TychGamer

He walked the quiet forest path still in ordinary clothes. The trees stood tall and the air felt still. Then the sealed forms appeared. ✨

Black glossy figures moved closer one already fully claimed. A hand rested on his head and the material began to spread. Ordinary fabric gave way under the living rubber. The forest watched the conversion unfold. 🖤

Now a new shape stands among the trees. Tightness shine and complete enclosure where a man once walked. 🔥

The path leads only one way once the rubber finds you. ✨🖤

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Kenny, as the "little kid" was called, felt like walking on clouds. Something nice just happened to him, but he had no idea what. He could not think clearly.

He just knew that those two jocks were leading him somewhere. Usually he would be wary of them, but now ... he felt a strange connection. Like something had been awoken in him he did not know was there.

"Don't worry, kid. You are safe", one of the jocks said, and it filled Kenny with a pleasant, peaceful feeling. He smiled sheepishly, could not help it.

"Coach needs to talk to you", he continued.

Why would coach need to talk to him? But in his pacified state he found no answer, nor even the will to question anymore. He just let those two musclemachines lead him somewhere.

The two jocks had no idea why coach wanted them to recruit that nerdy little kid, but coach said so, so they acquired him.

They waited for him after debate club and caught him in an empty corridor. Grabbing him was easy, no muscle, no strength, no resistance.

Brock just had to put the phone in front of the little kid, and quickly he was caught up in the spiral. They just stood there and waited for a few minutes it took for the programming to really kick in. When the boy finally closed his eyes they knew he was subdued and ready for coach.

(Don’t know whose page I got the pic from.. if you know please DM me so I can tag them.)

Liam and Kenneth.

The ropes bit deep into Liam’s arms and chest, coarse hemp digging into the black sleeveless shirt with the green dinosaur on it. He’d fought hard when they first grabbed him—elbows, knees, a desperate twist that almost got him free—but the man in the black mask had been ready. Stronger. Meaner. Now Liam was cinched tight to the wooden chair, wrists already going numb behind the backrest, ankles lashed to the legs so hard the wood creaked every time he shifted.

Kenneth crouched beside him, black gloves flexing as he lifted the old Reebok higher.

“Smell it.”

The voice was muffled, flat, coming from behind the featureless black fabric that covered every inch of his head. No eyes, no mouth—just that smooth void and the smell of latex and sweat underneath.

Liam shook his head hard, the backwards black cap shifting on his scalp. “Fuck you—get that away from—”

A gloved hand clamped the back of his neck and shoved. The dirty white sneaker slammed against his face. The sole pressed flat over his nose and mouth, warm and rank from hours of wear. Liam tried to turn away; the hand only pushed harder. Thick rubber and fabric filled his vision. The sharp, sour stink of foot sweat and old leather flooded his nostrils.

He held his breath until his lungs burned.

Kenneth waited. Patient. When Liam finally gasped, the air he dragged in was pure shoe—hot, humid, thick with the musk of a long day on someone’s feet. His eyes watered. A low, helpless sound escaped him against the rubber sole.

“That’s it,” Kenneth murmured. “Breathe it in. You’re not going anywhere. This is yours now.”

He worked methodically. Every time Liam’s lungs demanded air, the stinking sole was already there—pressing hard, sealing off everything else. Kenneth controlled every single breath. He would hold the shoe away just long enough for Liam’s chest to hitch and panic to set in, then slam it back over his nose and mouth the instant Liam tried to inhale. Clean air was never an option. The only air Liam was allowed was the thick, sour funk of Kenneth’s feet: the sharp salt of dried sweat, the warm rubber, the darker musk that lived deep in the insole.

“This is what you need,” Kenneth whispered while Liam was forced to inhale through the filthy rubber. “This smell. It’s better than air. Better than freedom. Your body already knows it. Feel how hard you are under those ropes? That’s not fear anymore. That’s recognition.”

He switched shoes without warning, pressing the matching left sneaker over Liam’s nose and mouth the second the younger man tried to suck in a clean breath. The stench was even heavier, more concentrated. Liam’s protests grew weaker, turning into muffled whimpers that vibrated against the rubber. Kenneth’s gloved fingers stroked the side of Liam’s head almost gently while the shoe stayed clamped in place, only lifting it when Liam’s struggles began to slow from lack of oxygen—then immediately forcing it back the moment Liam’s lungs seized and he tried to breathe again.

“You’re going to crave this. When I’m gone you’ll still smell it in your head. You’ll get hard just thinking about dirty shoes. About my feet. You’ll start hunting for it. Old sneakers in the laundry. The bottoms of boots. Anything that reeks of a long day. And every time you catch that smell you’ll remember who put it there. Who made it yours.”

Hours blurred. Kenneth rotated the shoes, sometimes pressing both at once, sometimes forcing Liam’s face down into the open collars so the damp fabric filled his mouth and nose. He made Liam lick the dirty insoles between the forced breaths, praising every reluctant stroke of the tongue. Whenever Liam tried to turn his head away, Kenneth simply waited until the need for air overrode pride, then shoved the shoe back into place and held it there until Liam had no choice but to breathe the stink deep into his lungs.

“Good. Deeper. Let it rewrite you. That clean air you keep fighting for? It’s nothing. This is what your lungs want now. This is what your cock wants. You’re not a man who got tied up. You’re a man who belongs to this smell.”

By the time Kenneth finally set the shoes aside, Liam’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. His breathing stayed shallow and fast even without the rubber against his face, as if his body was still searching for the scent. Kenneth crouched in front of him, black-gloved hands resting on Liam’s bound thighs.

“Say it.”

Liam’s voice came out raw and small. “…I need it.”

Kenneth waited.

“I need… the smell. Your shoes. Your feet. I need them.”

Kenneth nodded once, satisfied. He left the dirty Reeboks sitting open on Liam’s lap, the stink rising steadily into the captive’s face, and stood.

“You’ll stay like this until it sinks all the way in. When I come back, you’ll beg for them without being told. And you’ll mean it.”

He walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Liam sat alone in the chair, ropes biting into his arms, the two filthy sneakers resting heavy against his crotch. The thick, sour odor filled every breath he took. He tried not to inhale too deeply at first. Then, slowly, he stopped fighting it.

Something had happened to his game. Where was it? All he could see were these flashy rainbow colors.

Something about them was so ... weird ... as if something was pulling at him.

Something sandy was seeping into is head. It felt like metal grinding on sand.

Something was happening to him. Where was he? All he could see were these flashy rainbow colors.

The metal and the sand. Grinding his thoughts away like sandpaper.

Jordan sat at his desk as he had don’t every day. He worked as an accountant and hated his job. Stuck at a place he hated and his new boss had taken notice.

“Why do you hate this job? You should love what you do.”

Jordan simply explained that he’s tired and wants something more. His boss didn’t like that answer and explained that he has an orientation video he’s been showing the fellow employees to help them stay motivated. Jordan was already over that place so he gave it a shot. The screen showed a worker happy to do his job proficiently and with full obedience to his boss. The screen occasionally flashed with a pulsing spiral that Jordan couldn’t recognize but will come to enjoy soon

…………………….…………………….

Jordan returned the next day with more energy and a readiness to get to work. A little more kept than before. He told his boss he got plenty of sleep the night before and couldn’t wait to get back to making sales. His boss handed him a headset and explained that it will help him to wear the header during work hours. Jordan accepted the gift with joy. At the end of the day his boss called Jordan to his office and explained that it was time to watch one more orientation video. Jordan didn’t think anything of it while he sat down infront of his boss’ computer and stared. The screen flashed a spiral that seemed to never end. His boss spoke calmly about obedience and love for what you do. How a worker should enjoy work almost as much as he enjoys pleasing his boss. How his boss should come before everything else. How his boss should cum before anything else. Jordan gave into the spiral quickly before leaving work. The next day Jordan was right on time for work. He sat down and placed the headset over his head. While helping customers, the only thing he could think of was how happy he was to work under his boss. He should look good for his boss. He should suck his boss’ cock. He knew he belonged to the company now. And yes don’t worry they are taking applications

The Master had humbled beginnings indeed. A scrawny teenager with a bowlcut who had little grasp of his future potential, the teen-Master still had ambitions. While nurturing his visual hypnosis abilities, he was also an avid computer programmer. Within weeks of tinkering, he was ready to test out the beta version of his infamous “hypno-track.” His target was an older guy he knew, Tanner Johnston.

On the fateful day he would have his first slave, the teen-Master found and stalked Tanner through the neighborhood, waiting for a moment of seclusion. Following him for what seemed an hour, the time to strike was made clear. MP3 player in hand, the future Master jumped behind the unsuspecting Tanner and covered his mouth. 

The bigger Tanner resisted with a ferocious strength, but not enough to stop the Master from forcing his earbud into his ear, holding it in place. The track was playing on an endless loop.

The Master begin to feel Tanner’s physical resistance subside, as if he were focused much harder on something else. He was, after all, being stripped of his heterosexuality and freedom in those very seconds.

He tried with one last ounce of his power to resist the track–he wasn’t gay! He had no interest in men! He was going to kill his Master…

Yes. His Master. It was all clear. His will was broken. He wasn’t even Tanner anymore. He was the first. The first of many who would submit like him. He would see it through, for his master.

He hadn’t quite realized it yet, but he could feel himself drifting closer to the action, step by step, like his attention had an easy way of taking over.

As he got nearer, he noticed his body tensing and relaxing in little waves, and he let his concentration settle on the scene for a moment, without pushing it.

Then, almost without thinking, he ended up in a position that left his jockstrap on display—more than he’d planned, and exactly where everyone could see.

He stared at the screen for a second longer, and it didn’t feel like a decision so much as a fit for the moment. And honestly, it felt good—being on display the way the boys on the screen always seemed to be.

Wow. That audio file you gave the intern to listen to as part of his ‘induction’ actually fucking worked. Your pal had told you about it, said at his firm it worked like a charm, but you were sceptical. Hypnosis? Really? But goddamn, he was right.

You gave the clueless hottie some company headphones, sent him the file and watched as over the next thirty minutes his eyes glazed over, then flickered, and his mouth drooped open. Nice trick, but you weren’t buying it. Still you had to test it. You swooped by his desk quickly, casually, said something fast and quiet. ‘Mitchell, my office, five minutes. No shoes or socks.’

Six men signed up thinking they would simply enjoy more rubber. They took their seats in the white room already sealed in glossy black. Then the real process began. ✨

The lead form moved among them and the latex responded. Hoods closed faces disappeared and every body locked into the same perfect muscular shape. Ordinary identity drained away under the rising shine. No way back once the material finished its work. 🖤

Now they kneel as complete rubber gimps identical and owned. Tightness absolute gloss permanent and the transformation total. 🔥