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

Tag: dystopia

ThinkTech (chapter 7)

Catch up on chapter 6 before reading on…

Rick and Zach sat on the worn leather couch in Rick’s dimly lit living room. The blinds were drawn, shutting out the world, casting the room in an artificial darkness illuminated only by the faint blue glow of a ThinkTech logo blinking across the screen. They were clad head to toe in tight, shiny leather that hugged every curve, the material creaking softly whenever one of them shifted, though they rarely did. 

Rick’s hands, gloved in smooth, polished leather, lay slack on his knees. His face was blank, his mouth slightly open, jaw loose, lips parted in a dull, unfeeling line. Beside him, Zach sat in the same stillness, his once-vibrant eyes now dulled, staring vacantly at the flickering screen. The same powerful chest that had once radiated confidence now rose and fell in shallow, empty breaths, his broad shoulders slumped. His beard was still thick and well kept, but it only served to heighten the emptiness in his expression—a man still physically imposing, yet now a shell, hollowed out and stripped of any presence. 

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ThinkTech (chapter 5)

Catch up on chapter 4 before reading on…

Rick’s days blurred into a bleak rhythm as his financial reality closed in on him. He’d maxed out every credit card and drained every last dollar, and still, the inescapable weight of ThinkTech’s debt loomed over him. The essentials-only plan was all he could afford, but it was a mere shadow of what he’d experienced. The prompts came rarely, and even when they did, they were blunt and basic. He longed for the smooth, intuitive guidance of ThinkTech Premium, but after depleting his cash and credit reserves, it was out of the question. 

Without ThinkTech’s steady influence, Rick felt stripped down, raw, and exposed. Experiences that had once flared with confidence and charm now felt distant and dulled, as if he were experiencing the world inside a fishbowl. His thoughts were muddled and sluggish, like static buzzing in his head, making it nearly impossible to respond naturally in conversation. When he struggled to think fast enough, his mind would short circuit, and he’d fall back on repeating the last thing the other person had said—a cheap trick that only occasionally worked and left him feeling hollow and robotic every time. 

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ThinkTech (chapter 4)

Catch up on chapter 3 before reading on…

For the next few days, Rick felt unstoppable.  

ThinkTech Premium turned the spark of the free trial into an inferno. Every word he spoke, every smile he flashed, and every movement he made was meticulously calibrated to enthrall Zach and anyone lucky enough to cross his path. The surge of power was electrifying—Rick’s mind crackled with razor-sharp wit, magnetic charisma, and an almost supernatural attunement to the world around him. Each morning, he awoke with an unstoppable drive, his thoughts snapping into alignment like precision-engineered cogs, propelling him toward a brilliance he’d only ever imagined.  

With ThinkTech shaping his every move, Rick’s nights with Zach became the stuff of fantasies—charged, intimate, and unforgettable. Date night at the leather bar was pure alchemy as ThinkTech whispered the perfect cues into his mind. The prompts told him how to stand—broad shoulders back, chin tilted just so—and when to unleash a sly grin that drew Zach closer into his orbit. When Zach growled with laughter at Rick’s jokes, ThinkTech nudged Rick to lean even closer, delivering just the right compliment into his ear.  

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ThinkTech (chapter 3)

Catch up on chapter 2 before reading on…

Rick’s alarm buzzed, jerking him awake. Groggy, he squinted at his phone, catching sight of a text notification from Zach. His heart gave a little leap, but as he tried to sit up, he felt… off. There was a heaviness in his head as though his thoughts were moving through molasses. The confident clarity he’d felt with ThinkTech over the last few days had vanished, leaving him with a fuzzy, sluggish mind that seemed to snag on every thought before it was fully formed.  

He tapped on the notification, opening Zach’s text.  

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ThinkTech (chapter 2)

Catch up on chapter 1 before reading on…

Rick smoothed down his jacket to distract his trembling fingers and calm his nerves before he entered the restaurant. Zach had suggested the venue for their first date—a trendy downtown gastro-monstrosity called Salt & Thyme. It had taken Rick way too long to find the place and even longer to park his car, with a few extra minutes outside the restaurant to catch his breath for good measure.  

He glanced through the casement windows into the packed restaurant. Everyone looked like they’d just come from a photoshoot for Casual Chic Monthly. The restaurant was full of guys with trimmed and waxed beards, wearing shirts so tight you could practically count their abs, and women in flowing dresses that looked effortless but probably cost half a mortgage payment.  

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ThinkTech (chapter 1)

Rick’s leather jacket creaked as he hunched over the two-top table, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It was barely ten o’clock, still early for a Saturday night, and the regulars had only just started to trickle in. From his perch in the corner, Rick nursed a sweating glass of whiskey, its contents now more melted ice than liquor, and ran a finger along a rough patch of cracked leather on his sleeve. The only piece of leather gear he owned, the old jacket’s worn edges and snug fit lent him a rugged look he rarely felt he lived up to. 

He was a middle-aged bear with a build that was beefy and soft at the same time—rounded gut, broad chest, and thick arms hidden under the leather, with a bald scalp and a beard he kept trimmed short but full. His leather look was more functional than flashy, a way of blending in rather than standing out, but tonight, he felt something different in the air. He scanned the bar as it filled with patrons and music grew louder. Surrounded by men he only vaguely recognized from local leather events and meetups, Rick envied their easy camaraderie from a distance. 

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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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