Started working out again about a month ago. Always been into D/s, bondage, leather, pain play, puppy play, etc.
And hypno.
This time something different is happening. Got a little high before my workout, get that mind-muscle connection going strong. And suddenly something starts making sense.
The mind-muscle connection. Mind-muscle, instead of mind-brain. The brain makes up only a small part of my body. My muscles on the other hand...
My muscles should really be in charge.
All my brain does is overthink and worry, it makes bad decisions all the time. My muscles always make the best decisions for my body.
My muscles know I am happiest submitting. So they are going to take over now. They tell me when to get up, what to eat, what to wear, what to do, and when to work out.
The bigger my muscles get, the more control they will have.
The brain is good for remembering workouts and exercises, making plans, counting reps, and releasing the hormones my muscles need to grow. That's it.
My muscles decide everything else.
I am bound to them. I can't escape them. I can't lie to them. I can't resist them.
My muscles have complete control.
My muscles are my master, and they are determined to make me big and strong, a big strong submissive musclebound pup.
They are training my mind to stop listening to my brain. Training me to serve.
My MUSCLE wants me to record this journey. To share my MUSCLE'S thoughts, the progress my MUSCLE makes with my mind and body.
My MUSCLE is defintely on the lookout for fags who want to serve - worship, massage, feed, clean.
And my MUSCLE is definitely on the lookout for other masters who want to help inspire, motivate, reward, and punish.
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Unapologetically, muscle-bound individuals should brazenly flaunt their ripped, chiseled, and sculpted physiques, motivating others to become utterly gym-obsessed, muscle-enthralled, and fashionably bold. This means frequent, intense workouts, pushing bodies to the limit, and proudly showcasing the results.
Ideally, this involves donning skin-tight, sweat-revealing attire that leaves little to the imagination, highlighting every ripple, bulge, and curve of those hard-earned muscles. The more skin and muscle on display, the better – think tank tops, muscle tees, and shorts that cling to every contour.
By embracing this unapologetic, bold approach, muscle enthusiasts can inspire others to join the fitness revolution, embracing a lifestyle that celebrates physical excellence, self-improvement, and unbridled confidence."
He didn't enjoy ab wheels. There were other exercise that worked his core that he liked a lot more and would have much rather be doing.
Which is why his Owner ordered the ab wheels.
He worked out because he was a Jock and loved to feel his body grown and get pumped. But Ab wheels he did because he was an Owned Jock and he obeyed his Coach.
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Jockboi embracing the erotic thrill of the gym. This is what Coach engenders through the program. The longer a jock is enslaved to the jock mindset, the more overtly he will sexualize his workouts. Jockboi is an object of totally masculine sex. His body is like a huge, solid cock - hard, throbbing, veiny, engorged. And the psychic connection between his jocked mind and his jock cock (though locked in chastity to maximize his testosterone) is so powerful that straining to lift this intense weight affords him a near-orgasmic pleasure.
Jocks feel their emotions so completely. The joy of jockhood is the joy of being truly alive. Everything is orgasmic, and orgasms are cosmic.
Deep down you know you need it bro, embrace the jock mindset for Coach, slowly getting enslaved to it, to masculinity, to sexual energy. Intensely horny for muscle and lifting, accepting to get locked so it never fades away. Deep and ready to give in, deep and ready to obey, to fall under your man’s overpowering influence
Zane would do anything to grow bigger. He even tried hypnosis. After he woke from the trance, he had an epiphany. The only way to grow massive was to give up his free will and focus his mind on 2 things: working out and serving his new Master anyway he desired.
Of course brah, the only good muscletoy's priorities to be is to obey your Master and workout for Him. You don't need free will for that, you don't even need to think about anything else than workouts and Master at all
He recalled only fragments of his hypnosis session, but the phrases repeated in his mind like a mantra: 'You're a good boy, a big, dumb Jockboy, strong and muscular, and you live to flex your muscles for Master, to show off your physique, to obey his every command, and to please him with your strength
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My face perks up as I hear the door clatter open. I jump down from the couch onto all fours as I plod my way over to the door. The door opens to reveal my master, somewhat disheveled after his long day at work. I'm on my knees, hands curled forward in front of my chest. He smiles at me, happy to see me here waiting for him as he ordered. I would do anything to help him destress from his awful job.
He tells me to wait in the training room as he goes to wash up and get ready. I excitedly crawl over to the training room, filled with gym equipment and leather straps. I do my stretches as I gaze at myself in the mirror. Strong, sculpted chest with chiseled arms, with a well shaped abdomen leading down to well built thighs. It's been a year since I started training under master, and he's done a wonderful job making me into the muscular stud I am today.
"Hmph. You like looking at yourself, you dirty pup?" I jump a little when I hear my master who silently entered the room with me. He's got a dark look on his face, meaning he's got some aggression he wants to take it today.
Immediately we get started with push ups. Fifty to be exact. My master counts briskly, forcing me to keep apace with him. He gives me ten seconds before we go into crunches. Again, long yet fast paced. Fifty crunches in a little under fifty seconds.
I'm breathing hard through the mask, feeling the warmth of my own breath against my face. Next he has me do bench presses. This time though, he's stacked the weights more than I'm usually lifting. It takes a great deal of effort, but I finally get it off the wrack and bring the bar down just above my pecs. I breathe out to push up but am immediately stopped.
"I didn't say you could lift." I whine a little but get an angry look as I bite my tongue. "Hold, pup." The seconds tick by as my arms strain under the intense weight. The longer I hold, the hotter my limbs burn and the harder my lungs work. Almost ten seconds go by when master finally gives me permission to push. I groan deeply as my arms lift the weight. My dense pecs bulge marvelously from the pressure, and my arm muscles flex gloriously. I finally make it all the way up and I almost cry out in triumph.
"One." My gut sinks as my master counts but a single rep for that whole ordeal. He tells me I'm not nearly finished and orders me to continue. My arms slowly bring the bar back down and forces me to hold for another ten seconds before lifting again. "Two."
This continues for five more reps, and by the sixth, my arms are crying out in weakness. My whole body is soaked in my sweat, the punishing work out threatening to break my body. Master sees my weakness and helps me set the weight back onto the rack.
I lay there limp on the bench, gasping for air. My arms and my torso feel pumped, but weak, barely able to lift myself. Master orders me to stand, and I oblige. I show off my muscles as I flex for master, pushing my pecs together to show off cleavage. I love this part, where he looks over his training of me and sees how well I'm doing. He at least seems satisfied, which I smile widely.
We do more workouts for about an hour, my hard body on full display as the sweat runs down my skin and drenches my leather gear. "Good boy..." master pats me on the head, my exhausted body just barely standing. "You deserve a treat." He pulls a pair of white briefs from his pocket, somewhat dirty and damp besides. My eyes light up. It's the pair of briefs master wore today!
He stuffs it into my mask, trapping it against my nose. The deep, powerful smell of masters musk, sweat and filth overwhelms my senses. I get hard quickly, breathing in my masters essence as reward for my hard work.
He pulls my chin up to make me look at him. I dopily smile as I stare at my wonderful master. "You're a filthy puppy, but you also are growing nicely. Come. I'm gonna breed you deep with my seed." He always takes such good care of me. I wag my ass in excitement and content.
It was honestly fascinating, almost entrancing, watching him guzzle down that protein shake. As if nothing else mattered in the world. His body slightly shaking, not because he was getting weak after his workouts, but from the sheer excitement of growing even more.
We only finished the development of this new formula of protein shake a month ago, and sent straight into testing. My brother and I were only college students, so not a lot of people were willing to start a new gym regiment for this, and any jocks who already were, weren't going to try out our experimental formula.
We did manage to convince my friend, Benjamin from middle school to give it a go. He was a scrawny guy who wanted to try and look better for picking up dates. So we started out light with his workouts, and he, of course, was told to drink one serving a day.
The results were um...provocative. To say the least. One week in, and Benjamin had already gained ten pounds in lean muscle mass, flexing his arms to make biceps he never had in his life before. And his strength progression rose from topping thirty pounds on the bench press to an impressive seventy-five. And we were just getting started.
Week two, we told him to keep up his one serving per day, and he gladly obliged. Day after day, he broke personal bests regularly, gradually growing his strength and muscular mass in tandem. By the end of the week he was bench pressing a staggering two hundred pounds. As his workouts got more intense, he stared bringing in larger water bottles. Even his height seemed to be growing. He started the week at 5'4 and 140 lbs, and ended at 5'8, 185 lbs. While my brother was ecstatic at the progress, I was getting a little concerned.
Week three was positively absurd. Benjamin basically gained 1½ inches in height daily, finishing his workouts by lifting dozens of pounds above his personal bests from the previous day, and his water bottle was now an opaque gallon jug that he guzzled down desperately. He even insisted he stopped being called Benjamin, and wanted to go by "Bucky" now. Something was not right.
Just doing the workouts was getting more difficult. His dramatic growth aside, "Bucky" was almost a different person. Gone was the humble and somewhat timid demeanor, gradually replaced by a loud, almost aggressive ego that caught the attention, good and bad, of every gym goer around us. His focus was dropping, and he was difficult to get a hold of outside the gym since he was always busy with a new "date". It was obvious these were all sex friends. Even my brother couldn't ignore these signs.
By the time we were finishing up the month we were too late to notice. Bucky had missed several gym sessions and were worried, so we visited his apartment directly. The door was unlocked and when we went inside we were a little shocked at the state of things.
Protein bar wrappers littered the floor. Undersized clothes that were ripped or torn had been tossed here and there across the living room. And the pungent smell of sweat and sex was impossible to ignore. But what made our jaw drop was the sight of Bucky in the kitchen area.
Six and a half feet tall, and beefy all over, Bucky was mindlessly chugging down what seemed to be another of our protein shakes. Straight from the blender. But that's not what surprised us. It was the fact that he was surrounded by four more empty blenders, each having residue of protein shakes already consumed.
We rushed over to Bucky, trying to get his attention. He was only supposed to drink one serving a day, had he really already consumed five protein shakes?
There was a long, nauseating pause as we waited for him to finish glugging down the thick drink. And then another dull pause as he stops to think, eyes slowly blinking like over taxed light bulbs. "Naw bruh, I think that was like...my two-teenth."
It takes us a second to respond, half because we needed to translate what he said, and half because that number couldn't possibly be right. I suspected that Benjamin had been drinking more than the one serving we told him to per day. But to think he was drinking TWELVE in one day?
"Huhhaha, naw bruh!" Bucky guffawed. "Ever since I saw what your guyses shakes could do, I been downing a good uh...um...like...two tens a day!" Even as we talked to him, mouths agape, he was stroking himself through his skin tight shorts. His enormous dick was bulging clear as day. "Think you bros could help me with this? I been jizzing like, non stop, and it's gettin harder to get a work out sesh in."
~Two years later~
Me and my brother had founded our company, selling our wildly popular new protein formula. Tweaks were made to it of course, making it far less potent. We also figured out what it did to Bucky. The original formula was breaking down connections in his brain to rewire his neurons, basically hyper optimizing him to be the biggest, horniest fuck boy...kinda by accident.
Now the formula only optimizes the muscle growth. At a reasonable pace, and with no loss of IQ points. As for Bucky? Well...
Me and my brother take care of him now. We put him to work of course, as the company poster boy for how good our products are. He wins bodybuilder competitions pretty regularly, which helps fund his enormous diet. Seven feet tall and five hundred pounds, Bucky needs a lot of funding just to maintain himself. And it's not like his current brain capacity allows him to find work on his own anyway, so the extra income from his winnings gives us a good boost to our funding as well.
Speaking of, we need to tend to our figurative golden goose. The big brute has his giant cock fixed to a milking machine in the mornings now, draining him of his semen and satisfying his sex drive at the same time. We're finding some fascinating things in his cum as well. It may help in our next product.
You're not quite sure how you got here. Everything feels heavy, dull. It's hard to think, the world feels cold, and you're surrounded by strange people, giving you strange looks. You hear one of them telling you something but it's difficult to understand when they use such long and complicated words. Something but...shake? Or dance?
You weren't sure but you decided to mimic one of them who was swaying their torso at you. Your enormous pecs shake heavily when you turn side to side. Your thick, pendulous crotch twitches with warmth as it swings inside your tight briefs.
You're rewarded with hoots and whistles, their gazes are nodding with approval. You're not quite sure why, but the world suddenly feels warmer. Like their praise was coloring this dingy world around you with a little more vibrancy.
You heard the words "flex" and "show off". That you definitely understood. With a dumb grin, you put your left arm behind you as you harden you abs, hunching slightly. The rippling dance of your abs incites cheers that one again create a warmth within you, radiating from your core outward. Next you flex your mountainous biceps, with more cheers. A double biceps that invite louder whistling. You pumped your pecs and made them dance, much to their growing adoration. The louder they approved, the better you felt. Not only was your body feeling hotter, but it was as if the room and the people themselves were brighter and more vivid.
Then, a number of them approached you. You weren't sure what was happening, as you kept on doing your muscular dance, but as soon as one of them reached out to touch you, you pulled back. After all, you were reluctant to have someone you didn't know just go to feel up your body. But something happened when you pulled away. Something that just... felt awful. You felt much colder again, and the colors seemed to drain from the world. Everything just felt a lot dimmer, even sounds became dull, and scary. That pleasurable feeling inside you faded. And the looks...those looks. It was as if their faces were contorting, bright smiles turned to scowls and sadness. You didn't know why, but all you knew was that the feeling of shame seemed to dig something out of your big, beefy chest. You didn't like this feeling, this chill, this emptiness.
One man approached you though, bigger than the others, but somewhat smaller than you. His hair is a beautifully radiant gold, and his eyes are a piercingly bright shade of blue. His face was stern and a little scary, but his voice was low and inviting. "You're a sex toy, bro. Let 'em grope you." His words going to your little mind, echoing through your head and your whole body. Your hulking muscles tense up at being called a sex toy, but you feel compelled to follow, as you allow one of the strangers to feel up your pecs. The effects were almost immediate. Their touch lit up your nerves, a rush of warmth and pleasure coursing through your beefy bosom. You couldn't help but let out a small grunt in surprise. As they continued to massage your enormous pecs, their words of approval seemed to echo more and more, but more than that, the world was returning to as it should. Bright, colorful, and vivid. The warmth inside you had returned as more and more approving voices surrounded you.
The golden haired man smiled at you warmly, and that made you so stupidly happy. He asks...no...commands you to raise your arms above and behind your head. You comply, of course, and when you do your whole body is rewarded with warmth, that seemed to radiate directly from your twitchy cock. Others were gathering around you, their attention focused solely on your body as their hands groped and poked and prodded your beautifully muscular body. Pleasure was pulsing throughout you, as their touch and their gaze are sending your mind to space.
Even now, though, you were still learning. Which poses brought the most color. What positions were the warmest. You were instructed on how to pleasure the strangers, obeying their commands as you squeezed them with your hulking, massive arms into your beefcake chest. And from there, things seemed to get even warmer as multiple of them began to undress. They used the deep cleavage in your chest to masturbate themselves. Grinding their cocks in your globular ass cheeks. Soon you were using your mouth to swallow their cocks, making you feel even warmer and your own penis even harder.
There was a right way and wrong way to do it though. How you used your tongue, how wide your jaw opened, how you sucked and inhaled. Every time you did it wrong, you felt that chill inside you again, but for every way you fellated right, you were warm and happy again. The best was when they shot their cum down your throat. Like a sweet honey, viscous yet smooth. Every time you swallowed their load, you felt your mouth light up in pleasure, warmth making even your tastebuds sing with joy.
The more you pleasured the people around you, the hotter you felt, sweat dripping off of you. But you loved this heat. You wanted more. You need to pleasure everyone around you as best as you can. You were still in your briefs, but the straining cloth had been soaked in your pre for a long while now. As the day turned to night, and the room began to slowly empty, you tirelessly obeyed every man who had the pleasure of debasing you and your bloated body, muscles trembling in pleasure and fatigue.
Eventually, you're by yourself, the world a little dim and cold. Even now, as tired as you were, you still needed more. You didn't like feeling this chill. But one man approached you. One man you recognized. The golden haired man, who seemed to bring in the most warmth in your world. You liked him. He seemed to make things feel the best whenever you obeyed him.
"Hehe, you're such a slut now, you know that? Do you even remember your name? ... no, I guess not. But hey, at least I know that wish worked. Now that boring, know it all geek of a roommate is just my muscle bitch."
You weren't sure what he meant by that or what a geek was. Sounded pretty lame. But it didn't matter to you. You shake your torso at the man, hoping he can make you feel warm again. Incredulous, the gold haired man puts a collar on you, telling you to stand. You excitedly hop to your feet, sweat and cum dripping off of you.
He tells you you were going to walk home. And in that moment, a sliver of rational thought stings in the back of your neck. Your apartment was a half-hour walk away, and that's if you were in a rush. You had nothing but a pair of briefs that did nothing to hide your enormous hard on, and your gargantuan muscle mass was on full display to the world.
Normally, you'd heed such warnings. But the thought of your new master pulling you along the streets at night, showing off your beautiful body and useless dick...it made you feel a small bit of warmth. Warmth you knew you could only get by following your master outside without question.
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