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It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is to break a young athletic man and turn him into Grade A himbo beef.

These boys come in so confident. Broad shoulders, cocky grin, years of sports giving them that perfect mix of muscle and arrogance. They think they’re alphas. They think they’re straight. They think they’re in control of their own minds.

They have no idea how quickly I can reprogram them.

Take this one right here. Six months ago he was a straight college athlete — star of his team, chasing girls, posting gym selfies, the whole package. Big arms, thick chest, empty head already halfway there if I’m being honest. All it took was one “chance” meeting at an exclusive alumni event, one drink, and one private conversation in my study.

I barely had to try.

Young men like him are ridiculously easy to hypnotize. Their minds are so used to following orders from coaches, so pumped full of endorphins and testosterone, that once you dangle the right bait in front of them they practically beg to drop. I let him feel important at first. Complimented his body. Told him how impressive he was. Let him flex for me. Then I brought out the pocket watch.

The moment that silver disc started swinging, his eyes locked on. I watched his broad chest rise and fall slower… slower… until his mouth hung slightly open and that cocky expression melted into blank, obedient slack.

“That’s it,” I murmured, stepping closer. “Big strong boys like you have such simple minds. So easy to rewire.”

He used to fuck sorority girls. Now the only thing that makes him leak is being called a good dumb trophy boy while I run my hands over his swollen pecs.

And the best part? He’s happier this way. They always are. Once you strip away all those complicated thoughts and responsibilities, all that’s left is a big, beautiful, simple-minded muscle boy who lives to be displayed, touched, and kept.