Tag: Subjects

Subject Caption #4

He found the file on the internet at random, as if by chance the universe had placed the key to his destiny in his lap. “ALPHA MUSCLE GOD”. The name was evocative, Alluring, A promise and a call to action. He’d tried so many other files before to achieve his goals, and some had worked; at the very least they had motivated him to build his body to the powerful sculpted form of perfection it was now…but still. Physical prowess was only one part of what he wanted. He had tried the “fake it till you make it” approach towards becoming who he had always longed to be, but it never felt right. It always felt like an act. A ploy.

And yet still this file called to him it felt different, so he took the plunge. Before his workout he took out his headphones, and found a quiet place inside the gym where he wouldn’t be disturbed; the empty Yoga studio and gave it a try.

The sound of the sultry male voice behind the black screen was an instant surprise to him. Relaxing, comforting, Reassuring. Leading him down and down and down into trance, his mind tried to resist but he could feel it all overwhelming him. The thoughts draining from his head. His muscles unwinding in a way that felt so pleasurable. The deep voice in his ears making him rock hard in his gym shorts. His consciousness blanking out completely as the voice counted down into the Abyss.

Time in that tranced state seemed to move so much differently. The minutes flowing past him like a steady stream of vague experiences that he could only remember as passing sensations and whispered suggestions so deep into his subconscious.

He slowly came back to regular consciousness but fuck…Everything else felt different. He felt the new truth surge through his entire body. It all finally clicked inside his head. He was a God on earth. A fucking Master of his own destiny! Why had it taken him this long to realize that? All of these pathetic creatures should worship the very ground he walked upon, laying tribute at his feet.

They all should worship the superior form of their new God. He felt the power surge through his body, looking down to admire the perfect form of Divinity. The mighty curve of his biceps flexed to perfection, a mountainous peak traced over with those throbbing delicious veins. Arms so strong and brawny that they could easily crush the inferior whelps. Those thick Striated pecs; slabs of granite on his chest beneath wish pounded the excited heart of a god.

It felt like exquisite madness, the new paradigm that had shifted into reality. This much power held within a single being…and yet..he wanted More. So much more. He needed it with every fibre of his being, like the primal base instinct of a deadly predator. He could feel that desire, More. More. MORE. More Size, More strength. More power. More dominance over the wretched little fags and sluts who didn’t acknowledge his Godhod. He would get it all. He would be a God among men, and All would respect that truth.

But first, he had to find the person who made that file. He needed more.

The file for this Caption

Subject Caption #3

He submitted to his Master’s programming every day, opening his mind to the seductive possibilities Coach’s Voice laid out in his head. But he couldn’t quite parse or remember everything that Coach told him, Where his thoughts ended and his masters programming began. As far as he remembered(which these days wasn’t very far) he had always been like this. Dumb and totally obsessed with muscle. Despite what his professors and peers told him he didn’t have any interest in all those confusing, boring subjects like Biology and chemistry. In fact every time he tried to think too hard about them all he got in return was a headache and a glorious mental static that drowned out any thoughts of his own and left nothing but the echoing voice of his master whispering into his subconscious.

  He wasn’t even 100% sure his Coach’s hypnotic promises were being fulfilled, that was until he caught another glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Usually this resulted in a few lost hours as he admired his developing form, lost amid glazed over eyes and dripping cock. This time however he was surprised at the sight he saw. Pecs! Real Pecs! Obviously nothing akin to the Models and Himbos he had lusted after and hoped to become, but more than he possessed before he met his Coach.

A dumb slow grin spread across his face which he noticed now was filling out more, grown more angular and sharp and masculine than the slender, boyish features he had once possessed . Working out, jerking off, His master’s words; all of them must have triggered an influx of natural testosterone edging him closer to being the Muscle Boy that he always longed to be.

In a moment of mindless instinct, or perhaps subconscious compulsion, he tried to flex his pecs.
Feeling the way the new muscle moved and swelled beneath his skin, the way his flesh hardened and contorted like carved ebony or sculpted obsidian sent shivers down his spine.
Fuck!! Why did it feel so good? He had flexed before but something felt different this time. His entire body felt alight with orgasmic sensation; of every Fiber, sinew and nerve awash with pleasure. He continued to flex, each pump of his pectorals eliciting a small breathy moan of pleasure from his lips that got louder and louder with each muscular wave up his chest.

After a moment of adoration his voice was Audible and he couldn’t restrain himself, “Oh Coach!” The words came automatically like a switch had been flipped, and what’s more, his voice modulated with the cry of pleasure. Not higher like a pre-pubescent voice crack, but down to a lower tone in the throes of passionate self love. He looked down at himself to see his cock had slipped free from the prison of his shorts. Inching out further and further from his body. Was he even bigger down there now too? Had his Throbbing cock and Churning balls even been affected by this sudden and spectacular change? The revelation took over his mind and he could feel himself slipping away into blissful trance, his IQ and mental faculties leaving him. He could feel the fog clouding his mind, making him so dumb and unable to form a sentence, reducing his cries of pleasure into moans and grunts, too dumb to even form his own words but before he left his senses he made a mental note to never doubt the power of his Master ever again.

Subject Caption #2

Before he fell into the abyss of his master’s files he had never really cared that much about his looks. He looked in the mirror and looked away unconcerned with how he presented himself to the world. But slowly with the repeated loops of his masters voice that drained his mind and his concerns away and implanted his obsession with muscle he found himself spending more and more time in front of the mirror. Admiring the work of his master.

It started out simple, the surprise of such fast gains from the hard work and exhaustion of working out every day like a man possessed. The pump and flex of hard muscles and the gradually exposed 6-pack and thick pecs he had always dreamed of. But eventually it became something…more. Every time he looked in the mirror he would lose track of the time, eyes glazed over; absolutely entranced at the sight of his own body. First a couple seconds or minutes of that mental static before he snapped back to his own consciousness. But soon it became hours of standing there, mentally fixated on every muscle, on the way the light reflected off his smooth chocolate skin, on the way muscle and skin moved and tense and interacted with each other in a sinful dance. The longer he stared the slower his mind would become, the intelligence and IQ literally draining from his brain into the mirror. He didn’t need his smarts when he had a body like this. It seemed like a decent trade-off Sometimes he’d snap back to himself with his cock peeking out of his boxers, leaking and throbbing from hours of being hard. In public he had to avert his gaze from reflective surfaces for fear of being caught in that trance again. Mirrors. Windows. Even the dirty reflection of himself in a puddle had such an alluring call.  But sometimes he felt compelled to look. His masters voice echoing in his ears.

“Worship yourself. Muscle is all that matters. Muscle is all that matters. Muscle is all that matters. You don’t need to think. Just look.”

One time in class he recalled losing himself staring into the teachers glasses at himself, completely blocking out any information he might receive. He was snapped back to attention, drooling and with a happy smile on his face to the teacher berating him for being ‘A brain dead moron’ which just made him smile even more for some reason. This time he snapped back to his body, eyes red and burning…He swore the sun had been high in the sky just a moment ago. On the ground at his feet was a puddle of his own sticky seed. He quickly turned from the mirror but as he did he caught a final fleeting glance at himself. He seemed so much bigger than the last time. His muscles strained with the pump like he had just finished a workout….

Maybe a few more moments in the mirror wouldn’t hurt.

Subject Caption #1

After listening to Coach’s file for 24 hours straight he could do nothing but kneel and feel the perfect bliss of the abyss. His mind totally turned to static. Zoned so far out he couldn’t even focus his eyes and he lost track of how long he had been kneeling there. Was it an hour? Was it a week? It didn’t matter. The only thoughts in his head focused on muscle, and working out and how sexy he was going to be; interspersed of course with the sound of his masters voice whispering in his mind. “Muscle is all that matters.” His body was primed. Perfect for growth, the bulging muscle rippling under his skin ready to fulfil its destiny. His empty, dull brain yearning to fulfil its programming. He could feel it, the subtle way his pecs flexed when he breathed. The twitching fibres in his neck. Even the sculpted masculine jawline he had developed over months of programming. But for now, he just knelt, eyes glazed, head empty, body slowly growing to match what he was inside. The Coach’s ultimate muscle boy.