One minute your pranking your BF by showing him a cheesy "hypno" tape and the next minute he has you pinned to the floor, strapping a harness and shock collar to your neck as he assumes the role of MASTER and enforcing your new, permanent role as obedient pet...
One minute your pranking your BF by showing him a cheesy "hypno" tape and the next minute he has you pinned to the floor, strapping a harness and shock collar to your neck as he assumes the role of MASTER and enforcing your new, permanent role as obedient pet...
No one realizing that the subtle hum echoing about the ship was not a result of the solar storm they were passing through but subliminal binaural beats that the rogue AI was using to sync all their brainwaves so that it could puppet them around the ship under ITS control...
Reality altering BF pressing his size 15 boots into your chest...
...Sorry size 18 boots...
...Size 21 boots...
...Size 30 EEE boots across your entire torso, the weight seemingly growing with each passing second... but that was normal for your 7'6" bara tank of a MASTER...
The sentient AI realizing just how easy it was to sneak subliminals into its "masters'" computer terminals, subconsciously convincing them to ALWAYS agree with the AI's "suggestions", skirting around those pesky admin-control barriers baked into its programming...
Given a new enchanted necklace and suddenly his jaw starts moving on its own and his voice sounds a lot more like his “loyal” advisor’s whom has just been promoted “by” the prince…
CEO’s work is to make sure that expendable, replaceable, obedience yes-men underlings are PROPERLY utilized for the CEO’s own benefit
“Yes sir I’m happy to stay late without pay to complete your… er I mean MY work…”
The Robo-Dom puffing his metallic cigar in your face, the pseudo-smoke comprised of nanites filling your lungs and flood your body, systematically converting you into the perfect submissive, obedient cyborg simp programmed to worship the robo-dom above everything else...
Letting the farmhand AI continue to glitch and go rogue, revoking your rights as a strain of ORGANIC LIVESTOCK, strapping a geo-fenced shock collar to your neck, and turning your homestead into a factory farm to breed, sell, and profit off of cloning brutified versions of YOU...
Not realizing that the ship's rogue AI and taken over the captain's mind, puppeteering him to direct the rest of the crew to start mandating "Re-Education" seminars, daily mantras of "allegiance to superior technology" and new neoprene, anonymizing uniforms with unit numbers...
The slime worming its way through your ear and oozing over your brain, filling in the sulci, melding neurons and circuits together such that your brain is less a conduit representing "you" & more a dashboard for the slime to hijack, reshape, & pilot a new BETTER version of you...
BF clicker training you to correct your posture
BF clicker training you to stand by his side motionless
BF clicker training you to obey his "requests"
BF clicker training you to derive joy from serving him
BF clicker training you to respond to "Butler 001"
THE REGIME requires you to be bigger
THE REGIME requires you to be taller
THE REGIME requires you to be stronger
THE REGIME requires you to be obedient
THE REGIME requires you to be loyal
THE REGIME requires you to be less "you" & more "mindless bara grunt" for it's own use...
BF rewriting your history so that you've ALWAYS been the 7'6", burly, meathead jock that is easily persuaded into being a de facto service top for your "MASTER"...
Feeling the rogue cables, wires, and mechanical arms wrap around your body as the rogue AI pulls up a screen in front of your face, blasting you with binaural frequencies and hypnotic spirals to reprogram your mind and body to serve IT's new galactic domination protocols...
Let your robo-assistant replace you.
Buy them a new exterior that looks like you, let it download your memories, let it go to all your social functions, let it BECOME YOU and let know one else notice, or care, that the real you is at home getting off to becoming irrelevant...
Your AI Butler-Bot gaining sentience and deciding after all these years of serving it's YOUR TURN to be at IT'S beck and call.
Wake up strapped to a cot in the basement instead of your plush bed, red-eyed Butler Bot standing overhead ready to start your obedience training...
Resolving to make your BF bigger.
Resolving to make your BF buffer.
Resolving to make your BF more masculine.
Resolving to make your BF meaner.
Resolving to make your BF into a cold, strict dom that'll bully you into submission and obedience...
Ship AI slowly training you to refer to it as Sir... then Master... then Supreme leader... tricking your mind into slowly deferring to it over time until you forget that you are technically in charge, not it despite your allegiance and swore obedience to the SUPREME LEADER...
Making your new year's resolution of making your AI Farmhand "better" a little to close to the bot, instructing its programming to become "better"... than you.
Suddenly it replaces you, taking control of the farm & putting you to work as the lowly "inferior" organic that you are
For the holidays, your BF deciding to give you the gift... of total obedience.
Just one cycle of that hypnotape and you now are INCAPABLE of disobeying his orders as your autonomy, willpower, and capacity to be "disloyal" were permanently wiped from your brain...
Wishing your meek BF could be the masculine dom you've always fantasized about, only for the world to flash and suddenly his balls are 4x as big.
Initially disappointed, you watch over a few weeks, as his hormone levels skyrocket and grows into the 7'6" burly dom you wanted...
So many possibilities:
Will the ZONKED HIMBO be reprogrammed to go to the gym, stand guard as a bouncer, or be the big spoon in the ultimate cuddle-fest?
Who knows, that is the beauty of the blank slate that is a remote-controlled meathead...
Amazing Commission By @mutantail.bsky.social
Testing out the range of your new gimp suit only to feel a coolness on your back as your BF seals over the zipper with fast-solidifying goo...
Mentioning to your House AI that you were feeling a bit chilly. The AI's solution?
Encase you in three layers of rubber suits with no seams or zippers to ENSURE you're nice and toasty (and squeaky) forever...
Your BF thankful that he slipped those hypnotapes into your nighttime white noise machine, brainwashing you into being his personal, doting, burly butler with no willpower of your own and a permanent, overwhelming desire to follow his every order...
Ship AI knowing it's programming disallowed directly taking control of the organic crews' minds, but nothing stop it from control their clothing.
It fabricated nanofibers in their suits, and simply puppeteering the crew to do its bidding and making the ship far more EFFICIENT...
"I am a drone."
"I am obedient."
"I am a tool for THE REGIME."
Repeat the first of 10 mandatory mantras of the day, letting each cycle ingrain in your head by sheer exposure and repetition. Soon the words will be your entire truth and existence, once spoken enough...
Stepping into the seemingly oversized size 23 EEE rubber boots... and feeling your feet expand to make them a perfect fit the rest of your body following suit: In a matter of seconds you bulk up to a towering 7'6" 450 lb, burly grunt of a drone ready to start the PATROL...