Royd: just another juiced-up matured meathead

To the regulars who saw him at the gym every day, Royd was just another juiced-up matured meathead, trying to overcompensate for his mid life crisis. He never talked to anyone, wouldn’t respond to their greetings and ignored the occasional attempt at small talk. In fact, the only sound anyone had ever heard him make were the grunts as he ground through his hours-long workouts, his muscles showing seemingly constant growth with each passing week. But besides the silence, the other thing the men at the gym noticed was the blanked-out look that always adorned his face. With the way his eyes seems to stare out unfocused, almost unblinking, seeing but not perceiving the world around him.

From that look, some of his fellow gym goers thought he might be high, others thought he was just dumb, and really they were both right, though not in the ways they had assumed. What none of them could have guessed was that at this point in his training, “Royd” no longer exists. With my help, he’s learned to empty himself of that old identity and the free will that accompanied it, embracing his new life as an obedient jocktoy. And that body, which my d**gs have helped him grow to the size he’d once so desperately craved, now exists solely as an object for my use and pleasure.