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

Tag: dystopia (Page 1 of 2)

Pleasanton hospitality

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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Welcome to PulseTown™

Tucked away in the Oregon high desert is the dying town of Prospect Bend. PulseTech, a mysterious corporate entity, promises to revitalize and save Prospect Bend from bankruptcy. As the townspeople sign away their autonomy, they are systematically reshaped into the perfect vision of masculinity: bronzed, sculpted, obedient, and mindlessly content. Old-school cowboy Buck Stamets, weary priest Father Dale, and paranoid libertarian Nate “The Pate” Ferguson each try to resist in their own way, but PulseTech’s grip is relentless, turning them into willing disciples of a new order where strength is pleasure, thinking is obsolete, and flexing is the highest virtue. A darkly satirical dystopian horror laced with humor, eroticism, and body horror, Welcome to PulseTown™ explores what happens when corporate influence becomes a town’s ultimate aesthetic rebranding.

Welcome to PulseTown™ is a 10,500-word novelette. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.

Welcome to PulseTown™

Want to see how this turns out? Buy “Welcome to PulseTown™” on Kindle for the rest of the story.

Chapter 1: The Contract

The old Prospect Bend VFW hall smelled like sawdust, sweat, and coffee gone stale in the pot. The scent was decades old—as permanent as the cracked linoleum floor and faded American flag pinned to the back wall. 

The men gathered inside were tired. Not just from the heat—though the single oscillating fan in the corner wasn’t doing much to cool the high desert air. Not just from the years of hard labor—though their calloused hands, stooped shoulders, and sun-weathered faces spoke of decades spent working ranches, mending fences, and running businesses that stopped turning profits years ago. 

No, they were tired because they had lost. 

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Gay Cloning Bureau

In the brightly lit offices of the Bureau of Gay Cloning Compliance, Nate adjusted his tie. He stared at the blinking red notification on his holographic work tablet. It was another anomaly. Of course it was.

“Opposites attract,” he muttered, scrolling through the flagged file. “Not on my watch.”

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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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