Jay Hypno Writer

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

Category: Gay romance (Page 1 of 2)

A large red sign with white text reads STORED and shows two hands holding a cube. The sign partially covers a person in a suit standing indoors.

Stored (Chapters 1 and 2)

2025-05-12 / / 0 Comments

Chapter 1: Caged Silence 

The silence roared in my ears. The rubber hood amplified my pulse, the hiss of filtered air slipping in and out of the breathing tube, and the subtle, maddening sound of latex creaking as I shifted the barest fraction of an inch. 

I was sealed in, encased from scalp to toe in black rubber, bent at the knees, and arms folded tight to my chest in the smooth, padded hollowness of a hidden chamber. Anyone glancing at it saw nothing more than a piece of designer furniture, a custom walnut bench beneath the living room window. Seamless, elegant, and dead silent. 

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A person in a black suit and black gloves stands indoors. A large red sign with hands holding a cube and the word STORED covers the upper part of their body. The name JAY HYPNO appears at the bottom.

Stored

Charlie once ruled boardrooms in sharp suits and sharper words, a self-assured executive with everything under control. Until Brian. Charismatic, calm, and unshakably dominant, Brian didn’t take Charlie’s control away. Charlie gave it to him. 

What began as flirtation turned into a bond deeper, and darker, than Charlie ever imagined. From whispered rituals to permanent chastity, from obedience to objectification, Charlie’s descent is tender, terrifying, and utterly complete. 

Now, stored beneath a polished wooden bench in the middle of a suburban living room, sealed in rubber and silence, Charlie listens to the man who owns him laugh with guests just inches away. He is no longer a partner, no longer a man. He is furniture, and he has never loved more completely. A devastating, slow-burn tale of erotic surrender and identity erasure, Stored is a haunting journey into submission, devotion, and the beauty of being unmade. 

Stored is a 7,000-word short story. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+. 

A table filled with various fried foods, including fried chicken, burgers, fries, pancakes, and dishes with creamy sides, all arranged closely together in a bright, inviting setting.

Caged hunger

2025-05-05 / / 0 Comments

Jack cradled the overloaded plate like it was fragile porcelain, even though it was just the same scratched-up dinnerware they’d used for years. Still, there was reverence in how he handled it, maybe because of what it carried. Balanced precariously beside a pastrami and Swiss sub the length of his forearm was a half-empty bag of kettle chips and a box of peanut butter cookies. 

He was shirtless, his salt-and-pepper chest hair matted in patches from sweat, and the soft swell of his meaty pecs jiggled slightly with each step. His thighs pushed against the fabric of his lounge shorts, and the waistband dug just beneath the curve of his soft, furred gut. Warm, round, and lightly swaying, his belly brushed the counter’s edge as he pivoted toward the living room. 

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Book cover for “Spent Casings” showing a split image: on the left, a man in a suit drinks coffee in a city café; on the right, a bearded man in a flannel shirt and cap stands in a forest.

Spent Casings

Will Reed walked into the firing range looking for clarity. What he found was Burke Lawson—gruff, grounded, and impossibly unreadable. As Will trades curated dinners and performative politics for steel, sweat, and submission, a new identity begins to form—one built on quiet control, earned respect, and the searing gravity of command.

But Burke isn’t just a mentor. He’s a man with his own edge—one that wants to yield, if only someone would take him.

Spent Casings is a 9,900-word slow-burn gay romance of masculine transformation, power exchanged in silence, and desire forged in smoke and spent brass. For readers who crave rough tenderness, reverent obedience, and the kind of devotion that kneels without shame.

All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.

A dark, high-contrast image of many shell casings, with a reflective surface that catches the light, creating a textured effect.

Spent casings (chapters 1 and 2)

2025-04-14 / / 0 Comments

Chapter 1 

The inside of U-Shoot-It Firing Range and Supply smelled like oil, sweat, and scorched earth, like the air after a lightning storm, but heavier. Will Reed hesitated outside the doorway, one hand resting awkwardly on his hip like he didn’t know what to do with it. The front desk guy had given him a clipboard and a set of eye and hearing protection without looking up. Standing outside the range’s heavy double doors, he realized he had no idea what came next. The rules were pinned bold, red, and unapologetic to the wall: No rapid fire. Always point downrange. Cross-lane shooting is explicitly forbidden. 

The flannel shirt he’d pulled from the rack at the discount store itched against his skin. It still smelled of sizing spray and had the price tag on the inside of the left armpit. He owned the shirt since he paid for it, but it was still just a costume for him. Instead of wearing it, the shirt wore him. He stretched the hearing protection over his head and settled the pads over his ears, then adjusted the baseball cap he’d bought on a whim last week. The brim was too stiff, and the logo too clean. 

He looked wrong in this place, and he knew it. 

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A glossy black shoe box with a thin white stripe across the middle, placed on a textured beige surface.

Bound in black and blue

2025-04-07 / / 1 Comment

Donovan hadn’t been expecting mail. The knock at the door startled him out of his whiskey-hazed stupor, where he’d been curled on the couch, nursing the ache of something old but still sharp. Patrick was out running laps around the neighborhood, steady and consistent as ever, which left Donovan alone as usual, with his thoughts for company. 

He shuffled to the door, opened it, and stopped. 

A large, sleek black box sat on the welcome mat. The return label rubbed away into smudged illegibility, but he knew what it was. His stomach tightened as he bent to pick it up. 

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Close-up of a person wearing black leather gloves and a dark suit with white cuffs.

Numbered assets

2025-03-31 / / 3 Comments

Drake always told himself he wasn’t like the others. 

He knew all about his boyfriend Michael’s specialist kink—the serial numbers, the leather gloves, the obedience conditioning. He’d watched the transformations, the way Michael smoothed men over, reprogrammed them and paired them off like dolls. He’d seen the glassy eyes and the scripted lines. Hell, he’d even helped pick outfits and personalities for their new lives as retired assets after Michael lost interest in them. 

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A glitchy, sepia-toned image of a bedroom with two twin beds. The ornate, dark headboards and patterned bedspreads are partially distorted by digital effects. A small nightstand with a book or papers is placed between the beds.

Pleasanton hospitality

2025-03-24 / / 0 Comments

Frank’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as they pulled into town, knuckles pale beneath his sun-darkened skin. The truck groaned a little under the weight of Brendan’s belongings—a life packed up in boxes after a messy breakup Frank had no interest in hearing about. 

Brendan sat hunched in the passenger seat, arms folded, jaw tight. His thick-rimmed glasses slid a little down his nose every time they hit a bump. He pushed them back up with a tired flick of his finger. He wore a gray hoodie, threadbare from too many washes, and skinny jeans cuffed above worn sneakers. His dark hair was shaggy, grown long at the sides—messy in a way Frank suspected was intentional. 

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A grayscale digital illustration of a person sitting at a table with an open laptop and a coffee cup. The focus is on the cup and laptop, with the background softly blurred, depicting a casual and relaxed atmosphere.

Sidelined

2025-03-03 / / 0 Comments

Journal entry: March 3rd

Location: The goddamn coffee shop. Across the street. Where I always am.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe if I get the words out of my head, they’ll stop echoing so loudly. Maybe if I force them onto the page, I’ll finally see how absurd all of this is. How ridiculous. How wrong.

Or maybe—God help me—I just want to remember.

They’re at the restaurant again. Our restaurant. Or at least, it was ours, once. Now it belongs to them. Rod and Jason. The happy couple. The perfect pair. The ones who fit together like puzzle pieces while I sit here alone, watching.

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Two people holding hands, seen from behind. One is wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans, while the other wears a light gray top and brown pants. The background is softly blurred, giving a warm and intimate feeling.

Out and proud

2025-02-24 / / 0 Comments

Carter and Ken strode into the glass-and-chrome office building, shoulders brushing slightly against each other as they passed through the revolving doors. Best friends for over a decade in addition to coworkers, they were inseparable, though neither would have described the other as their “type” if asked. 

Carter, the taller of the two, was broad shouldered with a sharp jawline dusted in a five o’clock shadow that always seemed intentional. His hair was dark brown, neatly styled, and it still fell perfectly across his forehead even after a long day. Beneath his tailored charcoal suit, his chest filled out his shirt in all the right ways. Athletic but not bulky, Carter’s lean build reflected his commitment to taking care of himself without obsessing over it. His deep-set hazel eyes gave him a commanding presence, drawing curious, enamored glances whenever he entered a room. 

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All content on this blog is fictional and describes activities between consenting unrelated adults who are 18+.

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