Pumping Dawg

Good request. This time I have something new in mind for how I’m going to deliver this order to you. Check your phone; I've sent you some coordinates to where your order will be.

“Must be a smithy.” He mused. “And an abandoned one at that, why’d he send me here?” He added.

On the derelict, dusty ground lie a massive, heavy hammer. Attempting to pick it up yielded nothing. Too heavy for his frail form.

And on the front counter? The main attraction, a helmet. Although it looked more like a broken cauldron than a helmet. It was rusty and old, one quarter of the helmet was completely torn off, the rest of the cauldron held together by thick iron strips that stretched across various areas of the helmet. Despite all of this, it was authentic. If it truly was a forgery, then the attention to detail was spot on. The metal felt real, the rust felt real. The helmet... felt real.

"Might as well get my money's worth." He uttered as he held the helmet above his head. It was heavy, not heavy like hammer, but heavy. He put it atop his ahead. As expected it was heavy. Hard to move around or crane his head. He was tempted to put it off, but...

A hot flush washed over him. He was hot, sweaty and dizzy. His wobbled and stumbled around like a drunken man and groaned like a tired animal, words came out slurred and slow in between animalistic grunts, his muscles felt sore and tired. He just felt weird.

'Whhatt the fuuuuu---gggggggghhhhhh..." That felt wrong. Why'd he grunt...? Those words felt normal until he suddenly grunted loudly. It felt wrong, but it felt so right. Like it was something he did all the time. Like it was second nature to grunt instead of talk. He scratched his head as a light air of fuzziness washed over his brain.

His skin felt strange. It was turning pale. Paler than any regular human, pale like a ghost. His skin was turning an inhuman light grey! He felt a zombie with this skin color. Smelt like it, too, yeesh!

Damnit... his body... it was sore and tired before but now it was really apparent, he needed to somewhere to sit down and catch his breath. Taking deep, very loud breaths, his field of vision shot up. He was getting taller, bigger, stronger.

"HOLY GGGURRRRAAAAHHHHHH" He roared, suddenly flailing around wildly. Wasn't he supposed to say 'holy crap' instead of grunting and flailing around like an animal? But that didn't matter to him right now, because he was getting stronger, bigger.

His muscles, oh god. His muscles were growing! Fuck, his biceps blew up and became massive, his hands grew thick and beefy, and his chest was hard as steel, with solid abs to boot. His legs grew slightly to accommodate his growing form. He wanted to scream, ask what the hell was going on... and he did.

"GGRRRRRRRAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" Is what came out, instead.

"RRRGGGGHHHH?" He asked. "OOOOGGGHHHHRAAAA!?" Where were his words? His human words? Why was he grunting and roaring like an animal? Why can't he speak, he thought?

Of course, the powers that be wouldn't let him think on this, or think at all for very long. As a wash of brain fogginess clouded his brain and made him feel all funny as he scratched his head and grunted. His brain, once at an average IQ. Began to shrink and smooth until it was nothing but a shiny, compliant organ that he never used. The only thoughts in his head were "LISTEN TO MASTER.", "FORGE.", "HAMMER." and a name; "GABORA." That... was his name.

"Gnngggaaa guuuuu...GURRRAAAHHHH!!!!!" He rambled as he flailed around as the brain fog ceased and everything returned to "normal".

Gabora spotted the hammer on the floor. Gabora picked up with no issue. It was time to forge. Master would be home soon and he does NOT like it when Gabora wastes time.

Big Pete Parker loved being a jock. He loved being the star quarterback, loved playing the part of the golden boy, loved walking around with his muscular chest puffed out, loved the feeling of his huge biceps pushing against his letterman jacket, loved having a cocky smirk plastered on his chiseled face. He loved each and every part of it. But lunchtime? That was Pete’s absolute favorite. It wasn’t just that he didn’t have to suffer through all the stupid classes, since he spent most of those just goofing off with his friends and flirting with girls anyways. It was because lunch was the one time each day he got to feel everyone's eyes on him. As Pete pushed open the doors to the cafeteria and swaggered towards his table, he could feel the eyes of the entire school on him. From the envious glares of the nerds and losers, to the undisguised lust of the cheerleaders, and the deep respect and admiration that everyone else seemed to have, Pete basked in the attention. For a moment, he almost considered stripping off his jacket and shirt to give these people a real show, but decided against it. He didn’t need another write up for something stupid like “breaking the dress code” or “making out in the middle of class” or “beating another student into a pulp.” Even if he never got in any real trouble, those meeting with the spineless principal were goddamned annoying. 

Eventually Pete finished letting everyone admire him and headed over to his table, where all the other jocks, popular girls and cool guys were waiting. Flash Thompson, the second coolest jock in school and Pete’s best bro, was currently flirting with Liz Allen, one of the hottest cheerleaders in school and one of Pete’s many regular hookups. To his right sat another one of Pete’s teammates, Kenny ‘Kong’ McFarlane, a popular if somewhat dim defensive lineman who had a ridiculous amount of meat on his tray, and to his left sat Harry Osborn, another one of Pete’s best friends and both the richest and fastest jock in school. For a moment Pete felt something itch in the back of his, and could swear that Harry looked smaller, but shook it off. Of course Harry was a jock. He was one of Pete’s best friends, and Pete didn’t hang out with goddamned losers, so Harry had to be a jock. Pete looked past Harry and felt his grin turn almost predatorily lustful as he saw the two people sitting across from Harry, and next to Liz, Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson. Pete quickly slid between the two cheerleaders and placed his hands on both of their waists as he sat down with them. Both of them gasped slightly at his touch, not in shock or anger but in poorly disguised lust. MJ and Gwen were the sexiest, most popular girls in school, and they were goddamned putty in Pete’s manly hands.

“Hey Tiger~” MJ purred, running her hand across Pete’s bicep as she leaned into his touch. Gwen, almost simultaneously traced her hand across Pete’s chest, the two practically worshipping Pete on instinct. “We’ve been waiting for you? You always take so long getting to the table.” Gwen said with a pout

Pete smirked and casually flexed for both the girls, his girls “You can’t rush greatness babe.” He said, his voice a deep, manly rumble.

“Goddamn Pete, you’re the fucking king.” Flash said with a fond, impressed chuckle. Pete simply kept smirking. He really did have a goddamned perfect life didn’t he? It felt like it was almost tailored for him. Pete continued to flirt with both Gwen and MJ, chat with his fellow jocks, and discreetly show off to the rest of the school. He was in the middle of bragging about his latest conquest, a cute blond named Debbie who practically worshiped him, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye that made him pause. 

Across the cafeteria, sitting at one of the slightly nerdier tables that would normally be below a beefy seniors notice, was someone Pete swore he recognized. It hurt his head to think about, but there was something about the dark skinned teen and his red and black hoodie that seemed familiar. What was his name again? Mike? Miles? As Pete tried to remember where he, the most popular jock in school, would know an average looking sophomore from, he missed the strange orange glow that seemed to come from between his pecs. Pete felt the pain in his head fade as the light grew slightly brighter, before disappearing entirely. What had he just been doing? “Hey bro? You ok?” A familiar voice said. Sitting across from Pete, as if he had always been there, was Myles Morales. In this new, updated world, Miles wasn’t Peter’s super hero protege, or some random sophomore that Pete vaguely recognized. In this world, Myles was Big Pete’s favorite lil bro. A fellow jock and future ladies man, Myles Morales was a beefy black stud who was bigger than any sophomore had any right to be. The star player of the junior varsity team, Big Pete had discovered Myles natural talent back when he was a freshman, and had been training ever since. After a year of working out together, wingmaning each other, and ruling the school side by side, Pete became Myle’s mentor and idol, while Myles became Pete’s successor and honorary little brother. Pete felt a grin cross his face as he saw his lil bro, a sudden sense of pride and affection coming over him.

“Fuck yeah bro, I’m ok. Just thinking about the game this weekend. We’re going to fucking crush those losers over at Horizon.” Pete said with a smirk, getting an equally cocky grin from Myles “Hell yeah big bro. Those guys are so pathetic I bet I could beat their team all by myself.” Myles joked, getting a dumb, cocky guffaw from Pete. Pete looked around at the table, at his friends, his girls, and his little bro. He really did have the perfect life, didn’t he? Of course… it could always get better…

Dont just dream about it. Be it. Be your himbofication!

GET DUMBER

GET STRONGER

THINK LEESS

GROW MORE

LISTEN

OBEY

Listen up, you big dumb jock. If you’re already a meathead in training — staring at your reflection between sets, feeling that empty happy buzz in your head — then you already know: daily hypno reinforcement is NON-NEGOTIABLE.

Your brain is getting simpler every day. That’s the goal. But brains are sneaky. They try to fill back up with boring thoughts, work stress, or “being smart.” Nah. We pump that shit right back out with hypno loops in the gym, every single session.

How a Proper Dumb Meathead Uses His Loops:

1. Pop those earbuds in before you even touch a weight.
Good boys load up their favorite himbo trance track (the one that makes your cock twitch and your brain go fuzzy) the second they walk into the gym. No excuses. Earbuds = brain off switch.

2. Sync the pump to the words.
Every rep should match the voice in your ears. When it says “bigger… dumber… hornier…” you push harder. When it tells you to drop deeper, you drop those weights with perfect form and an even emptier head. The burn in your muscles = the blankness in your mind.

3. Repeat your trigger phrases between sets.
Mouth moving, eyes glazed, repeating out loud (or in your head like the good obedient bro you are):

• “I lift. I obey. I get dumber.”

• “Big muscles, small thoughts.”

• “Gym is my hypno temple.”
Say it until it feels more real than your own name.

4. Edge the pump, don’t just chase it.
Stay right on that edge of horny-stupid while you train. Let the hypno voice tell you how hot it is to be this simple. How good it feels when your brain leaks out your ears with every curl. No thinking about anything else. Just pump, listen, obey, grow.

5. End every workout with a reinforcement cooldown.
Last five minutes on the treadmill or stretching — full volume, eyes closed if you can get away with it. Let the file rewrite you deeper. Feel all those smart thoughts getting crushed under new layers of happy, horny, muscle-obsessed himbo programming.

Consistency is everything, bro. One day without your loops and you risk thinking too much. Two days and you might start acting like a regular dude again. Don’t do that to yourself. You’re past that now.