M4M kink writing. Control and transformation of men. 18+ only.

Category: Dystopia (Page 2 of 2)

When the bow breaks

The uniform clung to Gavin like a second skin, too tight in all the wrong places. The white shirt stretched across his chest, revealing the faint outline of his nipples and every twitch of muscle beneath. The polished brass buttons bulged at the seams, threatening to pop if he exhaled too hard. His black polyester pants were no better. Snug to the point of humiliation, the fabric molded to his thighs and pressed into his groin. But the worst part by far was the bow tie. It was a cheap, garish strip of synthetic fabric, fastened tightly at his throat and barely large enough to tie correctly. It perched there like an afterthought, making him look small and silly, a visible marker of his demotion.  

Gavin adjusted it nervously, his gloved fingers fumbling as he tried to make it sit straight. But no effort could stop it from looking ridiculous, especially compared to the sleek silk neckties the other building residents wore. Their ties draped elegantly, knots thick and proud against crisp, starched collars. Neckties were the mark of men who led; men with Interpersonal Dominance Indexes over 65. Men with power. On the other hand, Bow ties were reserved for those who had failed to measure up, those with IDI scores of 65 and lower. Followers. Not men, just overgrown manboys.  

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Hipster husbands

The morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Greg and Jim’s newly redecorated living room. Vintage leather armchairs, a teak record console, and shelves groaning under the weight of obscure vinyl had replaced the La-Z-Boy recliners, wide-screen TV, and photos of the middle-aged bear couple smiling in front of various landmarks. A fiddle-leaf fig stood in the corner, its glossy leaves throwing reflected light onto a battered mechanical typewriter sitting on a reclaimed wooden desk. Wedged between the keys was a thin placard that read “Words have weight.” 

Jim stood in front of the antique full-length mirror, knotting a mustard-colored silk scarf over his too snug button down. The shirt, two sizes too small, clung to him for dear life and was perfectly suited for a man who wanted people to think it was an old favorite. Over it, he wore a tailored vest with a silver pocket watch and chain. Where he once spent the weekend in cargo shorts and t-shirts, he now excluded the kind of effortless chic that actually took considerable effort to achieve. 

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Bound by law

Aaron stood in front of the full-length mirror, but his gaze wasn’t fixed on his reflection. Instead, he stared at the gleaming latex police uniform laid out on the bed behind him. The pieces were so perfectly arranged, each polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting the afternoon light streaming through the blinds. 

It wasn’t just a uniform; it was a promise of change. Aaron’s heart pounded with the weight of what he was about to do. The air felt thick, charged with the raw energy of expectation, as if the uniform itself was watching him and waiting for him to surrender to its authority. Deep down, Aaron knew that once he started, there would be no going back. 

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