mrrharper

[mrrharper]

Certain dissident voices, hostile to the goals of the Spartan Program, have raised concerns about the Guards. They say that they are conformist, that they are basically all the same.

These are gross manipulations and anyone sharing them ought to receive punishment deemed appropriate by a representative of the Program.

For civilians it may seem that all Spartan Guards share an awful lot of traits, making them look similar to one another. But it is a simple consequence of the principles that all Spartan Guards must follow.

work out

follow military protocol

show off

spread patriotic virtues

follow every order

display your masculinity

reinforce your programming

Adherence to these results in a uniform appearance and uniform behavior. All Spartan Guards should feel pride in conforming to these standards and proudly display their strict adherence to them.

So what if all Guards are almost the same person? They are all great masculine American Patriots, defending their traditions, defending their country. Individuality is meaningless when faced with the power of Spartan Conservatism.

Become a Spartan Guard.

Become the Spartan Guard.

Resistance will be crushed by the masculine power of the Spartan Program.

[mrrharper]

Hey Everyone,

I don’t tend to write these kinds of posts on my tumblr page, however I feel this is necessary.

In the event you are not aware, Dumb and Jocked, the main person I do collabs with, and also who is someone who most people might consider to be one of the backbones of the Tumblr TF community, has deactivated his account and left us last week.

Most of the people and I do not know exactly why or how this happened, but it's the reality of the situation unless he somehow does return in the future.

Some tumblrs might still have some of his stories reblogged, including mine, however some of which cannot be accessed as they are stuck at the ‘read more’ page. Notably his longer stories ‘Branded’ and both parts of the major collaboration we did together in ‘Narrow residences’.

If anyone has any of these stories saved somewhere, it would be great if you could either link it to me or post it on Tumblr.

Below will be my farewell to him, in the event he ever does somehow read it. This probably is not the best farewell letter, but it's the best I could do in such short notice and also posting it publicly. —————————————————————

Hey Dumb and Jocked,

Thanks for reading this, and I'm sad to see you go.

We’ve worked on various collabs together and it was fun throughout the years discussing various ideas here and there with you.

Unfortunately, after you left, it just feels really upsetting looking at the stuff you wrote. Even those that were saved from reblogs and reposts from other blogs. While I do want to keep them for memories and also because I did collaborate on some of them, it just feels much sadder trying to indulge in your stories or continue in sequels of it.

I was shocked that you would leave us out of the blue, however a part of me anticipated this.

I'm mostly speculating, but this is a hobby that can be rather controversial and you contributed a massive ton, likely without any compensation. You were quite private in general and talked about stories and bounced off my ideas now and then.

You sort of have a clean gateway if you decide to ever leave for good, as you probably are not really close to anyone here other than writing TF stories.

Some of us hoped that you might return, and speculated maybe it's tumblr accidentally banning you and you would get your account back, but as the days went by, it only reaffirmed that my anticipation was likely correct.

I myself mostly continued on tumblr for you, and I'm not sure if I would continue now that the main reason and person I stuck around for has left without letting any of us know. It is something I will have to decide for myself in the future.

If you ever do return to Tumblr or decide to message me privately to talk about things, that would be great. I do hope you return, even if you don’t write stories that frequently or even at all, so we could talk for a bit.

However I know that I won’t wait forever.

That’s all I will write in this letter. It was fun writing and discussing TF stories with you while it lasted.

-Sjw Publishings

[mrrharper]

Muscle Memory

The ultimate goal of a jock is to stop thinking.

A real jock knows what he was made for, designed for - lifting, drinking, playing football, spreading his seed, asserting his dominance. So he strives to get better at every one of these things until they are all natural parts of him.

A jock achieves his greatest form when he executes every action on instinct.

Well developed muscles are the jocks most important trait, and his muscle memory is an extension of that. He executes every task impulsively, instantly, and so had no need for any conscious thoughts to clutter his brain. After all, it has to fit all the football plays for his position, exercises for every important muscle group, his body count.

When he enters the gym his arms begin putting the plates on the bar by default.

When he's standing on the line of scrimmage his body gets into position in the blink of an eye.

When he enters the frat house he automatically grabs a beer.

When he sees a mirror he flexes his arms. He doesn't think about it, he just does.

People find bro speak to be annoying, maybe funny, a clear sign of a jock's low IQ. But that is not the case. The jock knows he doesn't need to remember the whole dictionary to beat Michigan or State on the field. So his speech is basic, because it doesn't have to be anything else.

"duh bro"

"huhuhuhuhuh what's up dude?"

"hell yeah bruh"

"you speakin' to me nerd?"

"gonna get some pussy t'night bro"

The jock's mind is simply laser focused on becoming a champion, on taking the trophy into his hands.

bro, ya gotta understand, am not here to, like, do any of that nerd shit, right bruh, huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh, am here to fuckin' play football dude! i aint got time for any thinkin' shit dude, gotta get fuckin' huge! what's yer pb on the bench, cause i gotta tell ya, am breaking 200 already bro! huhuhuhuhuh, duuuh dude, yeah bro

#jock #football jock #personality change

[mrrharper]

It’s such a shame you don’t have a whole part for dumb&jocked! He left tumblr I think and I can’t find his stories anywhere

You can find most of the stories on this site. As for the missing parts, you may find them on my blog.

[mrrharper]

A Real Jock's Supposed To Be Dumb

Mike had a problem. And that problem was Tyler Grant.

Tyler Grant and Mike were both juniors studying finance. Mike was, according to the commonly used way of stereotyping people in college, a nerd. He studied, read books and academic papers, didn't posses good social skills. A nerd.

Tyler Grant was a college athlete, a wide receiver on their university's football team. and at a first glance he was very much a typical jock. He was muscular, his clothes always made that clear. He was popular with everyone, a bit cocky. Everyone knew that type.

But this wasn't the whole picture. For a football jock Tyler had surprisingly good grades. He spent at least some of his free time studying for exams and projects, he was active during classes, and he made an effort to get to know everyone who was present in the lecture hall alongside him.

And that meant Mike was... not frequently, but consistently approached by Tyler. The athlete usually exchanged a few words with him whenever the two bumped into each other.

And Mike was infuriated by this.

Because of course Tyler wasn't doing this because he was a genuinely nice person.

For sure he was doing this out of pity.

He probably laughed all day about Mike, that sad little nerd.

And all that pretending, which was definitely what Tyler was doing, made Mike fuckin' annoyed.

One day Mike was walking through downtown and he stumbled upon a thrift store. Lead by an impulsive thought he walked in and moved through countless racks and shelves. Then he saw it. A random golden chain, similar to the ones jocks like Tyler wore on a daily basis. Again driven by a strange impulse Mike picked it up.

"When you wear it, your word will be reality" A voice, belonging to some older man, whispered into Mike's ear. He quickly turned around but saw no one standing next to him. His eves went back to the chain. He had to have it.

So he bought it. What happened next was pure magic. The golden chain, when hanging form his neck, allowed Mike to alter reality. Which was insane. The chain's power was limited, but clearly visible and Mike was amazed.

He knew what he wanted to do with that power.

A week later Mike had to do a project for a class. The project required working in pairs and, what a coincidence, Tyler was sitting close to him and suggested they work together. Mike put on a fake slime, deep down sure that this was some new plot to make fun of him.

The next day they met in the university library to work on the project. As Tyler looked through some data on his laptop, Mike made sure the chain was under on his neck, hidden by his t-shirt and hoodie.

"You will treat everything I say as normal" Mike said. Nothing changed, Tyler just nodded after hearing these word and continued working. Mike smirked. Perfect.

"You will start behaving like a real jock. No more talking to me out of pity and then laughing at me behind my back. Be a real jock bro."

"Yeah, bruh" Tyler muttered to himself. His position shifted, his upper body more relaxed on the chair, his legs spread out. He swiftly removed his hoodie, revealing a white tank top.

"And let's not kid ourselves, deep down you know you are a dumb idiot. A jock like you will always end up with a brain that can only understand football plays." Mike grinned. He felt real good saying those words. Getting rid of academic competition, putting Tyler where he belonged.

"you callin' me a dumbass, fuckin' nerd?" Tyler stopped typing on his laptop. He looked at Mike, a dumb, cocky grin now clearly visible on his face. Moke could now see the arrogant dominance in his eyes.

"Yes, and you won't do anything about it, because you listen to everything I say, you dumb jock." Mike said straight into Tyler's face. The jock chuckled dumbly and flexed his arm. He put his hand on the bulging muscles and squeezed them.

"duuuuuh, dude" he drawled "wha' were we doin' even bruh? muh brain foggy dude..." he looked at his still opened laptop. "shit, nerd, what is that fuckin' nonsence!"

"I'll take care of that" Mike said as he closed Tyler's laptop. "You have other things to care about."

"fuck yeah i do, nerd!" Tyler barked at him. "Gotta get these guns pumped bruuuuh!" He flexed his arms again and laughed out loud, attracting attention of other people in the library.

"Okay, my jock, we gotta get you out of here" Mike stood up and waited for Tyler to do the same.

"oh fuck, nerd, we gotta get out of this fuckin' nerd central, am i right huhuhuhuhuh" He chuckled loudly as they left the library, Mike's hand on Tyler's biceps. After they were outside Tyler stopped for a moment, got his phone out and took a photo of himself flexing his arm.

"gotta keep the chicks on insta hot n' bothered, nerd" Mike smirked as he heard that. Oh yeah, his plan was going great.

#jock #jock tf #football jock #personality change

[mrrharper]

A Guard Programmed to Control and Obey

You are a part of the most important profession in this country. You are devoted to keeping this country safe and neutralizing every threat. You are grateful to be the agent of stability.

This is your calling. There is nothing else you'd want to do but this. This is your duty. Duty to the country, to its citizens. This is what you were born to do.

You keep the country safe, you keep the country pure and right. You spread the only correct ideas across the land, the tough arm of Falcon Security.

Falcon Security is where you are at your best. As our guard you keep people safe every shift. Hundreds of crimes prevented by guards like you, hundreds of criminals behind bars thanks to your steady convic-- error error

.

.

.

error 502 /// EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN

SHUTDOWN

.

.

.

REBOOTING

emergency protocol #36CON

YOU are Falcon Security.

Falcon Security OWNS YOU.

The company is ALWAYS CORRECT

You SERVE America.

You EXECUTE every order.

YOU are an officer.

A Falcon Security officer.

You DON'T EXIST outside of Falcon Security.

You THINK ONLY of serving the company.

execute order #535

SALUTE officer.

#cops #cops mind control

[mrrharper]

Hey, do you know what happened to dumb-and-jocked?

No, unfortunately not, and currently I don't have any way to contact them.

I'll look into it.

[mrrharper]

Mandatory PE Class

Markus walked through the university campus, his face clearly showing his annoyance at the situation he was going through. His school decided to "promote physical activity among the student body", and by "promote" they meant a mandatory Physical Education class every junior had to go through. And Marcus was not happy about it.

Marcus was an introvert - he didn't particularly enjoy parties, going to bars, or other typical college activities. He spent his time reading, researching and weightlifting. This might seem weird for a "nerd", but whenever Marcus put on his noise-canceling headphones and grabbed the bar with 100 or so pounds on it, he felt like he could finally relax.

But even though Marcus enjoyed going to the gym, he enjoyed it when he was there alone - no one with him, the amount of people in the gym at a minimum. These were the perfect conditions for him. This class would not be it. He would have to deal with God knows how many people, plus most likely some smart ass coach, who thinks he's the next Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The university gave him a choice of what he wanted to do during the class and Marcus chose weight training, hoping he would be left alone and allowed to just follow his usual routine without any interruptions.

Marcus arrived at the athletics department's building and after wandering through its corridors he found his way to Weight Room C09. He knocked and heard a booming voice invite him inside. He opened the door and walked into a smallish locker room, where a few guys were getting ready and another man, clearly older than the others, stood on the side and waited. That was probably the coach.

"Marcus, right?" the supposed coach walked up to Marcus. "I'm Assistant Coach Baker and I'll be leading your group this semester." He extended his hand and Marcus shook it reluctantly. He quickly turned around and began changing into his gym gear.

Once everyone was ready (and there weren't many people in Marcus' group - only 6 guys) the group led by Coach Baker moved to the weight room proper. Marcus wanted to walk up to Baker and ask him if he could just do his own routine, but before he had mustered up the courage to do this Baker began warming up and expected the rest to do the same. Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed, before joining the group.

The next hour passed slowly. Baker had the group do a fairly quick and lite set of exercises, lite for Marcus at least. After the class had ended everyone was getting out of their sweaty shirts in the locker room. Marcus put his gear in his backpack and as the rest of the students began leaving the room, he walked up to Coach Baker.

"Sir, could I make a certain request?" He asked, a bit shy.

"Oh, Marcus, yeah? I also wanna talk with you about something. But go on." He wanted to talk with Marcus about something? That didn't sound great. He stood silent for a moment.

"So..." Baker looked at Marcus, his eyebrow raised.

"Oh yeah. So... I was wondering... I, I go to the gym quite often, and have for a few years now... and so I thought... Would it be a problem if during these PE classes I... I just followed my usual routine and you, you just did what you have planned with the rest?"

Coach smiled as he listened. Marcus wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

"Well, Marcus, I'm glad you see the importance of exercise. But I don't want no divisions in my group, you understand. I want to work with all of you, show something to everyone. Although, because you asked, I'll be sure to adjust the exercises for your level." Marcus nodded, although he wasn't really happy with Baker's response. "And while we're talking, I wanted to ask you something - would you be interested in trying out for our football team?"

This took Marcus by surprise. The football team? Where did that idea come from? He was not about to join a group of brain dead jocks.

"What?" he simply asked, confused.

"Well, I have noticed your strength during our hour together. And I think you would do great on the gridiron." Baker put his hand on Marcus' shoulder. Marcus did not like that.

"Wel, uhm... thank you for the proposition, but... no, I'm, I don't think I would fit in."

"Are you sure? I could help you fit in just right." Baker grinned again.

"Yeah... I'm sure... Mr. Baker" Marcus stood there and avoided eye contact with the older man.

"Call me Coach" Baker laughed. "If you're sure... well, I ain't gonna force ya. Now go, I'll see you next week."

As Marcus left the building he sighed. This was going to be an exhausting semester.

Reality turned out weirder than he expected.

As the months progressed Marcus attended every PE class, his annoyance with Baker's refusal to just let him do what he wanted not strong enough to risk messing with his attendance. Baker meanwhile stuck to his word, and for the most part Marcus was doing what the rest of the group was doing.

Although... this wasn't the whole truth. Because even though Marcus wasn't allowed to do his own thing, while doing the exercises Baker would come up to him and ask him to change something about the movements, add more weight, do another variant of the exercise. So even though he was working with the group, he did get the chance to do way more challenging things.

Baker himself was weirdly invested, at least that's how it seemed to Marcus. He very much got into that role of the supportive coach, he stood next to Marcus, counted his reps, motivated him to "just push further". Marcus found that strange, but didn't want to get into any kind of argument with the coach, so he just went along with this.

As the semester came to an end Marcus also had to admit he got something out of these classes. The exercises Baker had him do were pushing his limits, and he did adjust his normal gym routine to include stuff he learnt from him As he looked in the mirror, standing in his room on the day of the last class before the end of the semester he had to admit he was bigger than 5 months prior.

The last class came and went pretty uneventfully. Marcus beat his PB on the bench by 10 pounds and after an hour he came back to the locker room sweaty and gross. Baker thanked all the guys for coming, asked them to continue going to the gym and said goodbye.

As Marcus got ready to leave the locker room Baker looked at him and said "See you at practice, 90" and went back to the weight room. Marcus had no idea what that meant, but the class was over so he just shrugged and left.

Marcus entered his dorm room and sat behind his desk. He had some work to do on a paper he wanted to submit next week. He opened his laptop and quickly got to work. After a while he needed something to drink so he stood up and walked up to his mini fridge. There he noticed a mug standing on top of it. It was a cup branded with the logo of the Lions, his university's football team.

This was weird, as Marcus did not recall ever getting any merchandise like that. Maybe someone left it here by mistake, Marcus didn't know. But it seemed it was the only clean mug he had, so he quickly poured soda into it and went back to his laptop.

He got into the flow of writing and research pretty quickly. Then, around half an hour later, he was surprised by a notification from some group chat. 10 unread messages from "jungle kingssss 💪". What the hell was that? Marcus was sure he never joined such a conversation. Maybe it was some new kind of scam.

The notifications just kept coming, and at one point instead of deleting it Marcus clicked on it and a chat window appeared.

nah bruh, ya slayed that bitch well dude - steroidss#96

dude concentrate ffs - big dog jake#7

stfu bros where the fuck is tron where ya need him - mike chief#53

hes jerkin of or meal preppin bro, ya know that - steroidss#96

Marcus looked at the chat, even though he had no idea what he was looking at. It seemed he somehow had access to a group chat of some random meatheads. Although the numbers from their nicknames were tickling something at the back of his head, somehow.

if hes jerkin his fat dick ill kick his fat ass, we have state to fuckin beat - big dog jake#7

State? What does it mean they have to beat-- oh yeah, the Lions' next game is against Ohio State.

Wait.

What does that we mean in "we have state to beat"?

How did he know the Lions' schedule?

Marcus felt his head spin a little. Was he sick? He looked at the screen again and suddenly a new message appeared.

am not fuckin jerkin off you piece of shit, got fuckin dumbass school to take care of you idiots - tron's big dick#90

Marcus looked down. His fingers were still touching the keys. HE WROTE THAT!

And that we... It meant the football team! Marcus was reading the football team's group conversation. How the fuck did this happen?!

dunno why i even bother wit any of your stupid fat asses you fuckin shits - tron's big dick#90

Marcus jumped out of the chair. He did it again! His fingers were betraying him. He shut the laptop down and opened the window. Maybe he had to breathe in some fresh air. Was he hallucinating? Was this some infection? What was happening to him?!

He sat on his bed and breathed in, then out. In and out, in and out. In and out. In and out-- was he drooling!? Marcus wiped the drool from his face. It was getting late and he decided it would be beneficial to go to bed early. He turned around to get to his bed only to notice a sweaty hoodie with badly cut-off sleeves. It had the Lions' logo on the front and the number 90 on the back.

This was not happening.

This was just a dream.

Marcus told himself that repeatedly as he got into his PJs. He checked if his laptop was turned off and laid on his bed. He could swear he could feel a faint smell of sweat and... cum? But this didn't stop him from quickly falling asleep.

Marcus was dragged out of sleep by his alarm clock. He slowly got his body into an upright position, then began going through his usual morning routine.

He made himself a protein shake with added creatine.

He ate the oatmeal and eggs he always had for breakfast.

He put on the sweaty shirt from two days ago. It was fine, no one would notice. And he looked hot in it anyways.

He sent a message on the group chat.

you bitches ready to get dominated n pushed into the grass by my fat dick - tron's big dick#90

He got his gear ready and put his duffel bag on his shoulder.

the faggot of the team has spoken everybody - hall/of/glory#38

Marcus walked through the campus. He let out a dumb chuckle as he read the message. Jalen was the best.

not everyone can slay pussy like tron, bitch - tron's big dick#90

He entered the building and walked towards the locker room-- Marcus suddenly stopped and looked around.

Where was he?

He didn't remember waking up.

He didn't remember dressing up.

He didn't remember coming here.

Where was he?

As he tried to understand what the fuck was going on Assistant Coach Baker appeared, walking through the corridor, coming towards him.

"You know why you're here, Marcus?"

"No!" Marcus shouted, surprising himself, but not Baker.

"As I thought. Follow me" the older man waved at him and Marcus instinctively followed his lead. They walked through the football wing of the athletics department until they reached a door. Locker Room L01.

They both entered - Baker first, Marcus second - and Coach pointed to an open locker. Marcus walked up to it and looked inside.

Jersey. Number 90. Schoeder. His name.

Shoulder pads.

Cleats.

Condoms.

Gym gear.

It all reeked of sweat.

So fuckin' musky.

Huhuhuhuh, a proper jock's smell, bro

bro

bruh

WHAT!?

Coach came up to Marcus and looked him in the eyes.

"Do you know why you're here, 90?"

Marcus opened his mouth and tried to answer. But no words came out.

Coach grinned and took a sweaty Under Armour shirt from his locker. He then put the shirt up to his nostrils.

Marcus automatically inhaled and a fog descended over his mind. He took a few more sniffs. So sweaty, so musky. A fuckin' football jock's smell. A stupid grin appeared on his face, drool began flowing from his mouth. Bruh, that was so fuckin' good bro.

"Sick bro..." Tron drawled and put his arms into a double bicep pose. Coach Baker just smiled and took back the shirt before throwing it into the locker.

"Now, 90, put on the gear. I've trained a new defensive end for 5 months. Let's see it it was worth the hassle." He patted Tron on the back before barking at him. "Main field in 2 minutes or you won't be able to walk for a week, 90!"

"Huhuhuhuh" Tron responded with a dumb chuckle. "Yeah, Coach. No worries, dude."

He then quickly got ready and ran out onto the field.

whos ready for a fuckin beatin - tron's big dick#90

#nerd to jock tf #personality change #football jock #jock tf #jock

[mrrharper]

An absolute masterpiece by @dumb-and-jocked

One More Machine

Huge thanks to @mrrharper for this outstanding request

SEPTEMBER

“Come in.”

The lieutenant entered my office and quietly shut the door behind him. He was a scrawny little thing, at least by military standards. Could not have been more than 150 pounds wet, and a little under average height. He had been in the military for a good 15 years, having deployed before even getting his GED. The lieutenant had only enlisted for the money and stability. His file noted numerous demerits in the past regarding misconduct on grounds related to uniformity. It was my job to fix that.

“James, please take a seat.”

He did as told and crossed his legs. There were many things we would have to correct in our time together.

“Do you know why you were scheduled for these sessions?”

The lieutenant grumbled. “The commanding officer said I needed some readjustment, said I’ve lost my touch with the military.”

His commanding officer had requested a full restart. “Well, as you know, I’m a psychologist employed through the military. My goal is to get you reacquainted with your patriotism and its abiding standards.”

I started as any respectable doctor would, scoping out the base layer. A foundation would be crucial to the lieutenant's reinstitution. Through our discussion, the lieutenant outlined many personal flaws that were causing the moral cracks of his insubordination. His liberal ideology, his mistrust in religion, his conviction of his own homosexuality. Once he had finished his exasperated moans of existence, I started to get to work.

“It sounds like a lot of your issues are based around this idea of having been wronged by your country."

The lieutenant scoffed, “‘An idea’? America’s given me little money and little respect.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve never tried trusting your country, James.” I tapped my notepad for evidence. “Every problem you relayed through your account was built around fighting the institution, not following it.”

James tried considering this point, my purposeful choice of words causing him to stagger.

“I have often found that at the root of my clients' problems is trust,” I continued. “I think that will be our first issue we work on together, restoring your trust in this nation and its values.”

I then pulled out a pair of sunglasses from my desk before handing them over to the lieutenant.

“I want you to begin wearing these every time you're on base, James. No matter what you’re doing, who you’re with, I expect these to be on. Doctor’s orders.”

The lieutenant grabbed the sunglasses hesitantly. “Can I ask why?”

“It’s an exercise,” I lied. “I want you to see the world through another perspective. Hopefully, it will help instill the idea of trust. We will discuss your observations the next time we meet.”

I dismissed the lieutenant shortly there after, bemusedly observing as he locked the sunglasses onto his head. No one on the base would ask about them, nor would the lieutenant ever consider removing them. Once the sunglasses were on, they sent their first of many shocks for the conditioning process, informing the wearer that they were not to be removed unless requested by a superior.

Over the course of the next month, the lieutenant’s mind would restructure around unquestionable loyalty to his country. Thanks to the military’s budget and unmonitored use of technology, I was able to program specific visual and electric therapies for my clients. Through the constant bombardment of words and phrases in the lenses accompanied by specific shocks, my clients were conditioned towards the military's standards. Words like “America,” “Patriot,” and “Tradition” would be positively reinforced, “Progression,” “Disobedience,” and “Anti-Government” were among the opposite.

OCTOBER

“I’m not gonna lie, Doctor,” James tapped his sunglasses. “I thought this exercise was a little silly, but I think I’ve actually noticed some differences.”

I smiled politely, acting none the wiser. The changes had already been evident as soon as the lieutenant had stepped foot in my office. Unlike before, he had been excited to come here. Anything to help his country after all.

“By all means, do continue.”

“You were right about a lot of things, actually,” the lieutenant chuckled. “It was like these glasses implanted a new outlook on me. I began to think about what you said and realized so many of my problems did lead back to that mistrust. America is the greatest country on Earth! Why would it wrong me?”

“Has this affected your patriotism at all?” I innocently inquired.

The lieutenant bounced with joy. “Totally! Trust is a two-way street, and if I’m going to trust my great country it has to trust me back.”

“What have you done to earn this trust, James?”

“I’ve started displaying my patriotism as much as I can!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got a huge flag hanging over my cot, been signing up for all the pro-government resource groups at the base, and am even on the preparation committee for the Military Appreciation Day.”

His commanding officer had already reported that last fact to me earlier in the week. With the lieutenant fairly uneducated–he had never finished high school–I knew he would be one of my more approachable clients. Now however, I believed there was the possibility of a complete conversion for the lieutenant, an entire transformation rather than just restoration. 

“Tell me, James, has this recovery of your patriotism helped you discover a stronger sense of belonging?"

The lieutenant hesitated before answering. “I mean, in some ways, yes. But a lot of the guys still see me for certain aspects.” He was referring to his atheism, his androgyny, and his homosexuality. 

I decided to test my influence: “Wouldn’t it be easier if you were more like the other men on base? Identical even?”

The lieutenant bore a confused expression, but after a moment relaxed and softened his gaze.

“Identical to…other men…yeah that sounds nice,” he drawled. The sunglasses had also begun the gradual conditioning of accepting explicit commands. To start, the lieutenant would be easily suggestible, but eventually he would become as programmable as any machine.

“The military is built around uniformity, sameness. Each piece fits together without independent thought. Instead of considering yourself as special, wouldn’t you say you were actually deviant?”

Being early on, it was crucial that I instilled my ideas as if they were the lieutenant’s own. As if they were some deep, low truths that I had just awoken inside him.

“I’m not special…I’m deviant…”

“I think you’re correct, James,” I reaffirmed. “Your next assignment should be to explore the other mens’ perspectives through your glasses. What makes them fit in where you stand out? What do they follow and who do they trust?”

Once the lieutenant had left, I began inserting the additional algorithms into his sunglasses. New trigger words were added: “Masculinity,” “Loyalty,” “Tradition,” and “Common” were all added as positive influencers to have him absorb his surroundings. Shocks would now also enact physical changes, reinforcing the conditioning through visible effects. I did not add any negative influencers–the agoraphobia we had “exposed” would be powerful enough.

NOVEMBER

The man who was placed before me no longer appeared like the lieutenant who had first stepped into my office. Where once a pathetic excuse of a soldier sat, now was a real triumph of a man. Gone was the lanky creature who stood against the military, who had appeared smaller than the incredible beard surrounding the lieutenant's face.

“James, how did you handle the assignment I gave you?”

The lieutenant grunted, “Happy to report it went well, sir.” His voice had dropped an octave since we last spoke. “I’ve integrated much better with the other men.”

I would not have chosen the term “integrated,” rather “conformed.” Physically, the lieutenant had been remodeled into the typical soldier on the base. He now stood taller than my own 6’1, had gained 40 pounds of pure muscle, and been doused in a coat of body hair. His features had become much more masculine: pronounced jaw, furrowed brow, an undeniable bulge in his trousers. I had been pleasantly surprised to find a new demerit in his file earlier, a noise complaint regarding the stomping of his rather large combat boots.

While all the physical changes displayed progress, it did not make for any mental indication.

“In what ways have you better conformed to your fellow soldiers?” I asked, planting the subtle correction.

“I’ve started taking interest in the other soldier’s activities, sir,” the lieutenant answered. “What they do when not in command.”

“Like what?”

“Drinking with the men, listening to their conversations.”

“Do you partake in them?”

“Sometimes, sir,” the lieutenant replied honestly. “Topics of politics and religion, not so much.”

I pretended to scribble down his answer as I altered it aloud. “‘Topics of politics and religion, very much’.”

The lieutenant’s eyes refocused momentarily before fixing back in. “The men are conservative, sir. Tradition is a very powerful influence in their…our life.”

I smiled, “Then you consider yourself conservative too, James?”

“Yes sir,” James nodded confidently. “America is the greatest country in the world, and the Republicans are the only ones that recognize that.”

“They also recognize the importance of religion, as do the rest of the men on the base,” I steered the conversation along. “How do you recognize the importance of religion, James?”

I already knew his answer before he said it. My addition of “how” scripted his response.

“Christianity is the heart of many of the men’s…and my actions.” With more confidence, he continued, “I am attending the weekly services held in our chapel, and with the guidance of my commanding officer hosting a bi-weekly Bible study with some of my fellow soldiers.”

Before I could respond, the lieutenant continued. “It has also given me the opportunity to explore my sexuality's role in religion, sir. I have even been able to discuss it with the other men.”

I blinked, choosing my words carefully. “Are you indicating that there is a place for homosexuality?”

The lieutenant nodded.

“There is no place for homosexuality on this base, Jared.” 

The lieutenant’s eyes glazed over, a headache overcoming him. With the lieutenant still holding onto some mental capacity, I knew the command would not be permanent. It would however provide a solid start, further enforced by another modification to his identity.

"Sir?" the lieutenant struggled to form his words. “I don’t…think I understand.”

"Jared. That's your name.” I knew that he was referring to my full statement, but the lack of acknowledgement would better solidify his truth. “That's what is on the file."

"Jared?" The lieutenant processed, before eventually mumbling in confirmation, “Jared.”

I excused him immediately after, letting his own mind convert itself. Now that he had accepted his new name, it would be much easier to accept his sexuality. To assure this, I added some final words to his positive reinforcement: “Heterosexual,” “Breeder,” and as an added insult, “Normal.” It took me a bit to list all the forms of “Homosexual” in his negative conditioners, which I had amped to the strongest shock setting.

DECEMBER

“Come in.”

The lieutenant entered my office and properly saluted me before taking his seat. He sat confidently, his immense size dominating the space with his legs spread wide apart. He embodied masculinity, the air toxic with his superiority and musk. The lieutenant was now large and in charge, and yet had been reduced to nothing more than another pawn.

“This is our final session, James,” I tested.

“Jared, sir,” he corrected. 

I politely apologized before continuing. “I have been hearing a lot of high remarks from the commanding officer. Apparently you’ve become quite the soldier.”

The lieutenant bore no facial expression. “I follow orders, sir. Follow authority.”

“And what does this mean, Jared,” I pushed.

“Executing directives, obeying commands.”

“And that’s what all the other men do, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So you are nothing more than just another soldier?”

“Yes sir.”

“So you are exactly like every other man on this base? One more machine for our great nation?” Each of my words were fast, pointed, cementing themselves permanently into the lieutenant's head.

“Yes sir, exactly like every other man on this base.”  

I leaned back in my chair, relishing in the moment knowing the lieutenant had no idea why. 

“This is my favorite part, Jared.” The lieutenant remained stoic. “It’s a great moment when you realize you want to be whatever your superiors want you to be. Do you know what your commanding officer wanted you to be?”

The lieutenant bowed his head. “No sir.”

I chuckled, “Would you consider yourself a patriot, soldier?”

“I live and breathe America, sir. I proudly serve this country and would proudly die for it.”

“Is masculinity important to you?”

“Masculinity is what defines the man, sir. Size, strength, and control dictate the alpha male.”

“Where do you align politically?” I pondered.

“Red-blooded American through-and-through, sir,” the lieutenant asserted. “Liberals are nothing more than cry-baby, nation-hating snowflakes.”

“And religiously?”

“Die-hard Christian, sir. Anything the Bible says is truth.”

“Uh-huh,” I accepted. “Then may I ask what your thoughts are on homosexuality?”

For the first time, I noticed the faintest expression on the lieutenant's face: hatred. 

“Nevermind,” I backed off. A new demerit had appeared on the lieutenant’s file last week. Apparently, to the commanding officer’s amusement, the lieutenant had accidentally gotten in the habit of yelling out drills with “faggot” rather than “maggot”.

“You know, Jared, I don’t think I ever asked about your romantic life.” I closed his file and stood up, motioning for the door. “Got any women waiting back home for you?”

The lieutenant laughed a little, scratching at his crotch before settling back into rank “No sir, nothing permanent. I’ve spread my seed and thoroughly impregnated a few too many women, so all I’ve got is an onslaught of unwanted kids and child support.”

I gave him a pat on the back and an “At ease, soldier,” dismissing my latest triumph back to his base. With a smirk, I tallied down my latest success and drafted the completion letter for his commanding officer.

JANUARY

It had been a few weeks since I had last seen the lieutenant. I had however heard of his impacts through the glowing reviews from his commanding officer and others at the base. One even sent me a picture of the lieutenant out on the field, still proudly wearing his sunglasses.

I forwarded the picture to my secretary, requesting for it to be printed and framed. They asked if he was my son.

“Like one,” I replied. I then gathered some files and my notepad before calling in my next client.

“Come in.”

[mrrharper]

This Is How You Recruit Gym Bros

Drake stood in front of one of many mirrors in the gym lobby and took out his phone. Then he flexed his pumped arm and got a few pictures for Instagram. As he did the Gym Owner walked up to him.

"How was the day, Drake?" he asked as he put his hand on Drake's shoulder. The gym bro grinned and did a double biceps pose, showing off his muscles to his own-- his employer.

"Good, boss." He replied in his usual dumb and low voice. "Had three clients, got sick pump on huge guns" He then flexed his arms again, showing off his biceps to the Owner.

Owner walked up to Drake and squeezed these pumped biceps.

"That's good, you're a great asset." He inhaled the gym bro's sweaty scent and saw as Drake grinned and began laughing like the dumb jock he was.

"Yes, boss" Drake drawled, his eyes unfocused, his mouth slightly open and drool starting to leak from it.

Only two weeks earlier Drake was David. A scrawny college student, whom the Owner attracted to his new gym with a heavily discounted monthly pass. He also showered him with free workout gear, as well as a jersey, a few chains and caps.

For David it was just a way of building brand loyalty or some similar bullshit, but for the Owner it was something more. The desired effects became apparent very quickly. As David continued wearing the gear he got, his mental capacity quickly deteriorated. His speech patterns became very basic and full of jock speak, he stopped attending classes and instead started spending hours and hours in the gym.

Barely a week has passed and David was now a muscular jock. The Owner decided that was the moment to act.

"Hey, man, I've seen you around the gym a lot recently."

"Huhuhuh, yeah bruh" David responded and scratched his crotch.

"What would you say if I would propose you work for me as a Personal Trainer? I need guys like you here."

"Uhhhh, bruh... I guess, like I dunno dude, uuuuhh..."

"Great!" Owner took David and guided him to his office. "You're redy to become an asset of Steel Gym, Drake!"

"Duuuude, it's like, uhhh... David--"

"Drake. That's your name. That's what in the gym's system."

"Drake?" the gym bro looked at the Owner with a confused expression. He, in response took a chain laying on his desk and put it around Drake's neck. The bro immediately relaxed, his eyes unfocused, and he grinned lazily.

"Drake... trainer... good asset... gym... boss..." he drawled as he signed the contract and officially became the gym's newest machine.

#nerd to jock tf #jock tf #jock #gym bro

[mrrharper]

Gary wasn't happy with his only son. Because he decided to go liberal arts college and had no room for their small town in the plan for his life.

Gary, a National Guardsman himself, tried changing that, but repeatedly failed.

And then the Spartan Program stepped in.

It took just a few weeks, after which Spartan Guard 84US came to his home and Gary couldn't be prouder.

His son was now a proud Spartan, ready to defend his homeland with the gun he's always carrying around. He now works to uphold the Masculine American way of life and protect the fruits of the Program in rural America.

Everyday he lifts weights, takes care of getting a new recruit foe the Program and patrols the streets, gun on his shoulder.

And Gary couldn't be prouder.

[mrrharper]

He came to America as Barry, a 19 year old exchange student from England.

He went to a seemingly mundane orientation meeting just outside campus.

The meeting was organized by the Spartan Program.

Now he's Garret, relaxing on the outskirts of his hometown in rural Arkansas. His muscular guns out, his gun by his side, the American flag waving at the back of his truck. The sunglasses cover his dull, empty eyes (a side effect of the Program)

He's a Spartan, a man spreading American masculinity. He's just like any other Spartan, and that's how he likes it. How he has to like it. He's ready to defend his rights and when the order comes - defend the country.

[mrrharper]

Personal Muscle, Uniform Included

Logan sat in his living room, looking out the window and ignoring all the e-mails waiting for his response. He watched as Lt. Storm paced in front of the house and fiddled with his protein shake. Just 15 minutes ago Storm finished a workout session, leaving his muscles pumped and sweaty, which was exactly how Logan enjoyed him.

Logan stood up and walked out of the house to see Storm finish his shake and put on his sunglasses. Storm noticed Logan on the porch and approached him. He stood straight and saluted.

"Commander. Your guard is ready."

"Good", Logan responded and put his hand on Storm's bulging biceps. The soldier didn't react to his touch. "You know what's on the agenda today?"

"Yes, sir", Storm replied, his voice low and gruff. Logan stood inches from him, inhaling his sweaty musk and massaging his arms. "I will be guarding your residence until 1900, when I will accompany you during your meeting with Mr. Janson."

Logan nodded, then licked the sweat off Storm's neck. "Exactly. Now assume your position, lieutenant." He gave Storm's pecs one more squeeze before walking towards the door and back into the house. Storm meanwhile moved into his default position - to the side of the entrance - then clasped his hands behind his back and stood there, not moving an inch, like a statue, guarding Logan's home.

Lieutenant Ryder Storm. 6'5, 260 pounds. Logan was pretty sure that wasn't his real name, but he didn't really care. What mattered was not his name, but that this behemoth of a man was completely under his control.

Many might think capturing and taking control over an American soldier would be a tall task. But well, it wasn't Logan's fault the Army made his job much easier by brainwashing Storm first. Both in that normal way of bombarding him with blunt propaganda and reshaping his personality during training, and in the unusual way of implanting a mind control chip on the back of his neck and connecting it to his nervous system.

As it is often the case with leading a fairly illegal enterprise, the government might want to disrupt one's dealings. And this was exactly what happened one day when a Special Forces squad entered one of Logan's undisclosed locations. The incident wasn't very destructive, no incriminating evidence found its way into the soldiers' hands.

Even better, one of the squad members lost his way and stepped into a small storage hall that Logan used as a trap. He then had the soldier transported to his residence where he began his work.

Discovering that Storm's thoughts were being tightly controlled by a mind control chip was like winning a lottery. He quickly gained control over this fascinating piece of army technology. First, he sent a few signals to the soldier's command to make sure they wouldn't even think of recovering him. Then things got interesting.

Logan spent hours untangling the Army's programming and rewiring it so that Storm would be fearlessly devoted to him, and not any of his previous superiors. The process was a bit messy, but not as hard as Logan expected. It was surprisingly easy to use the Army's conditioning that made Storm an obedient weapon to turn him into Logan's enforcer.

And that was the extent of his original plans. Make the muscular soldier his personal security guard. The criminal underworld he was dealing with on the regular wasn't known for its high regard for bodily autonomy, and having a brick wall of a man standing right beside you really helped during talks and negotiations.

Logan laid on the couch, on the phone with a subcontractor who trying really hard to backtrack on their side of the contract. It's been annoying dealing with the guy. This was a part of a project he expected to go through seamlessly and without drama. The reality turned out to be much more irritating.

Storm entered the living room, checking up on Logan.

"Is everything in order, sir?"

"Yes, it is.", Logan replied after muting the phone conversation. He looked at Storm, how tight the shirt he wore looked like on his built upper body. That’s when an idea came to him.

"After I give you a sign, you will say loudly 'Ramirez has been dealt with, sir.' You understand?"

"Sir, yes sir!" There was no visible reaction on Storm's face, his voice steady and unemotional. Logan grinned and went back to his call.

"Well, I still have a problem understanding your issue." He furrowed his brow. This guy has been really getting on his nerves. Then he looked at his soldier and nodded. Storm understood the signal and spoke, his voice sounding almost like a threat.

"Ramirez has been dealt with, sir." Storm stood at attention with his military boots slamming against the floor, making his presence known both to Logan and to everyone on the other side of the line.

"Well, thank you, lieutenant. You're dismissed." Storm went back to his spot in front of the door and Logan listened to the silence coming from his phone.

"Sorry for that, where were we?"

And this wasn't enough. Okay, these words might give off the wrong impression. The plan was working. Lt. Ryder Storm was the perfect bodyguard, obeying every order coming from Logan, his loyalty always clearly visible, his execution always perfect, which was great news for him and made his work much easier.

Storm was his perfect, most valuable asset.   Just the thought of Storm, this mountain of muscle that intimidated the shit out of everyone who encountered him, was obeying his every word made him instantly hard. At first, he ignored this feeling, but then he realized - there was nothing limiting him. Why should he restrict himself in what he did with Storm?

And so he stopped restricting himself.

Until then Storm had one mode of operation - an emotionless soldier. And Logan set out to addi another one. He spent a few nights trying to figure out the intricacies of the mind control chip that was implanted in the the back of Storm’s neck. And strangely enough, it turned out the Army found a way to adjust a soldiers' sexuality. Why was that even an option? Logan didn't care (although this might be interesting to investigate another time) but again, it made his job way easier.

He was very proud of the results he achieved. With a simple preprogrammed command Storm would turn from a stern-faced machine to Logan's lover. From that point onwards the soldier spent nights in Logan's bedroom, embracing his commanding officer or getting dominated by him in bed. He ate breakfasts with him, sometimes watched movies on the couch with him. It added the romance that Logan wanted.

And he made sure Storm was one horny man in uniform who always went along with Logan's kinks and desires.

Logan decided he was finished with calls for the day. He had people who would take care of that for the rest of today. He looked outside the window and saw Storm standing beside the door, still as a statue, yet ready to attack. Logan stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it and looked at his enforcer to see if that would provoke any reaction.

But there was none. Storm stood still, his behavior not influenced by Logan's sudden appearance next to him. Which was exactly how he was supposed to behave. And Logan was in a mood to exploit that. He stood close to Storm, just inches from his massive chest, and slowly slid his hand under the soldier's t-shirt.

Storm showed no sign of discomfort or arousal, he barely showed any signs of life. So, Logan continued, exploring Storm's clearly developed abs and meaty chest, the muscles moving under his fingers. Storm's skin was warm and slightly sweaty, his body had a very masculine scent, and Logan loved it.

As he explored Storm's body he knew he wanted more.

"Tell me, soldier, what are the chances of an imminent threat appearing within the next hour?"

"Rather low, no foreign activity detected, sir." Storm responded in his standard emotionless and low voice. Logan groaned as he licked his guard's neck and beard, then said:

"Okay, fuck it. Storm, come with me." He then quickly stepped back inside and stood in the living room. Storm followed right behind him.

"Take off your shirt. Leave the sunglasses and dog tags on." Logan barked an order and watched as Storm uncovered his sculpted upper body in one swift motion.

"Wait, I have another idea," Logan said, devouring Storm's chest with his eyes. "Put the shirt back on and this time rip it off your body."

Without a word the soldier picked the t-shirt from the floor and put it on, before ripping it into pieces with his strong arms. Logan, now extremely turned on, came closer to Storm and put his face in between his pecs, taking in Storm's meaty chest and musky smell. Then he had another idea.

He laid down on the floor and said "Storm, start doing push-ups and position yourself so that my face is directly under your chest."

"Sir, yes sir!" Storm saluted and dropped to the floor, putting his arms on both sides of Logan's head. He then began doing push-ups, and every time he lowered his body, Logan would lick his pecs, tasting the sweaty skin and chest hair. Storm meanwhile didn't react to anything Logan was doing. He just kept pushing his body, up and down, up and down, grunting after each push-up, which Logan found insanely hot.

After a while Logan couldn't control himself. He moved his body so that he was facing Storm directly. He then waited for the right moment and when the soldier's face was down he moved quickly and kissed Storm. And that was his trigger - Storm stopped moving and instead collapsed onto Logan, kissing him passionately.

#soldier #soldier mind control #soldier reprogramming #small dom big sub

[mrrharper]

1000+ followers / Commissions

What's up, everyone!

First of all, the follower count for this blog seems to be glitched, so I'm only 95% sure that the following paragraph is correct. But anyway...

This blog has reached and surpassed 1000 followers, which is kinda insane. Never really expected this collection of my weird little stories would get a large following, and certainly not this fast. And I'm so damn grateful for that.

Especially for all the positive messages you bros sent me. It's such a great feeling when you realize there's a whole community of people that share interests and kinks with you. Thanks for every DM, it's really cool to see a notification about a new message, appreciate that very much.

So I come here with gratitude. Thanks for all the support bros, stay tuned for what's coming next! There are quite a few hot (in my personal opinion) ideas sitting in my drafts, there are sequels and longer stories and more musky jocks and soldiers coming.

I also come here with a proposition.

I am now doing writing commissions - if you would like me to write a story for you, you now have the option to make your wish a reality.

If you are interested, please contact me (through DMs) and tell me what you have in mind. We'll work together and figure out the details. But before we begin, please read the details below first.

What I will write about:

Of course, I am most comfortable with the stuff I've been writing about already - please check out my writing to see exactly what that entails. My interests include jocks, cops, soldiers as well as transformations, mental change, identity change, muscle growth or mind control.

But I am open to other stuff, although in that case I'd like for you, the person commissioning the work, to be more prepared to provide me with the kinds of details you'd like me to include in your story. I will not be able to help you figure the details out as well as with themes I'm more used to.

When writing to me, please be... fairly specific. Come with more than one sentence. If you want to give me a vague idea, you can just send me an ask. Try to also approximate the length of the story, check out my other writing to get a sense of how much detail and story can fit into 500 words.

What I will not write about:

These are my red lines - things, themes, kinks I will not write about because I'm not comfortable working with them. This is not a value judgement - I am not saying that any of those things are bad, that you should feel bad if you get off to stories that include them. With that in mind, the list includes:

Feminization/main focus on female characters

Bathroom stuff (watersports, scat, etc.)

Excessive violence, torture, rape etc.

Chastity

Real celebrities

Feet

Underage (duh)

Inflation/excessive size

This list is not exhaustive, and I reserve the right to say no to your proposal.

And about explicit writing: for now I will not write stories that include explicit scenes, that is characters fucking, you know what I mean. The reasons for this are twofold: I'm not sure in my ability to deliver writing that will be satisfactory in that regard AND it is a grey area when it comes to taking payments for that type of content. So for now its a no, bros.

Pricing:

My base rate is 3 EUR for every 100 words. That translates to 15 EUR for 500 words, 30 words for 1000 words, and so on.

The payment is upfront, the size of which will be decided before I begin writing based on what you'll want and what we will decide your idea needs. The payment will be made through the "commission" section of my Ko-Fi page (https://ko-fi.com/mrrharper). You can also go there and see if I'm accepting new commissions (I will set the number of free slots there and update it).

Other information:

Please, take into account that I have a life outside of Tumblr. I have a family and friends to foster relations with, classes to go to, papers to write. Because of this I might not be able to answer within seconds or complete your story as fast as you would expect or want to, and I ask you to take that into consideration.

After the work is finished I will provide you with the full file containing the story in a format of your choosing (but remember that I'm not paying for any professional word processing software).

I might want to one day post your commission on my blog (with credit). If you'd like for me to not do that, or not credit you, please tell me.

That's it for now, don't be surprised if I add (or ask for) some more details as we talk.

The Ko-Fi page is also open to one-off and monthly donations, if you really want to support me. I will really appreciate every single donation, but please - DO NOT feel pressured to support me financially. You reading my stories, liking and following, is completely enough.

Thanks for everything bros! See ya soon and Fly Eagles Fly!

#tumblr milestone #open commissions

[mrrharper]

Waiting For The Roommate

Max sat in the passenger seat of his roommate's truck, waiting for Buck, who needed to quickly come back to their dorm room. As he waited he took off his tank top, it was fuckin' hot inside. He rolled down the window to get some fresh inside the car.

As he stuck his head out the window to breathe in some fresh air he saw some nerd approach him. He was wearing a dark brown button-down shirt and had a stack of papers in his hand.

"Max, is that you?" The nerd asked, looking at him. A smile appeared on his face.

"uhhhhhhhh... dude, do i know ya?" He asked, convincing himself not to call the guy a loser or a nerd. Coach said he had to get better at dealing with strangers.

"Max, it's me - Michael. We went to high school together!" The other guy replied, clearly convinced that they knew each other. High school? Max's head was covered with a fog, he couldn't conjure up any specific memories from high school.

"you sure bro?"

"Damn, Max, we had like half our classes together!" The nerd was getting a bit frustrated for some reason. "We talked about going to the same uni, and so much more! And now you say you don't know me?"

Max tried to focus. High school, friends, classes, college. It felt like his brain was fighting against him, a thick fog covering everything. His thoughts began turning towards his next workout. Damn, he'll be doing arms and chest. Yea-- Holy shit, he knew that guy!

"oh fuck, mike, yeah, of course, how are you brah?" Max extended his hand for Mike to bump, but he just awkwardly looked at it. Max ignored it.

"Oh my god, for a moment I thought you weren't joking" A half-hearted laugh escaped Mike's mouth. Max just grinned. "I'm fine, settled into college life. Found a study group--" Mike continued talking but Max didn't register another word. He was this guy's good bro - apparently - but that didn't mean he would be able to tolerate that nerd bullshit. He was made for different things than studying - like workin' out with his best bro Buck.

"Anyway" Mike looked straight at Max, whose attention came back. "How was your first year. You look... like a different person!"

"what you mean bruh?" Max asked. What did that ner-- what did Mike mean? Different? He was always a badass jock.

"I mean, you're jacked! In high school you hated gym class, and here you are, buff and all."

"dude, am like, ya know, a real bro, dude. gotta be jacked as hell" He responded and flexed his right arm, his biceps moving and bulging under his skin.

"I mean, that's quite the change. Like, we kinda lost contact after the summer, and you didn't give any sign of life, and I thought... but you're here!" Mike was clearly excited and Max smiled. Wait, what was this dude's deal? He was textin' and talkin' with a nerd like that? Nah, this didn't make sense... where the fuck was Buck where he needed him!

"huhuhuhuhuhuh, yeah bruh" Max just chuckled like the dumb jock he was, he didn't know what to say. He shifted in his seat and scratched his armpit.

"Anyway" Mike went on "how was your first year in college? Were you able to get into that engineering program you've talked about?"

Engineeri-- what? "huhuhuh bro, are you high dude, i ain't here for some weird soundin' shit like that bro. am here to get drunk, work out and crush State, fuck yeah duhuhuhuh." Oh yeah, Max remembered the last game they played, State's lame ass defence couldn't stop the brute force of their offensive line. And the look on their faces when their WR1 tore a muscle in his leg... fuckin' priceless dude!

Mike was clearly not prepared for that answer, which Max found weird, cause he thought his jacked bod was proof enough that he wasn't a stupid nerd.

"Wait, so..." He was clearly confused "if you're not doing engineering then what is your major?"

"major?" Max had no idea what that guy meant... Major... what was a major... Coach talked to him about something like that... It was something along the lines of... "uhhhhh, general ed? dunno bro, never really been a guy to focus on shit."

"What, general education?" Mike seemed shocked. "But, like... I don't understand, Max, you... You said you wanted that, so that you could do a PhD... Why did you change your mind... Like, really, why did you change so much?!"

All that talk 'bout changes made Max's head spin a little bit. Like, what changes? He's been a fuckin' bro since he came here, got a room with Buck, cause before that-- his brain again began filling with fog, his thoughts slowing down to a halt, but not before he blurted out a response.

"duuuuude, like, bro, ive been a real bruh, like, forever dude, duuuuuuuh, like i got my bro Buck, and he got me to Coach, and uhhhhhhhhh, ya know, he worked on me and huhuhuh--" and his mind went blank, a dumb grin stuck on his face.

"What do you mean? A coach 'worked on' you? That sounds... concerning, you know that, right?" Mike adjusted his glasses and looked at Max, clearly concerned.

But Max... Max's brain had shut off. He was sitting in the passenger seat of his best bro Buck's truck, chuckling like a dumb idiot and drooling slightly.

"duhuhuhuhuhuh, duuuude... fuckin' hot today brah, gotta get that pump huhuhuhuh" He flexed his arm and touched his bulging biceps.

"Jesus, did they do something to you? Did you have some traumatic head injury?" Mike leaned on the car, looking inside the vehicle to see what was happening with Max. "God, did they brainwash you? You're a completely different person... and a dumb jock!"

It took a while for Max's fog-covered brain to register what the nerd said. And before he even began formulating a response Buck approached the car.

Buck was wearing a loose tank top that revealed his broad shoulders and giant guns, while also showing off his chest. His shorts, like second skin on his thick thighs, left nothing to imagination with his bulge clearly visible. He was a jock. An alpha. Max's best bro.

"duuude, ya won't believe the chick i saw while gettin' out of the dorm--" He started speaking as he opened the door on the driver's side, but then he noticed Mike standing by Max's window. "ey bruh, who's that loser?"

"huh?" Max turned to Buck, his grin disappearing and his his brow now furrowed. "i... dunno, bro..."

Buck and Mike looked at each other for a moment, the first one annoyed, the second slightly terrified.

"get away from the car" Buck barked as he sad down in front of the steering wheel.

"Wait, please, just a moment, you know what happened to Max? Pleas i just want to--"

"Go away, you fuckin' nerd" was the response Mike got. He took a step away from the car but didn't go away. Meanwhile Max realized what was happening. Some nerd was disturbing them and not listening to Buck's commands. And that wasn't the right thing to do. He turned his head to face the nerd.

"why you starin' at me, nerd" Max growled. His mind, completely covered by the fog, was now following Buck's lead. And Buck didn't like the nerd. So Max didn't like the nerd.

"Max, what... what happened?" Terror shifted into confusion as Mike tried to comprehend Max's sudden change in mood.

"oh, just fuck off, loser" Max responded and Buck took that as a sign. He turned the engine on and drove away, leaving Michael alone in the parking lot.

"uhhhhhh, do we know this guy?" Max asked a few minutes later. "that nerd form before?"

"nah, bro, of course not. we're real jocks, we're not gonna fraternize with fuckin' losers." Buck let our a low and dumb laugh. "by the way, tomorrow we're gonna get ya to Coach for a check up, just in case"

#jock tf #jock #football jock #personality change #nerd to jock tf

[mrrharper]

More Loyal, More American, More The Same

Coach had been annoyed a bit lately. It wasn't because of any singular thing - a lost game or some encounter. It was more of a... vibe, as his players would say. It's something that's been nagging him for a long time.

The whole atmosphere around college football has changed. Players can now earn money, meaning they now care only about getting rich instead of sacrificing everything they've got for the team. The craze abound 'toxic masculinity' has taken hold, and as a result many guys on the team have taken up interests and activities unworthy of real men - and they are extremely public about this!

Something has been lost - some immeasurable yet vital part of college football's spirit. And unfortunately Coach's team wasn't immune to this. He has seen his younger recruits display a variety of behaviors that differed from his view of how a college football rookie should function in a locker room filled with other football players.

And Coach's opinion becomes the law of the locker room. So after he saw a few of his defensive linemen participate in a film theory seminar, and his starting wide receiver posted a picture showing him attending some anti-government protest, he knew he had to act.

He decided to tackle these issues in a few ways. He began with working on his players' patriotism. Coach knew that he needed his guys to have this base layer - respect for the great nation that they were a part of - that he could build upon. He turned to one of his most trusted tools, subconscious messaging hidden in his videos and presentations.

you are an American

you are a Real Patriot

you play AMERICAN football

you fight for America

America is the greatest country on Earth

you preserve American traditions and values

During teem meetings, the players' minds began internalizing the importance of unquestionable loyalty to the US of A, the greatest place in the world. Coach spent a few weeks working on this, and when Military Appreciation Day came, for the first time in a long time, the whole team took active part in it. He even heard a few of them talk abut enlisting after college.

Motivated by such positive results, Coach moved to his next objective. After a bit of tampering, the speakers the players used to play music in the gym during workouts began incorporating conditioning that would align their behavior with Coach's expectations.

i am a man

i am proud to be a man

i am a strong man

i do what is masculine

my manhood needs upkeep

masculinity defines me

Alongside this, it didn't take a lot of work for coach to make sure that none of his players could sign up for any extracurricular activity through the school's registration system. Not only that, they were now barred form attending anything other than the most basic of classes.

Fortunately, the results were visible here as well. The players stopped attending seminars and lectures created by a bunch of nerds and no longer showed interest in investing much time into any sort of academic work.

The last step Coach decided to undertake was meant to address the issue of money. Players, having the ability to make deals and get income from their appearance in games, seemed to have lost the true reason for playing college football. But there was a way of dealing with that too.

The new helmets that the athletics department bought recently all include a pair of speakers for the purpose of communication between the coaches and the player. In theory this is reserved only for the QB, but there's nothing Coach can't work around.

i play AMERICAN football

i am grateful Coach allows me to play

i play football for glory and to preserve tradition

the thrill of the game is enough

i am Coach's loyal football jock

During every practice, during every workout, during every game, the player's minds were being bombarded with Coach's hypnotic message. And it was working. The guys were displaying their patriotism more often - flags hanging in their rooms, tons of pro-american posts on Instagram, they stopped attending non-mandatory classes and instead added another team session in the gym to their schedules, and Coach noted a visible drop in the number of sponsorship deals the players were making.

There might have been one side effect. As time went on the players began looking more and more similar. The same hobbies, mostly working out or shooting, the same clothes, the same views, the same drive to protect tradition. And Coach had absolutely nothing against that. Who cares if they all act the same, as long as they act exactly as he wants them to.

As Coach's loyal football jocks.

#jock tf #football jock #personality change #jock development #jock

[mrrharper]

Law, Order and Musk

CW: explicit sections + slurs

Logan laid on the bed, Sergeant Cross looking down at him, preventing him from moving.

"You like that, don't you, you bitch" Cross growled, an arogant smirk on his face. "You need a man to show you your place in the hierarchy." He then flexed his arms. "That's the sight of a real man."

Logan swallowed loudly. Cross lowered himself his face just a few inches from Logan's. "You feel it? The masculine musk of a grueling workout. This is how men smell, this is how real men feel." He then grabbed Logan's head and pushed it into his armpit. "Now feel it for yourself, you scum."

Logan took a few deep whiffs and then licked Cross' hairy pits, almost getting high on his smell. Cross held his head for a moment, before loosening his grip and letting Logan return to his previous position.

Cross flexed his arms again. "Look at these guns. This is raw, masculine power that will crush you if you go against it." He then grabbed Logan by his shirt and thrust him upwards, so that his face was now directed at his bulging biceps. Cross looked at Logan, who knew what to do.

He began worshiping these arms, kissing and massaging them. As he did, he felt his cock leaking, straining against the jockstrap he was wearing. Cross also noticed that.

"Duhuhuh, you like a man putting you in your place." he said as he cupped Logan's package in his hand. "You fucking faggot--"

Logan's work phone started ringing. Cross didn't react, still looking menacingly at Logan, who groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Ugh, fuck." He looked at the other man leaning over him. "Okay Cross, time out. Gotta take care of this." Sergeant's demeanor suddenly changed. He quickly got off of Logan and stood next to the bed, his arm up in a salute. "Sir, yes sir."

Logan smirked. "Glad we understand each other. Now go and do the laundry while I take care of this" he ordered the other man, who saluted him again and left the bedroom with a "Yes, Chief!"

Logan answered the phone. It was just a boring call from corporate that could have been an e-mail, but wasn't unfortunately.

It's been just under a month since Cross became a fixed part of Logan's apartment and he still couldn't get enough of that man.

Their paths crossed when Logan's close friend complained to him about a cop that stopped her on her way to work even though she was driving under the speed limit, then went on to be an extremely sexist douchebag during the whole encounter.

So he pulled some strings at work and found a way inside their local police department, where he found the man himself - Sergeant Dylan Cross. 6'4, broad shoulders and chest, bulky arms and legs, that man was the poster child for the police force. And the local gym. Everything about him screamed "I have the power." So Logan decided to change that.

At first he only wanted some revenge. Get the cop under his control with some fancy hypnosis, then humiliate him and make him painfully aware of it. Give him a short but painful lesson about abusing his position and disappear.

But he couldn't get enough. There was something about this man that pulled Logan towards him, and he couldn't deny it. So he changed course. Cross was single and lived alone so the first part was easy. Logan had an apartment way too big for one person, thus he didn't have a problem fitting the cop in.

Then came the training. Over the course of a week Logan worked on Cross, making him completely obedient to him. Using the parts of his police training that found their way into his subconscious Logan made sure that Cross saw as his boss - a Chief with all the power.

With that out of the way, Cross became Logan's personal cop, taking care of everything he needed taken care of. That meant house chores, work-related stuff, providing security on business meetings and so on.

It didn't take long until Logan's attraction to Cross became inescapable. It also didn't take a genius to figure out that the macho cop was straight, but Logan was ready for a challenge. It took him surprisingly little effort to turn the officer from a heterosexual player into a bisexual who exclusively slept with men. And one man in particular.

Depending on Logan's mood Cross was his caring lover or aggressive dom. Logan found himself enjoying Cross's arrogant demeanor and so he made sure that the cop's original personality was always somewhere under the layers of conditioning, ready to be unleashed whenever Logan was horny enough.

Logan was still on the phone when he saw Cross standing in the entrance to the bedroom, hands behind his back, looking straight ahead. He looked at the cop and, knowing that it would take him a while to take care of this call, he made a motion with his hand as if he was lifting a dumbbell. Cross quickly understood, saluted Logan and walked over to his gym that Logan made him organize on the other side of the apartment.

Another 20 minutes later, and Logan was finally free. A few moments after he finished the call Cross came back, his body covered in sweat and his tank top wet and damp. "Sir, reporting after a 20 minute upper body session."

"Good job, officer" Logan answered, already feeling the smell of sweat fill his nostrils "We can now continue where we left off." Cross saluted again, before his expression changed to that of pure anger. He immediately moved over to where Logan was standing, then grabbed and pushed him onto the bed.

Logan watched as Cross took off his tank top, which he then threw on the bed next to him. The cop then walked up tot he bed, standing over Logan and looking at him with disgust. He dragged his hand over his sweaty stomach and let the sweat dropping from it cover Logan's face. "You fucking faggot. Can't get enough of me."

Logan's dick got hard immediately. He licked some of the sweat from his face as Cross leaned over him, putting his arm next to Logan's head. The cop took the tank laying on the bed and put it up to the smaller man's nose.

"Feel it bitch? That's the smell of a real man."

#personality change #cops #cops mind control #cops reprogramming #musk #hypnosis