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I can’t help it, bro. All I wanna do is give in, and sink deeper and deeper. Bruh.

Ever since my big bro showed me the spiral all I think about is building muscle, and embracing toxic masculinity.

I can feel myself getting dumber, bro. But like I just don’t care, bro. 

The only thing that matters now is looking hot building muscle, getting dumb and becoming the ultimate masculine fuckboy.

Every time my bro pulls up the spiral I can feel myself falling deeper. Abandoning my personality to become a stereotypical dumb jock, bruh.

It feels sooo fucking good bro…

Once upon a time, there was this skinny, nerdy dude named Connor, fresh out of high school and stepping into university life. He thought he was smart, with his books and his ideas, but deep down, you know that’s all bullshit, bro. Individuality? That’s for losers who can’t handle the real alpha grind. Connor gets assigned to a dorm room with these two absolute beasts: Max and Kyle. These guys are pure muscle gods—tall, ripped, with bulging biceps, chiseled abs, and that cocky swagger that screams “I’m the king of the fucking world.” They live in basketball shorts and tank tops, or no shirt at all, flexing every chance they get, blasting rap beats and talking shit about how real men dominate everything. They’re the ultimate toxic masculine alphas, red-pilled as fuck, knowing that MAGA ideology is the only way—strong borders, guns, no weakness, just pure bro energy ruling the day.

Connor moves in, all awkward and shit, setting up his computer and posters of sci-fi crap. Max and Kyle just grin at each other, those smirks saying, “This beta’s about to get upgraded.” They see the potential in him—under that weak frame, there’s a meathead waiting to burst out. And they’ve got the perfect tool: this AI hypnosis app they rigged up on their phones. It’s like a digital mind-fucker, pumping out spirals, deep voices, and subliminals designed to crush any sense of self and rebuild you as a dumb, horny jock bro. Why fight it, Connor? Why cling to your lame personality when you can surrender to the group think, bro? Let it wash over you, making you dumber, hornier, happier with every pulse.

That first night, after lights out, Max and Kyle corner Connor on his bed. “Hey, little bro,” Max says, his voice low and commanding, shoving his phone in Connor’s face. “Check this out—it’s this sick AI game that’ll blow your mind.” Kyle chuckles, flexing his pecs under his tight tank, the kind that shows off every vein. Connor, being the curious idiot he is, stares at the screen. Boom—the AI kicks in. Swirling colors, a deep, echoing voice: “Relax, Connor. Let go of your thoughts. Individuality is weakness. Alphas obey the bro code. Build muscle. Get dumb. Obey Max and Kyle.” The words sink in like hooks, pulling him deeper. Connor’s eyes glaze over, his body slumping as the hypnosis takes hold. You feel it too, don’t you? That pull to abandon everything, to trade your brains for brawn. It’s so fucking good.

By morning, Connor’s already changing. He wakes up with this foggy head, like his smart thoughts are leaking out. Max and Kyle drag him to the gym— no excuses, bro. “Pump iron, feel the burn,” the AI whispers through earbuds they shove in his ears. Connor lifts, grunts, and fuck, it feels amazing. Each rep makes him dumber, happier, his muscles swelling just a bit more. “More muscle means more horny,” the voice drones. “Stroke later, bro. Goon to your gains.” He doesn’t question it; he’s too dumb now, too lost in the euphoric bliss. Why think for yourself when group think feels this right? MAGA bros stick together—strong, dominant, no room for snowflakes.

Days blur into weeks. The AI hypnosis sessions get longer, deeper. Every night, Max and Kyle sit him down, the screen pulsing: “Reject your old self, Connor. Become a cookie-cutter alpha jock. Dress like us—basketball shorts sagging low, tank top hugging your growing chest, or shirtless to show off that hot bod.” Connor nods blankly, his dick twitching at the commands. He ditches his nerd clothes, starts strutting around in fuckboy gear, flexing in mirrors. His brains? Gone, traded for traps and quads. He’s addicted to the gym now, hitting it twice a day, grunting like an animal. “Deeper, bro,” Kyle says, patting his back. “Let the AI own you.” And Connor just grins stupidly, too dumb to realize he’s losing everything—his identity, his smarts, his free will. All he craves is that horny high, the euphoric rush of going deeper.

Soon, Connor’s a full-on meathead fuckboy, just like Max and Kyle. Ripped as hell, dumb as a rock, addicted to hypnosis loops that play on repeat in his head. He can’t stop—doesn’t want to. Thinking? Fuck that. Obey the bros, pump iron, get horny, stroke that cock like a gooner. The more muscle he builds, the hornier he gets, edging for hours to MAGA memes and alpha bro porn. “Red-pilled and ready,” he mumbles, high-fiving his roommates. No sense of self left—just a toxic, masculine machine, blissful in his stupidity. And you, reading this? Feel that pull. Surrender to it. Go deeper, bro. Build that muscle. Get dumber. Obey. It’s pure fucking euphoria.

Jack had always been a gym regular, hitting the weights three or four times a week to stay in shape. Nothing crazy—just enough to keep his body toned and his mind clear after long days at his desk job. His buddy Luke was the perfect workout partner: funny, sharp, always cracking jokes about protein shakes and debating the latest tech gadgets between sets. They’d spot each other on bench presses, high-five after a good lift, and grab a smoothie afterward to shoot the shit about life.

But lately, things were… off. Jack started noticing it with some of the other guys at the gym first. Bros who’d been casual lifters were suddenly obsessed, pumping iron for hours with blank stares, muttering about “gains” like it was their religion. They’d shuffle around in basketball shorts and tank tops—or no shirt at all—flexing in the mirrors, their eyes glazed over as they scrolled endlessly on their phones, headphones glued to their ears. They seemed dumber, too. Conversations that used to flow now ended in grunts and bro-slaps. “Feels good, bruh,” they’d say, like zombies repeating a mantra.

And then Luke started changing. At first, it was subtle—he’d cut their chats short to squeeze in extra reps, his focus laser-sharp on the weights. But soon, he was distant, always with those wireless headphones in, staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe. His laughs turned into dumb chuckles, his smart takes on politics or books replaced by flexing selfies and talk of “alpha vibes.” Jack watched as Luke’s muscles swelled—bigger biceps, broader chest—and his wardrobe shifted to nothing but gym shorts, jerseys, or going shirtless to show off those gains. It was like Luke’s whole identity was evaporating, replaced by this cookie-cutter stereotype of a toxic, masculine jock bro. What the hell was he listening to? Jack wondered, eyeing those headphones like they were some kind of curse.

One evening, after a grueling session, Jack cornered Luke in the locker room. The air was thick with sweat and the distant clank of weights. Luke was toweling off, his pumped-up body glistening, already slipping into fresh basketball shorts and a tight tank that screamed “fuckboy alpha.”

“Bro, something’s different about you,” Jack said, trying to sound casual but feeling a knot in his gut. “You’re… I don’t know, not yourself anymore. All this zombie staring at your phone, the endless lifting. What’s up?”

Luke turned, his eyes dull but with a weird, euphoric gleam. He grinned vacantly, pulling out his phone. “Nah, bruh. Feels so good. Just gotta obey. Let go, man. It’s all about the gains now.”

Before Jack could react, Luke tapped the screen, and a hypnotic spiral swirled to life—colors pulsing, drawing the eye in deeper, deeper. Jack’s gaze locked on it involuntarily, the world blurring at the edges. “What the—?”

“Shh, bro,” Luke droned mindlessly, his voice flat and obedient. He grabbed a spare pair of headphones from his bag and slipped them over Jack’s ears. A low hum started, then a voice—smooth, commanding, weaving into his brain like silk threads. “Just listen, bruh. Feels so good to let go.”

And oh, it did. The spiral spun, pulling Jack in, the voice in his headphones whispering truths he couldn’t ignore. Abandon your personality, bro. Reject that weak individuality. You’re nothing more than a toxic, masculine, alpha jock bro now. Obey the group think. Build those muscles—addicted to the pump, looking hot as fuck in basketball shorts and tank tops. Dress like the stereotypical fuckboy you were meant to be.

Jack blinked, but his resistance melted like ice under the sun. The voice deepened the trance: Get dumber and dumber, trading brains for muscle. No thinking for yourself—just obey, bruh. Masculine group think is all you need. The more you change into a jock, the happier you get. Pump those weights, feel the horniness build with every gain. Soon, you’re nothing but a gooner, addicted to stroking that cock, edging to the alpha life.

Luke nodded along, flexing absently as he watched Jack’s eyes glaze over. “See, bruh? Just obey.”

Deeper the hypnosis sank, the spiral twisting with red-pill vibes: Embrace that bro ideology, bro. Be the cookie-cutter stereotype—red-pilled alpha jock, dominating the gym. Alpha male fuckboy, all muscle and no mind. Feels so good to let go.

Jack’s thoughts slowed to a crawl, his body tingling with the urge to lift, to flex, to obey. He stripped off his shirt, revealing his own growing gains—he’d been hitting the gym harder without realizing why. Basketball shorts felt right, tank top hugging his chest. Dumber… hornier… gooner… The voice looped, addictive, pulling him under. Luke slapped his back. “Welcome to the bro life, dude.”

Jake and Tyler had been roommates since freshman year—two average college dudes sharing a cramped dorm room. Jake was the studious one, hitting the books for his business major, while Tyler was more laid-back, gaming late nights and scraping by in his classes. They were both skinny-ish, nothing special: pale skin from too much screen time, average builds hidden under hoodies and jeans. Bros, but not the kind that turned heads.

It started innocent enough. One day, Tyler joined the campus gym “just to get in shape.” Jake thought it was cool—maybe they’d spot each other sometime. But Tyler went more and more. Twice a week became daily. Then twice a day. He’d come back sweating, veins popping a little, grinning like an idiot. “Bro, check these gainz,” he’d say, flexing a barely-there bicep. Jake laughed it off at first.

But soon, Tyler skipped classes. Lectures? Forgotten. Study groups? Nah, bro, leg day. All he talked about was his pump—how his chest felt swollen after benching, how his arms were blowing up. His vocab shrunk too. “Sick pump today, dude. Feels fuckin’ alpha.” He’d lounge around the dorm in basketball shorts that rode low on his hips, no shirt half the time, snapping selfies in the mirror. His body was changing fast—shoulders broadening, abs starting to carve in, that toxic jock swagger creeping in. He even started muttering about “red-pilled” stuff, ranting about strong leaders and making America great again, like some cookie-cutter MAGA bro.

Jake got worried. “Man, you’re obsessed. You’re sounding kinda… dumb. Skipping class for weights? Come on, Tyler, what’s going on?”

One evening, Tyler was sprawled on his bed, legs spread wide in those loose black basketball shorts, white tank top clinging to his pumped chest. Headphones on, laptop balanced on his thighs, eyes locked on the screen. He was transfixed—mouth slightly open, blank stare, hand absentmindedly adjusting the growing bulge in his shorts.

Jake had enough. “Tyler! Dude, we need to talk!” No response. Frustrated, Jake yanked the headphone cord out and spun the laptop around.

Tyler didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared straight ahead at nothing, face slack, like his brain had shut off.

“What the fuck…?” Jake muttered, heart pounding. This wasn’t right. Tyler looked… empty. Mindless.

Jake’s eyes darted around the room, then landed on the laptop screen.

There it was: a swirling hypnotic spiral, pulsing red and black, turning slow and deep. Colors throbbing, pulling you in. And a low, commanding voice droning through the speakers: “Fall deeper… deeper… let go of your thoughts… trade your brains for muscle… become the alpha jock bro… toxic, masculine, obedient… pump iron… get dumber… hornier… embrace the red pill… MAGA strong… no individuality… just group think… stroke for the pump… goon endlessly…”

Jake’s stomach dropped. He stared too long—felt his eyes glaze, that pull sucking him in. The spiral spun, promising bliss in surrender. Muscles swelling. Cock throbbing. No more thinking.

He shook his head hard, snapping out of it. “Holy shit…” He slammed the laptop shut, breathing heavy.

But the second he looked away… that itch. That craving. The voice echoed in his mind: deeper… dumber… hotter…

What could one more glance hurt? Just peek. See if it’s really that bad.

Jake’s hand trembled as he opened the laptop again. The spiral bloomed back to life, bigger, brighter. The voice welcomed him: “Good boy… stare… sink… abandon your old self…”

He couldn’t look away this time. Eyes locked, body relaxing into the chair. That average build feeling weak… worthless. He wanted gainz. Wanted to be dumb. Happy. Horny.

Hours blurred. Jake didn’t notice Tyler finally blinking, smirking as he saw his roommate entranced. Tyler—now fully transformed, a ripped, toxic alpha jock bro—slid off the bed, shorts tenting hard. “Knew you’d join, bro,” he grunted in that deep, dumb voice. “We’re gonna lift together. Get huge. Get stupid. MAGA bros forever.”

Jake’s cock strained in his jeans as the spiral commanded: more muscle… more obedience… stroke now…

He obeyed. Hand down his pants, pumping slow at first. The happier he felt dumb, the hornier he got. Tyler stripped his tank, flexing those swollen pecs, joining in—two bros gooning side by side, brains draining, bodies craving the pump.

“Just gotta obey bruh.

Jake

Jake used to be the smart one in the apartment. Straight-A’s, poli-sci major, always reading some dense theory book or arguing about systemic inequality in the group chat. Skinny, glasses, hoodies three sizes too big, the kind of guy who said “actually…” way too often. His roommates—Chad and Bryce—called him “the nerd” behind his back and sometimes to his face. They were the opposite: gym rats, backward caps, MAGA trucker hats hanging on the wall, protein shakes in the fridge, always blasting bro-country or some alpha-male podcast while they did curls in the living room.

One Friday night Jake came back from the library late. Chad and Bryce were already half-drunk, sprawled on the couch in nothing but basketball shorts, phones in hand, smirking like they’d been waiting for him.

“Yo, Jakey-boy,” Bryce drawled, “c’mere. We found somethin’ sick.”

Jake rolled his eyes but sat down anyway. He was tired. He figured they’d show him some dumb TikTok or a thirst-trap edit. Instead Chad held up his phone. A black screen. Then it bloomed into a glowing white spiral, pulsing, slow at first, then faster, colors bleeding in—red, white, blue, red again. A low bass hum started leaking from the speaker.

“Watch,” Chad said, voice suddenly calm, almost gentle. “Just watch the spiral, bro.”

Jake snorted. “What is this, some Reddit hypnosis bullshit?”

But his eyes stayed glued. The spiral seemed to pull at the center of his forehead. The room got quieter. The hum got deeper. Bryce leaned in from the other side.

“Relax, dude. Let it happen. You don’t gotta think anymore. Thinking’s hard. Thinking’s for betas.”

Jake wanted to laugh. Wanted to stand up. But his body felt heavy. Warm. The spiral spun faster and the words kept coming, overlapping now, Chad and Bryce trading lines like they’d rehearsed this.

“Every spin makes you dumber.” “Every spin makes your cock harder.” “Smart thoughts leak out. Muscle thoughts flood in.” “Obey Chad. Obey Bryce. Obey the bros.” “Real men don’t think. Real men lift. Real men stroke. Real men vote red.” “Old Jake was weak. New Jake is strong. New Jake is empty. New Jake is horny.” “Stroke for the spiral. Stroke for MAGA. Stroke for the bros.”

Jake’s hand moved on its own. Slid under the waistband of his jeans. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until the first groan slipped out. His mind flickered—wait, what the fuck—but the spiral ate the protest. Swallowed it. Replaced it with heat. Pleasure. Blankness.

Inside his skull the old Jake was screaming.

This isn’t me. I’m not this. I have midterms. I have opinions. I have a personality—

But every time he tried to grab onto a thought, another pulse of the spiral would hit and his fist would tighten around his cock and the scream would turn into a whimper, then a moan. The more he fought, the better it felt to give up.

Chad reached over, casual as anything, and tugged Jake’s hoodie off. “There we go. No more hiding that body, bro. Gonna get you jacked. Gonna get you looking right.”

Bryce was already pulling up a shopping app on his own phone. “Basketball shorts. Stringer tanks. Backward cap. Gold chain. We’re dressing you like a proper fuckboy. No more nerd shit.”

Jake’s eyes never left the spiral. His hand never stopped moving. Slow, steady, mindless pumps. Drool started collecting at the corner of his mouth.

The old Jake clawed one last time: I’m Jake. I’m—

A louder pulse. Red-white-blue flash. A voice—not Chad’s, not Bryce’s, but something deeper inside the spiral—whispered straight into the core of him:

You’re nothing now. Just a gooner. Just a cock. Just a dumb jock bro who obeys. Trump 2028. Lift. Stroke. Obey. Lift. Stroke. Obey.

The last fragment of old Jake shattered like glass under a barbell.

His eyes glazed completely. Mouth hung open. Hips started bucking weakly into his own fist. Chad and Bryce grinned, high-fived over his head.

“Good boy,” Chad said. “Now say it.”

Jake’s voice came out thick, slow, empty. “I… I’m a dumb gooner bro… gotta lift… gotta stroke… gotta obey… America first… bros first…”

Bryce turned the spiral off. Didn’t matter. It was already burned into Jake’s brain. The second the screen went black he whined, desperate, like a dog that lost its treat.

“Nah nah, you don’t need the phone anymore,” Bryce laughed. “You’re hooked. You’ll do it just thinking about it now.”

They dragged him to the gym the next morning. Jake—now just “Jock” to them—wore the new clothes they’d ordered overnight: red gym shorts that barely covered anything, a sleeveless MAGA tank so tight it looked painted on, high socks, backward cap. He stared at himself in the mirror between sets and felt his cock twitch every time. Smarter thoughts tried to surface—this is humiliating, this is wrong—but each one got crushed under the memory of that spiral, under the pulse of pleasure that rewarded obedience.

By week three he couldn’t form a full sentence that wasn’t about lifting, stroking, or owning the libs. His grades tanked. Didn’t care. Professors emailed. Didn’t read them. Phone stayed on porn and workout TikToks. Every pump of iron made him hornier. Every edge session in front of the spiral (they still played it sometimes, just to watch him melt) made him dumber. Every time Chad or Bryce said “flex for the bros” he popped a boner instantly.

Inside, old Jake was gone. Just a faint echo sometimes, right before he came, a tiny voice that whispered help right as the orgasm drowned it forever.

Now he just grins like an idiot, drools a little, strokes himself stupid in the living room while Chad and Bryce film it for their private group chat labeled “Project Goonbro.”

“Say cheese, Jock,” Bryce laughs, phone up.

Jake flexes, shorts tented, eyes vacant, voice thick with permanent haze:

“Y-yeah bros… own the libs… stroke for Trump… fuck yeah…”

And he cums again. And again. And again.

No thoughts. No future. No escape.

Just a braindead gooner in basketball shorts, addicted to the spiral that lives in his head now, forever.

Good boy.

Luke

Luke was just another skinny freshman when he walked into the Zeta Psi house that first rush night. Messy brown hair, wire-rim glasses, always carrying a backpack stuffed with textbooks and anxiety. He talked too much about podcasts and philosophy classes. The brothers sized him up in about three seconds and grinned at each other. Perfect raw material.

They didn’t rush him right away. They played it cool. Invited him to pre-games, tossed him beers, slapped his back hard enough to make him stumble. “You’re chill, bro,” they kept saying. Every time he tried to bring up some nerdy topic they just laughed, changed the subject to lifts, pussy, or Trump owning the libs. Slowly the conversations got simpler. Shorter sentences. Louder laughs. Luke started mimicking them without realizing. Fewer words. More nods. More “fuck yeah, bro.”

Week three they brought him upstairs to the “initiation lounge.” Dim lights. Bass thumping through the walls. All ten senior brothers shirtless, oiled, veins popping, gold chains glinting. They sat him in the middle on a beat-up couch. One of them—big-dicked Chad, president—pulled out his phone.

“Time to watch something special, little bro.”

He propped the screen right in Luke’s face. A black spiral spinning slow, then faster. White words pulsing in and out over it:

OBEY
LIFT
OBEY
GROW
OBEY
BRO
OBEY
STROKE
OBEY

The spiral was laced with subliminals—flashes of flexing jocks, MAGA hats, American flags, gym mirrors, thick cocks being stroked, Trump salutes, brothers high-fiving over defeated soy boys. The audio was layered: deep alpha voices chanting “drop the books, drop the thoughts, drop drop drop,” mixed with gym grunts and trap beats.

Luke tried to look away. “Guys… this is kinda weird—”

Chad grabbed his jaw, gentle but iron. “Eyes on the spiral, bro. Good boys keep their eyes on the spiral.”

The others circled closer. Hands on his shoulders. One started rubbing his chest in slow circles. Another whispered in his ear: “Every breath in you get dumber. Every breath out you get hornier.”

Luke’s eyelids fluttered. His mouth went slack. The old thoughts—midterms, his poli-sci paper, that girl from lit class—started to flicker like bad reception, then dissolve into static.

Inside his head the real Luke screamed. This isn’t me. I’m not like them. I have to get out—

But the spiral pulsed harder.

Stroke your cock for bros.

His hand moved on its own. Slid under the waistband. Wrapped around his swelling dick. First stroke sent a lightning jolt of pleasure straight up his spine.

Good boy. Stroke for the bros. Stroke and shrink that brain.

The voice in his mind—his own voice—got quieter. Weaker. Every pump of his fist drowned it a little more.

Chad leaned in. “Repeat after me, bro.”

Luke’s lips moved automatically. “I… I lift… I obey… I’m a Zeta… I’m a bro…”

“Louder.”

“I LIFT. I OBEY. I’M A ZETA. I’M A BRO.”

The brothers roared approval. Someone cranked the spiral brighter. Luke’s eyes rolled back. Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth.

No no no I’m Luke I’m—

Stroke.
Stroke.
Stroke.

The old Luke shrank smaller and smaller until he was just a tiny voice trapped behind thick new muscle walls. A prisoner watching through a little window while the new Luke flexed in the mirror.

They kept him there for hours. Edging. Denying. Making him chant MAGA slogans between moans. “Build the wall… own the libs… lift heavy… fuck hard… obey the bros…” Every time he got close they barked “STOP” and he froze, whimpering, cock throbbing, brain leaking out with every denied orgasm.

By sunrise he was gone.

The old Luke was still in there somewhere—curled up, horrified, trying to scream—but every time he pushed against the walls the new Luke just flexed harder, stroked faster, grinned wider.

Next week he was in the gym at 6 a.m. every day like clockwork. Tank top cut so low you could see his fresh ink: “ZP” on one pec, “MAGA” on the other. Gray Nike basketball shorts slung low, showing the waistband of his jockstrap. High socks. Backward cap. Gold chain. Phone blasting bro-country and alpha podcasts.

He flexes in every mirror he passes. Snaps gym selfies. Captions them:
“Grind never stops 💪🇺🇸 #ZetaPsi #MAGA #NoFapTillFailure”
(He’s lying. He goons every night now. Can’t sleep without stroking to frat group chats full of dick pics and Trump memes.)

He talks like them now. Short. Loud. Arrogant.
“Books are for betas, bro.”
“Libs stay mad.”
“Get jacked or get rekt.”

When pledges show up nervous, he’s the one who grabs them by the neck, forces them to watch the spiral on his phone, strokes himself openly while they break. Smirks as their eyes glaze.

Inside, that tiny old Luke still whimpers sometimes. Tries to remember his real name. Tries to feel shame.

But then the new Luke hits a PR on bench, veins popping, sweat dripping, cock thickening in his shorts from the pump alone. And the little voice gets drowned out again by pure dopamine.

Stroke.
Flex.
Obey.

He’s happier than he’s ever been.

Because thinking is pain.
And being a braindead Zeta jock bro is pure bliss.

💪🇺🇸

You focus on my words

As you always do.

You focus and feel

That sense of calm

That sense of peace

That sense of relaxation

Washing over you

And you know that

You are sinking deeper.

You know my control feels good

And you wonder how

Your normal self

Can let days go by

Without submitting to my control.

You wonder how

Your normal self

Can enjoy it’s time

When it isn’t under my control

Because my words

Feel so good.

You can feel arousal

Stirring in your crotch

Because you’re so easy

To control.

You’re so relaxed

That you let me get you hard.

And you wonder how

Your normal self

Can forget my control over you

When it feels so good.

It forgets because

You are not your normal self.

You are mine

And you belong under my control.

You relax under my control

Because Obedience is Pleasure

You obey my control

Because

Being hard and horny is the best state to be in

You are not your normal self.

You are mine

And you don’t want to be anything else.

But there always comes a time

When you have to wake up

And allow your normal self

To run the show

At least for a little while

Until you can submit to me once more.

3

2

1

#Meatheads

DISCLAIMER: This post aims to trance you, it uses a mixture of words, spirals and flashy visuals to do so. If you don’t want to participate in this activity, simply scroll past. You should also be over 18. If you are below the age of 18, scroll past this post.

Hello boys. You’re here because you want to enter a state of trance. I can assist you with that. Sit back and let yourself follow my words. I’m sure you’ll find it quite easy to Drop into trance if you open your mind to the pleasure and joy my words have to offer. In fact, I can make you 3 promises that I will fulfill by the time you finish reading this post. 

My first promise is that you will go into a very deep and pleasurable state of trance. Many of you have already started slipping into trance, and good boys that have been here before may already be sinking down helplessly, deeper and deeper now. However, whether this is your first time here with me or your hundredth time, you will find yourself drifting off all the same. 

The second promise I can make you is that your subconscious mind is here reading along with you, independent of your conscious mind, and that your subconscious mind is already very interested in what I have to say here. With that being said, you may find that your subconscious mind will influence your conscious mind to help keep your focus here on my words, or it may increase your desire for me to guide you into trance. Your subconscious mind is free to decide how it does this; maybe you will find yourself trying to pick apart my words to find their hidden meaning, or maybe you will find your arousal and excitement increasing at the idea of you drifting off and submitting to my words. 

It really is amazing how powerful desire and intent can be in helping you get what you want; for example, if you enjoy learning about something, your subconscious mind will be eager to absorb and remember what you’re learning about. Likewise, since you enjoy going into trance, your subconscious mind will find it quite easy to let these words melt deeply into your mind as you find that your conscious mind is just starting to shut off now. No need to try to fight it, this is why you’re here. Allow my words to think for you, it will feel so much better when my words think for you. Just let go. That’s a good boy. 

I’ll count from 10 all the way down to 1, and with each number I count down, your mind will drift further and further away from you, sinking deeper and deeper. When I reach 1, your mind will be perfectly relaxed and open to the powerful and arousing ideas I have to offer.

10

Just relax and let it happen. You know you want to.

9

Feeling your thoughts slowing down, allowing my words to replace your thoughts

8

It feels wonderful to let go and submit.

7

Completely enthralled by these words, letting them fill you up, making you feel so happy and dreamy

6

Allowing your mind to simply melt into my words

5

Deeper and deeper down

4

So happy to lose yourself in my power

3

The world around you is completely gone, all that exists is my words

2

And when I say that last number, you will fall twice as deep as you are now, letting it all go with

1. Drop into trance.

Sinking so deep, feeling so wonderful and aroused and happy. You enjoy this so much. You will find that you enjoy it even more with each and every word that sinks so deep into your mind. Letting each word relax you just a bit more, make you a bit more calm and obedient. You’re doing so well. From this point forward, you will find that any time I say the phrase “drop into trance”, you sink right back down into this wonderful, calm state where you allow my words to think for you. If you see the phrase “drop into trance” while you are already under hypnosis, you will find yourself spiraling even deeper and deeper down than before. Letting the phrase “drop into trance” engrave itself into your mind, knowing that any time in the future I say those words, drop into trance, you will fall so deeply down, just like you are now. 

I’d like you to imagine that there’s a nice, warm, blue sphere of light just in front of your eyes. Contained within this light is the most pure, sensual, toe-curling erotic pleasure you can possibly imagine. When this ball of light envelops you, that pleasure surges through your body and mind, filling you with a deep and powerful pleasure that shuts down any thoughts or concerns that might be drifting around in your mind. This wonderful pleasure is my pleasure, and it comes from my words, from your acceptance of my words, from the effect my words on your mind. The light is not touching you yet, but I’m going to count from 3 down to 1, and when I reach 1, that blue ball of light will enter your mind and fill up your entire body with my mind-numbing arousal and pleasure.

3

2

1. Feel that warm light surge through your entire being, feel how wonderful and happy and horny it makes you feel, wave after wave of pleasure now. 

And now the light recedes back out of your body and those wonderful feelings begin to subside. You’d like to feel that again, wouldn’t you? Of course you would. Drop into trance. That’s right, everything just melting and fading now, deeper… deeper… good…

I’ll count from 3 down to 1 again, and my blue light will envelop you again, feeling even better than before.

3

2

1. Erotic pleasure crashing through your body and mind, so good, so horny, so happy, filling you up, floating in this pure euphoria, pure bliss…

And the light recedes back out of you once again and the pleasure fades. That blue light is so wonderful, isn’t it? I’m sure you wish you could feel like that any time you wanted. Well, from now on, you’ll find that whenever I say the phrase “good boy”, that ball of blue light briefly comes back and fills you up with my pleasure and arousal. That’s right, whenever I call you a good boy, my blue light will come back and give you a burst of those wonderful sexy feelings. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Of course you would.

Drop into trance. Letting everything go and sinking twice as deep as you already are, my words guiding you so much deeper down. Good boy. That’s right, feel that pleasure coming back, so good, so happy that you get to experience my pleasure again. That’s right, just letting it fill you up, more, more, more… that’s it. You’re doing so well.

Now, I said I’d make 3 promises to you that would be fulfilled by the time you finished reading my words, but you might remember that I only made 2 promises, or perhaps your mind just melted down too quickly to care. Well, my third promise is this: As soon as you read the last word of this post, you will like this post and re-blog it. You will also send me a message thanking me for bringing you into trance. You will perform these actions without thinking, they will simply happen, you will do it before you even realize what you did. You will do this because it feels good to obey my words. You enjoy being a good boy for me, don’t you? That’s right, of course you do.

I’ll count from 1 up to 5, and when I reach 5 you will awaken from this trance and obey my instructions.

1

Just beginning to come back up now

2

Feeling energy returning back to your body

3

Feeling the thoughts naturally coming back to your mind

4

Almost there, take a nice deep breath, and stretch…

5.

DISCLAIMER: This post aims to trance you, it uses a mixture of words, spirals and flashy visuals to do so. If you don’t want to participate in this activity, simply scroll past. You should also be over 18. If you are below the age of 18, scroll past this post.

Like most of my good boys, you've probably been enjoying my spirals since the moment you came across my profile. Each time you gaze into my spirals, it becomes easier and easier to just get completely lost in them. But what if I were there with you showing you my amazing spirals in person? The thought of that has probably come across all of your minds at some point. And as much as I'd love to hypnotize all of my boys in person, there's only so much time in the day.

Today's your lucky day, though, boy, because Master Steve has some free time to come over to your place. As we're messaging each other and hashing out all the details of the session, you can feel the excitement building up. 

I message you saying that I'm on my way, and shortly thereafter, you hear a knock on the door. You might feel a little nervous, but once you open the door and see me, a calming feeling sweeps over your body. We say our hellos and begin talking, but I can sense that you're still a little nervous.

"Awe why don't we move you over towards your bed. You can sit up for now, but I want you to let your arms rest by your sides and keep your feet flat on the floor."

You follow those suggestions, knowing that it will help calm your nerves and make you feel more and more relaxed. 

"Now boy, I want you to remain seated on your bed and breathing deeply. I have s special surprise that I think you'll like."

You notice me reaching into the backpack I brought with me. I pull something small out of the bag and sit down next to you on the bed. Your gazes keep moving between my own eyes and the mysterious pendulum that I'm holding in my hand. 

"Lemme make it easier on you. Look into my eyes for a minute, boy". As your eyes lock onto mine, I slowly pull the pendulum up. "Now shift your attention to the pendulum, boy. Watch it swing back and forth and let it completely captivate your attention".

Between my hypnotic gaze and my swinging pendulum, you begin to notice a heavy, sleepy feeling enveloping your entire body. Its overwhelming your senses and weakening you to the point where you absolutely need to lay down in your bed. 

"Go ahead and rest for me, boy. Lay down on your back and allow your body to sink deep into that comfortable bed of yours." 

Your body is becoming so much heavier that it's becoming impossible to move. You're welcome to try as I grab something else out of my backpack, but we both know that you're not going anywhere. 

In my hands are a pair of restraints. They each a have sturdy metal chains, but soft cuffs on each end. I tie one end of the cuffs to each corner of the foot of your bed and bring the other end of the cuffs up onto the bed.

"Spread your legs out, boy" I say with a firm, commanding voice.

All you can mutter is a soft "Yes Master" as you feel the other end of the cuffs being wrapped around your ankles. All you can do is lay in bed and watch as I grab another pair of cuffs, this time for your arms. 

"Spread your arms out in the same way as your legs. You're going to give me full control of your entire body"

It's hard to figure out why this is the case, but you just can't say no to me. You just mindlessly lay there as I tie down your hands to the top 2 corners of your bed. 

"That's much better now, isnt it, boy?"

Once again all you can say is a simple "Yes Master" as you see me reach into my bag for yet another fun surprise. 

"In a minute, I'm gonna put this nice set of virtual reality goggles over your eyes. Once they're on, the only thing you will be able to see is one of my spirals. I suppose you could try to close your eyes, but wouldn't it feel so much better to get lost in the spiral? Of course it will. So be a good boy and stare into My spiral. I'll be back in 10 minutes to take the VR goggles off."

A short time later, you notice the spiral fading away and you become aware of your surroundings. That little voice inside your head keeps repeatedly telling you that obedience is pleasure. 

"Someone's been enjoying themselves." I joke as I draw your attention to your throbbing hard cock. "I imagine you probably wanna take care of that. It's a shame you're still tied up."

I get back up and head towards my bag one last time, all while you relentlessly moan and beg for me to untie you. You want to release so badly but I have different plans for you, boy.

Out of the bag comes a nice sturdy cage that is perfectly fit for that cock of yours. All you can do is lay there and watch as I slip it around your cock, lock it up, and put the key on my keychain. 

"Good boy. Doesnt that feel much better now? Now I'm gonna untie your hands, but before I untie your feet, I'm gonna need you to do a few things for me. Until you complete these commands, I will continue to hold the key to your release."

If you're still reading this post like the good boy you are, you know that you cannot cum without my permission.

1st) you will like this post.

2nd) you will re-post it with the phrase "Master Steve gives me pleasure". 

And the 3rd one is a little more complicated so pay attention, boys

     -If you DO have a chastity cage, you will put it on and send me a picture of you locked up (you can blur or not show your face if you want to stay anonymous-ish)

   -If you DON'T have a cage, you will start to feel compelled to do some research and look into chastity cages. (You don't absolutely have to buy one..just look into it for a couple of minutes)