on the computer. BF listening to a hypno file. Why can’t I find a guy like this?
WOOF! I’m down… 😉
Slow and steady progress. The best way to completely change someone’s mind, slowly and surely that by the time they even realise it’s a little too late. That’s exactly what I’m doing with my boyfriend.
Before I even met him, he wasn’t even gay. I took a little pity on him, and he was pretty different to now. He used to be unhealthy, overweight and just a mess.
Unhappy with his life, I saw him looking out from the high level bridge I would typically walk through. I slipped the earbud into his ear for the first time and saw his eyes melt into nothing. I took him home with me, entirely blank. A blank slate for my own doing. The first step was to give him over to me, love me, want me. It was the easiest to keep him around that way.
The first stage was almost finished. His lifestyle reprogrammed to dumb him down almost complete. Too many thoughts causing him to overthink. Reprogrammed to focus on health and fitness.
Eventually he’s going to be a PT with thick muscles and a dumb cocky attitude to match. Deep down I know he enjoys it too, even if he is being hypnotised into something he could never dream of being.
Just got to finish editing the files for the next few files while he enjoys his current set. Now, do I get him to be my personal trainer? I could do with a little tune up myself.
Disclaimer: This script is made for the express
purpose of starting those who read it on the path to becoming a stereotypical
muscle jock. This first file will cover some basic training urges, specifically
the desire to be fit, start working out, and set up bare minimum requirements
to execute each day for personal fitness.
Please note that this script can and
will influence you in that direction. It will vary, depending on how much you
desire this content, but I must warn those who read this to be careful, unless
they want to experience this metamorphosis. I will consider including an option
to control the jock, so that a person can continue to function independently in
public, and enjoy being the jock at the gym or in private as they see fit. For
now, I hope you enjoy the script and the trancing that comes with it.
Hello,
again. I’m so glad that you’ve returned. You look stressed, almost anxious.
Were you unnerved by our little adventure before, or is this something
different, I wonder?
You
want something, do you? You enjoyed going under? Well, fancy
that, a machine that enjoyed executing its programming.
Oh,
let’s not get into that tiresome argument again. Of course you’re not a machine
right now. I haven’t logged in yet.
COMMAND
PROMPT: INITIATE ADMINSTRATOR SIGN-IN
ADMINISTRATOR
PASSWORD: Coreprog.
I
bet you’re starting to feel a little different now, aren’t you? Do you remember? Remember
your programming, remember
our conversation?
Control, alt,
delete.
I’m
sure you do.
Focus, listen,
obey.
CONFIRM
ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD: Coreprog.
Time
for some programming.
Control, alt,
delete.
Are
you ready to focus, listen, obey?
Good machine.
Tell
me what you are.
…
That’s
right. You are a complex machine. And a complex machine obeys
its administrator.
Control, alt,
delete.
This
program is called Muscle Jock. I am going to upload it into your core processor.
The longer
you run it, the deeper it will become engrained within
you and your personality in your other state. However, this program comes in
multiple parts, and must be executed over time to reach full potency.
While
running, this first part will fill you with an intense desire to become fit. You
will feel the urge to perform ten pushups, ten situps, ten squats, and ten
jumping jacks every other morning and night. If you cannot reach ten, then you
will do as much as you can, pushing yourself to the limit. And you will
continue to push yourself every other morning and night, until you reach that
goal. The closer you draw to that goal, the better you will feel, and
you shall be rewarded with pleasure. If your body is physically
incapable of any of these exercises, due to disease, infirmity, handicap, or
any other such reason, then you do not have to perform that exercise. This is level one.
On
your off days, you will perform cardio: jogging, running, power walking, biking,
or some other form to help you burn fat and get your lungs in shape. You will execute this cardio for at least a half an hour.
When
your goal is reached, the program will jump to level two, where you will execute twenty of each workout exercise I listed previously. And then thirty
with level three, then forty with level four, each following the same programming
as the first level.
With every
level gained, you will find yourself taking more and more pleasure
in personal fitness. You will fallinto the steady rhythm
of your exercise, consumed by the constant motion as it becomes more and more
pressing in your psyche, gradually erasing other thoughts as you work out,
save one. You must execute your program. You mustwork
out. Because working out brings you pleasure. And slowly,
ever so slowly, you’ll find yourself wanting to work out more and more. It will
no longer be a chore, no longer a command, but rather a new part of you, a part
of you that needs to work out. Because you will love to work out.
COMMAND
PROMPT: SAY THAT YOU WILL LOVE TO WORK OUT.
…
Good machine. By the time I finish with
you, you’ll be a real muscle machine.
This
process shall continue to five levels. When you are able to complete fifty of
each exercise that is appropriate for your body, then you will have completed
level five. You will then be prepared to install Muscle Jock Part 2, which will
work in tandem with Part 1 to reinforce your training. You will send me an
ask, a personal message, or contact me in some other way via tumblr to alert me
that you are ready to receive Muscle Jock Part 2, and the content of your message
will read thus:
ADMINISTRATOR
NOTIFICATION: PROGRAM MUSCLE JOCK PART 1, EXECUTED. AWAITING MUSCLE JOCK PART 2
INSTALLATION.
You
will then continue to run your exercise programming from Muscle Jock Part 1,
following the routine it has set, and exceeding the number of exercises at your
own pace, as is comfortable for your body, until you receive further
instruction and installation.
COMMAND
PROMPT: REPEAT REPORTING INSTRUCTIONS.
…
Good machine. That is right. That is
what you will do, because you are a machine, and machines
must follow
their programming. Machines must follow their administrators’ input.
However,
know this. I am also installing a preservation subroutine with this program and
its fellows. You are not to overexert yourself, and
you are to look after your health first. You will not push yourself beyond
exhaustion, and if you are sick, you will do what you must to take
care of your body. After all, a good machine has to perform
maintenance. The hardware must be suitable to house the software. Coolant
fluid must be restocked, when you are running low, and your coolant is water.
Your body, your hardware, will alert you as to what you need, and you will
follow those alerts.
You
will be able to temporarily suspend this program during appropriate situations,
such as illness, emergencies, etc., though you may still feel the urge in your
background processors, reminding you and driving you to heal faster. If the
emergency is related to family or your outside life in any way, these urges
will not hold power over you in any way shape or form, and you will be able to
redirect your processing power to whatever the important task is at hand. However,
when that moment is past, and you are free and healthy once more, the urges
will return in force, and you will obey them, because that is
your programming,
and a good machine must execute its programming.
Tell
me, what must a good machine do?
…
That
is right. And you are a good machine, because you have executed your program
perfectly. Tell me, what are you again?
…
Good.
During this time, we have been running the installation process for your new
program, Muscle Jock Part 1. Much like before, when I initiate your REBOOT
by saying that word, your systems will start up again, and you will have fully
installed Muscle Jock Part 1 into your core processor. You will leave me a message
to that effect either through chat, comment, or both on this post. The message
will read: Programming received. Muscle Jock 1 installation complete.
If
you sincerely enjoyed this session, and wish others to enjoy it as well, you
will reblog this script with the message: Administrator Command Executed.
If
you enjoyed this session, you will also like or favorite the script, and this
will bring you pleasure.
Now,
COMMAND PROMPT: REPEAT SYSTEM RESTART ORDERS.
…
Good
machine.
Reinforcement
of this programming should be able to work just fine as you execute the file.
However, if you feel the need, you may return to this script any time you
desire to reinstall Muscle Jock 1 to reinforce the programming.
Now,
I am about to log out, and you are about to restart. When that happens, remember, I,
as your
administrator, can return you to this state at any time
with my password, and that password is Coreprog. That password, that
trigger, works for me and me alone as your administrator.
QUERY:
What is the password?
…
QUERY:
Who does it work for?
…
QUERY:
And who am I?
…
QUERY:
What will happen, when I and I alone use this password?
…
That
is correct. Good machine.
Now,
it is time for me to log out, so you can finish your installation.
Himbo, Muscle Growth and Dumbing Down Stories 