tychgamer

[tychgamer]

Drop and Sleep Tom. Such a good boy. Good imagination. Very creative mind. Good boy.

[tychgamer]

Jace’s cock twitched as he snapped his most recent progress pic. Ever since he started listening to a mysterious hypno file he found online, his priorities majorly changed. He quit school and joined the gym. He no longer had to think. All he had to do was OBEY and lift.

[tychgamer]

[tychgamer]

"please don't make me do this again. Especially not here. Especially not in the locker room"

But as much as he tried to resist, as much as he tried to turn those thoughts into resistance, he couldn't.

Instead he undressed and flexed. Just like he had 1000 times before.

Just like he worked out for horia at a time.

Just like he ate right and slept right to grow.

Just like he let coach slow his thoughts and speech so everyone saw him as a dumb jock.

And the interesting thing? He has volunteered for this. He just didn't realize there were no take backs.

So, the jock life went on. And his brain screamed for it to stop, even though it never would.

[tychgamer]

Logan didn’t know why he was so horny. He just had to jack off. His cock was rock hard and demanding attention. He quickly ran to his bed, ripped off his clothes, closed his eyes, and started to jack off.

In Logan’s fantasy, he heard people cheering him on. Telling him to feel up his fit body and to put on a hot show for them. The more the crowd cheered, the faster he stroked until he let out a moan as he shot a huge load over his muscled abs.

As Logan opened his eyes, his face turned beet red as he realized that he wasn’t in his bedroom but was on top of his car, buck naked and covered in cum, in front of all his friends. He was so confused until he locked eyes with a strange man in the crowd. There stood the hypnotist that he insulted last week with a smile on his face.

As Logan jumped up off the car to confront the hypnotist, he heard the tist yell SLEEP. As Logan fell to the ground in a deep sleep, he briefly noticed his friends doing the same.

As Logan opened his eyes, a smile came to his face. There standing in front of him was the hottest guy he had ever seen. He quickly got on his knees in front of the man and begged the man to take him home and fuck his tight hole.

To Logan’s surprise, the man agreed but said that once he did that, Logan would be completely owned by him. Logan’s cock twitched thinking about being this perfect man’s property that all he could do was nod and say Yes Sir as his cock shot another load all over him.

As Logan got to his feet, he once again noticed all his friends standing there clapping. A smile formed on his face because they all looked so happy for him that he accepted the man’s offer to be his slave. Logan’s cock twitched once again as he got into his Master’s car and drove off into his new life.

[tychgamer]

Every night before bed, Jace would play a hypno file to help him focus in class. Little did he know that his roommate would change the file each night to one that would turn him into the perfect himbo doll. Now, Jace could care less about school. All that matters is looking hot.

[tychgamer]

"please don't make me do this again. Especially not here. Especially not in the locker room"

But as much as he tried to resist, as much as he tried to turn those thoughts into resistance, he couldn't.

Instead he undressed and flexed. Just like he had 1000 times before.

Just like he worked out for horia at a time.

Just like he ate right and slept right to grow.

Just like he let coach slow his thoughts and speech so everyone saw him as a dumb jock.

And the interesting thing? He has volunteered for this. He just didn't realize there were no take backs.

So, the jock life went on. And his brain screamed for it to stop, even though it never would.

[tychgamer]

Ever since Logan’s roommate introduced him to Coach Ken, the former med student found any thoughts in his head that weren’t about lifting, flexing, or looking hot slowly draining from his mind after each workout. Now he just lifts, flexes, and OBEY his Coach like a good toy.

[tychgamer]

Chase thought it was strange when his company sent over an email with an attachment that said New Dress Code Policy. He opened to discover a very relaxing spiral. Next thing he knew, he was stripping naked. His mind just kept repeating all employees must be nude at all times.

[tychgamer]

Jace’s cock twitched as he snapped his most recent progress pic. Ever since he started listening to a mysterious hypno file he found online, his priorities majorly changed. He quit school and joined the gym. He no longer had to think. All he had to do was OBEY and lift.

[tychgamer]

The Server Team

The door to to their Locker Room had barely closed behind them when the silence hit—dense, smooth, unnatural—and all three slowed almost in unison, their footsteps faltering as the familiar scuff and scrape of cleats on tile gave way to an oppressive quiet that didn’t feel like emptiness, but more like something waiting—something watching.

Ryan stopped first, narrowing his eyes at the subtle green glow pulsing from the ceiling, a far cry from the buzzing fluorescents that had always cast their pale flicker over broken benches and half-scuffed helmets.

Matt stepped in behind him, already whispering something, probably a joke that was now swallowed by the room’s suffocating quiet, and Chris, just to their left, took a few more steps until he froze—completely, utterly still—like something unseen had wrapped around his spine and clicked into place.

Because this wasn’t their locker room anymore.

The walls, once gray and dented, now gleamed with black, seamless panels that shimmered faintly when the light caught their edges; subtle green lines ran through them in geometric veins, each pulse perfectly timed with the faint rhythmic hum in the air, and overhead, soft ambient light spilled down like a living heartbeat.

And at the end of the room—where Coach’s chalkboard used to hang crooked—three glowing black displays spun slow, perfect spirals inward, and above them, two simple lines pulsed gently on screen:

TOGETHER WE ARE THE SERVER

ALIGNMENT IS PURPOSE

“What the hell happened in here?” he muttered.

Chris didn’t respond.

Because he was staring into his locker—open now, wide, glowing softly from within—and what hung inside was not his usual crumpled jersey or taped-up shoulder pads.

No, what hung inside was a football uniform—but unlike anything they had ever worn.

The jersey was a deep, liquid black, reflective under the green light like polished chrome, its shoulder plating lined with glowing emerald circuitry that moved gently across the seams like the uniform itself was alive. The number 23 was etched into the chestplate in gleaming green font, but above it, where his name should have been, there was only a new designation:

SERVER 23

The pants matched—sleek, sharp, interlaced with the same green circuitry—and above, nestled into a pristine display shelf where his helmet should have rested, sat a new one: black, seamless, alien in design, with a spiral inscribed directly into the faceplate in slow, pulsing emerald.

Chris stepped forward.

“Chris—wait—don’t,” Ryan said, voice cracking just slightly, but the words came too late.

Chris reached out and touched the jersey.

And everything changed.

There was no sound, no flash of light—only a sudden stillness, as if the room itself had paused.

Chris’s back straightened slowly. His shoulders relaxed completely, unnaturally. And as he turned toward them, his eyes were wide—too wide—and the soft green glow that flickered to life behind them was unmistakable, undeniable, terrifying.

“Chris?” Matt took a step forward. “Snap out of it, man. You okay?”

Chris said nothing.

Instead, he reached into the locker and began to undress with mechanical ease—his hands moved without hesitation, his limbs fluid, as if he was following instructions not spoken aloud, as if the act of putting on the uniform had already been written into him.

Piece by piece, the black uniform sealed over his body.

Each segment lit up with green pulses, syncopated with his breath, his body seeming to align with something not visible, but present all the same.

Ryan stepped forward, panic rising in his voice. “Stop! Chris, this isn’t you—whatever this is, take it off!”

But then Chris picked up the helmet.

He didn’t hesitate.

He placed it over his head and sealed it into place.

The spiral on the visor flared to life.

And when he turned to face them, the glow in his eyes was gone—replaced by the spiral itself, reflected back endlessly in his visor, pulsing with slow, perfect certainty.

“Designation SD-23: Alignment complete.”

“Chris!” Ryan barked, lunging forward at the same time as Matt, both of them reaching out, grabbing his arms, shoulders, gripping tightly like they could shake the identity back into him.

But the moment their hands touched him—

It happened.

A pulse of green light surged from the seams of SD-23’s armor—not harsh, not blinding, but smooth and warm, like water through skin—and Ryan felt it in his chest, in his throat, in his thoughts, not like an electric jolt but like a spreading calm, a pressure being lifted, a memory gently erased.

Matt’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched.

And both of them froze.

The green spiral now reflected in their pupils.

Their resistance—strong only seconds before—began to slide away like fog evaporating under sunlight.

They were no longer afraid.

They were no longer angry.

They were simply… quiet.

Chris’s—SD-23’s—voice came through the helmet’s speaker, calm, clear, stripped of hesitation.

“It feels good,” he said softly, the spiral pulsing gently in his visor. “There’s no confusion. No weight. No choice. Just clarity.”

Matt’s eyes fluttered. “Feels… good…”

Ryan let out a long, steady exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath since the room changed.

They turned.

Their lockers were still open.

Their uniforms waited, pulsing softly.

SERVER 87

SERVER 11

They stepped toward them.

The jerseys were warm in their hands.

The helmets responded to touch.

As they dressed, the green circuitry lit with satisfaction, wrapping around their bodies like memory, like direction.

Their visors sealed.

The spirals activated.

And then the three of them stood—aligned, quiet, flawless.

SD-11. SD-87. SD-23.

“Alignment complete. Together We are The Server.“

Then the door opened.

Their Coach stepped in.

But he was not their coach—not anymore.

He wore a sleek black polo and armored shorts, both laced with glowing circuitry, and across the mirrored surface of his visor, spirals danced—layered, recursive, endless.

He looked at the three Server Drones, standing perfectly aligned.

And he smiled.

“My Drones are synchronized.”

The Server Drones answered without delay:

“Gratitude, Programmer.”

—————————————————————————

Become one with The Server.

Start your induction today and listen to The Programmers Voice. It’s just one Click.

Together We are The Server.

[tychgamer]

INITIATION: THE RUBBER AWAKENING Part III – The Voice Always Finds a Way

Mario had hoped leaving would stop it. The pressure. The staring. That strange electric feeling in the air around his father — as if the walls themselves hummed with expectation. For the first week at Blaine’s place, things felt quiet. Normal. Or at least, they looked that way.

But nothing was normal anymore.

Because what Mario didn’t know was that Blaine’s family had been fully rubberized since Mario was seventeen. And Blaine… Blaine had been raised in it. Trained in silence, programmed through ritual. And when Viktor had reached out, calm and composed in his jet-black suit, the two had agreed on the plan.

Mario would come to him, of course. He just needed the right pressure points triggered.

So it started subtly.

The scent of Blaine’s sheets — subtly synthetic. The bathroom filled with oddly warm steam, tinged with something sweet and sharp. The hugs that lingered a second longer than before. And Blaine, always shirtless at home, latex shorts hugging his thighs just a little tighter each day, casually normalized as if they were just workout gear.

Then the dreams started.

Mario would wake up sweating, his sheets tangled, confused and flustered. Each dream the same — rubber encasing his arms, slipping up his legs, gloves squeezing tight around his fingers. Men surrounded him, faceless but powerful, whispering the same low, steady rhythm that pulsed behind his eyes long after he’d woken.

Submit. Breathe. Obey. Transform.

He told Blaine once. Half a joke. But Blaine just smiled. “That’s good,” he said simply. “Means you’re getting close.”

Two weeks later, Mario caved.

He packed his things and told Blaine he’d “go back to deal with it.” Blaine gave no reaction — just pulled him into a strong hug, whispering something that made Mario shiver: “Tell your father he can begin.”

The house felt warmer when he returned. His father met him at the door, perfectly silent, perfectly suited in black. No questions. No tension. Just a simple nod, and one sentence:

“You came home ready.”

That night, Viktor handed him a sleek black headset. “It’s a focus tool,” he said. “Just 15 minutes a day. You’ll sleep better.”

Mario put it on.

The blue light flickered. A slow pulse. The voice returned. Familiar now. Welcome.

Every night, it dug deeper. He would wake up aroused, tingling, heart pounding. The line between reality and dream blurred. The Voice echoed during the day now — faint but steady. And then came the gloves.

His father gave them to him with no fanfare. Black, seamless, flawless. “Wear them when you’re home,” he said. “They’ll help calm you.”

Mario slipped them on and something clicked.

He could no longer stand the feeling of cotton. Of denim. Of anything that wasn’t rubber. His skin buzzed beneath the gloves. They smelled of arousal. Of surrender. He wore them constantly.

Two days later, the gym clothes he brought back felt unbearable. “You’ll train better in this,” Viktor said, handing him a pair of black latex shorts.

Mario hesitated. Only a second. Then nodded.

They hugged his thighs perfectly. Slick. Powerful. Hot.

He hadn’t even noticed his father behind him until gloved hands settled gently on his shoulders.

“You’re almost there,” Viktor whispered against his ear. “Soon, you’ll understand why I chose this. Why we need it. And why you were always meant to follow.”

And Mario — staring ahead through the soft blue glow of the headset, gloves twitching, chest rising slow — didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

[tychgamer]

Blake was lost before finding the Leader. He use to think he knew best for himself but after spending a few days at the Leader’s compound, he learned how wrong he was. The Leader taught him that he was never meant to think. He was meant to GROW AND OBEY the Leader’s commands.

[tychgamer]

Lieutenant Johnson felt the plug in his ass vibrate as he looked on as his fellow soldiers were captured and lead into the reeducation tents. His cock hardened as he remembered how good it felt to undergo reeducation and become a mindless sex toy for his former enemies.

[tychgamer]

When in this state, they are usually very receptive towards any suggestion you give to them. I want him to retain that facade of straightness because his wife aka my boss is an heiress to a fucking diamond mine, but there's no fun if I don't change a thing so,

"Everytime you slide your cock into her hole, imagine her to be your wife's faggot PA you despised so much and you will only stop seeing her that way once you shoot your load. Do you understand that, Jack?"

He grunted, which means he understand the conditioning

"Oh, and one last thing, lay on your bed, bury your face on the pillow,"

Since my boss is still in a meeting for an hour in her study room upstairs, I guess I still have some time to split her husband open with my cock. Imagine how insane it is if I condition him as I impale his throat with my cock that everytime he swallows any food, it will feel like as if a cock lodged deep in his throat and he'll be hard as a rock all meal long. That's honestly quite extreme LOL, but I'll see what I will come up with for this homophobic douchebag

[tychgamer]

Jeff Nippard

[tychgamer]

Blake was lost before finding the Leader. He use to think he knew best for himself but after spending a few days at the Leader’s compound, he learned how wrong he was. The Leader taught him that he was never meant to think. He was meant to GROW AND OBEY the Leader’s commands.