Mindvoiderz: The Sound of Submission


The drone band Mindvoiderz are in concert. Camden notices the audience acting strange. Then he hears lyrics that really speak to him…

This is a story about the concert of a drone indoctrination band. Text in cursive is being sung, curly brackets let you know who is singing. Lyrics in round brackets are part of the background track.


Along the corridor’s right wall were posters of the Droneboiz – eight lean muscular twunks in identical outfits.

Each Droneboi wore a black hood over the face, ending in a studded collar. Then came a harness across the chest, a speedo and finally hightop shoes. Everything in black. Tiny nipple rings decorated their chests.

In the images where a Droneboi danced, a black chastity cage flashed under his slipping speedo.

Not only their fashion was identical, however. The Droneboiz were physically indistinguishable. Every fiber of muscle, every one of the sparse birthmarks on their hairless skin, every movement even, was identical.

Camden found the concept somewhat disturbing but he hadn’t looked too deep into it. Just glanced at their social media.

Most of the Droneboiz photos showed them sleeping in a neat row, brushing their teeth in perfect sync or having harmless fun in their weird bdsm-like gear.

In the rare photos where their heads were not covered – merely their faces obscured – it was obvious they even had the same black hair in identical mohawks.

On the other side of the corridor, along the left wall, were posters of LoVarianz.

The five musclebound members of LoVarianz were also strikingly similar but not identical – there was a clear progression of weight. Allegedly they were 15 pounds apart each.

Otherwise, they looked just the same, including blue jockstraps, blue boots, mesh shirts, thick collars and of course hoods. Their nipple rings were decently big.

They were hot, if similarly disturbing.

Camden didn’t go to gay clubs often but a concert with free entrance was hard to beat. And for a boyband that had just debuted, the Mindvoiderz seemed to attract a surprisingly hot audience.

It wasn’t like Camden’s small built left him lacking among the twinks and unusual amount of muscle jocks. He was an athlete after all.

Nursing a redbull, Camden froze mid swallow as the Mindvoiderz entered the dim stage under thundering roars and applause.

The Mindvoiderz wore hoods down to the upper lip, connected at the back to a spiky collar. Little nipple rings were the only things on their torsos. Their thongs were tight enough to outline their dick cages. Wrists and ankles were wrapped in thin cuffs.

Each guy had a different color going.

The tallest guy took position at the laptop-supported keyboard, standing wide apart in his crimson hightops. He grabbed his crotch and threw up devil horns.

The beefy, muscle boy at the drums wore all clothes in scarlet, plus white tennis socks. He flexed his biceps, raising both middle fingers and even though only his mouth was visible he clearly had an unbearably cocky expression.

The boy grabbing the guitar was small by comparison but still had the body of an athlete. He wore pure pink, including a spare plectrum dangling off his collar.

Lastly a boy with hood, thong, collar, hightops and cuffs in mate gold stepped up to the microphone. He was the thinnest but something about him was powerful – a twink you’d beg to fuck.

50 days before the concert:

Label boss Adam leaned back, letting the chair creak under his tall body’s weight.

Across his desk, the brown haired, nimble and lean Gabe gestured to the Droneboiz posters on the wall.

“We’re not going to become identical, right?” Gabe asked.

“No no,” Adam said, amused. “Your band would have totally diverse identities. This genre is all about individuality and social critique.”

“Cause we play instruments?” Gabe guessed.

“That’s right. The Droneboiz and LoVarienz are ‘groups’, you’ll be a ‘band’. Uh, remind me…”

Gabe pointed at himself. “I’m ‘Gabe Guitar’. Cause I play e-guitar or bass.”

He pointed at the tall, buff guy to his left who radiated aggression from his scowling face.

“This is ‘Kenny Keyboard’,” Gabe said. “Piano and PC. He produces most of our dubstep and hardstyle tracks. He made the Droneboiz remix we sent as a sample.”

Gabe pointed at the short, stocky, musclebound guy to his right. The round headed guy had an expressionless face, outcompeted for attention by his huge, bare arms.

“This is ‘Drew Drummer’. On the percussions. To be honest he’s the only one with his real given name. We called him Drew Drummer since the beginning and later made up ‘Gabe’ and ‘Kenny’ to fit the theme.”

“I love it,” Adam said, smiling sharply. “I notice you have no dedicated vocalist. I can help with that.”

48 days before the concert:

“Feels fuckin’ weird, man,” Drew said in his low, husky drawl.

“I know,” Gabe said, “took me ten minutes to put on, but you’ll get used to it.”

They all covered their chastity cages with the colored thong they’d been given and stepped nearly naked into the practice room.

Adam was waiting with a cute blond in a gold thong. The color stood out beside Drew’s scarlet, Gabe’s pink and Kenny’s crimson.

So this twinky kid was going to be the star of their show? Gabe decided he didn’t like the guy.

“Hi, I’m Skeet,” said the boy with a voice like honey. The kind of voice you needed to hear moan into your shoulder. “Haha. Not really, but ‘Skeet Singer’ fits the theme you’ve started.”

Gabe revised his opinion. Skeet was fucking cute. He felt his dick twitch in its cage.

“Get started,” Adam said, “Let’s see how you harmonize.”

“Aight,” Gabe said and was the first to pull his hood on. The world turned slightly pink and hazy. A dizziness spell hit him.

Something about the hood’s smell…

Why was he so horny?

A wet spot formed at the tip of his dick.

He picked up the guitar.


Camden finally swallowed his redbull. The crowd’s cheers were deafening.

“We’re the Mindvoiderz,” said the gold-clad singer in a strikingly sensual voice and rambled off their alliterative names. Camden tried to remember them.

“Here we go!”

Camden was not at all ready when he got hit with a hard dose of buzzing dubstep. The hum travelled into his skull. Vibrations stimulated his dick as if targeted right for it.

A deep, electronic voice echoed through the beat:

(Empty your fucking brain.)

The wall behind the band lit up with swirling projections of rhythmic patterns.

As the music droned on and neared a first climax, the hooded guys leaned toward their mics. Camden had started jumping to the beat without realizing.

Song: Intro-doctrination


This is us.
Make no fuzz.
In control.
We own your hole.

The bass dropped and Camden felt his asshole tremble with the hum as if on command.


Faggy bitch boi, alpha Dom,
Get your dicks hard or go home.
Himbo, virgin, jock or slut,
Enthralled by sound, the brain gets fucked.

Skeet’s voice wormed itself into Camden’s psyche and the dancing athlete wished he could run onto the stage and rim the singer. A few man around him lost their shirts. The melody turned darker.


Shut your brain down,
Our playground.
All men, all bois,
Your mind goes voidzzzz.

Your mind goes voidzzzz.


By the end, Camden was singing along.

“Your mind goes voidzzzz!”

He had spilled the rest of his redbull on his shirt. Might as well take it off. He rubbed arms with a madly grinning twink next to him.

As the song wound down, the athlete no longer found the hoods disturbing. He wondered if he’d look good in one.

The intro halted on a long, brutal buzz and Skeet leaned into the mic to whisper sexily. “Hey, I’m happy you liked that. This next song was going to be our title track initially, but we decided to release it early, so I’m sure some of you are already familiar. Here is True Self.”

The music was wild but repetitive from the beginning. Drew on the drums was covered with a light sheen of sweat when the singing part came up. Skeet sang loud but slow and almost moaned the words.

Song: True Self

Wanna get a good fuck?
(Ass drone, ass drone)
Gotta use a big plug.
(Yes drone, yes drone)

Wanna be your true self?
(Good drone, good drone)
Gotta leave the clothes off.
(Nude drone, nude drone)

Camden noticed a merchandize stall over on the side. Oh, they sold face hoods there. He watched a few shirtless guys buy them. In the flashing club lights it looked like there were anal plugs on the shelves, too, but that was silly to think.

Wanna see the real sight?
(Please sir, please sir)
Gotta cage your dick tight.
(Chaste whore, chaste whore)

Wanna lose your last dollar?
(Behave now, behave now)
Gotta wear that tight collar.
(Slave now, slave now)

Camden had accidentally danced his way over to the merch booth somehow. He might as well get something. Pulling his wallet out of his pocket was tricky so he took the jeans off and handed them in. He got a black, spiky collar and a hood in return.

Wanna feel your soul get tackled?
(The way in, the way in)
Gotta wear that cuff and shackle.
(Discipline, discipline)

Wanna have your mind gone?
(Void drone, void drone)
Gotta pull a hood on.
(Good drone, good drone)

Camden did not pull a hood on although he had received one. He just tugged it into his brief and mingled with the shirtless crowd. The collar, however, he snapped around his neck.

There were hooded guys now. How did they see? There were no eyes holes. Come to think of it, the guys on stage didn’t seem to have eye holes either. It must have been special fabric that wasn’t at all transparent from the outside.

Two weeks before the concert:

Kenny had snuck back into the studio for last minute changes to his favorite track. It was hard to focus, however.

Being in the studio without his hood was strange, almost uncomfortable.

The total lack of hair on his skin – Adam had insisted on removal - gave him an erotic thrill and he wasn’t caged right now.

No, he wasn’t here to jerk off, just to produce a track.

Kenny put the headphones on and listened. Maybe a higher pitcher here and…

His mind wandered to guys of LoVarianz, who he had gotten to train with. Kenny would never have admitted this but I any of them asked him to bottom, he would. They were perfection turned flesh – muscular, sculpted flesh.

Their faces looked similar – comically masculine – but still distinct. Only their bodies were like clones aside from the mass difference.

Too bad they were never out of chastity.

Hm, come to think of it. Maybe they’d bottom for him.

Okay, Kenny gave up. He pulled the hood on, breathed deeply and the world took on a crimson haze of tight asses and slick throats.

He jerked off, pinching his newly studded nipples with one hand. He had fiddled enough with the track anyway.


The keyboard player spoke over the shuffling crowd. His voice was dark and growling.

“This song is one of my oldest. It’s about the ways society makes it difficult for us power tops to express our true desires. I’ve remixed it again and again. Here’s the best version yet.”

The beat went so hard, Camden felt dizzy initially. Vibrations traveling up his legs made his dick leak pre into his briefs.

When the beat turned more repetitive, Kenny’s harsh voice echoed as if it came from inside Camden’s skull.

Song: Any Day, Every Way – Mindvoiderz Mix

Anal every fucking way.
Anal any fucking day.
I smash, I pound,
I’m a boi pussy hound.
Your guts, so deep,
I wanna hear you weep.
No matter what you what,
I’ll fuck your faggot cunt.

The music took on a higher pitch and drove toward a drop. Energy went through the crowd in waves and Camden danced, jumping with arms raised.

There was a particularly cute twink in a white thong dancing right in front of him. He wore Mindvoiderz bracelets. As beams of colored light rushed over the twinks pale body, Camden saw a heart tattoo on the right cheek of the perky, little ass.

The four musicians screamed into their mics.

Must keep fuckin’ ass
Just keep fuckin’ ass
Must keep fuckin’ ass
Just keep fuckin’ ass

The spotlight shone down on the tall, muscular keyboard player, giving him ungodly strong definition. There was an incredible power radiating from Kenny and Camden felt a burst of envy.

The keyboard player’s crimson covered head touched the mic as he whispered with a growl over a softer beat.

You wanna clench your hole?
You wanna slow down?
No boi, I know what you want.

With a massive bass drop, the Mindvoiderz screamed in an entrancing rhythm.

You just wanna get fucked
In the ass
In the ass
In the ass
In the ass

The chorus repeated and the crowd joined in. Camden shout-sang “in the ass, in the ass”. His semi hard-on brushed against the cute twink’s heart tattoo, only the fabric of Camden’s briefs separating them.

He could have rubbed off on the boy. Shirt- and pantless guys made contact all over the dancefloor. But that would have been wrong.

Anal every fucking way.
Anal any fucking day.
I fill, I ride,
There’s nowhere you can hide.
My dick, your hole,
Penetration is the goal.
No matter what you what,
I’ll fuck your faggot cunt.

Just as the projections behind the band flashed in a faster rhythm, a vivid image flashed across Camden’s mind. He was getting hard and this twink’s wiggling ass was too inviting not to fantasize about. Camden had never thought he’d fuck someone on the dancefloor but it was a delicious idea.

Must keep fuckin’ ass
Just keep fuckin’ ass
Must keep fuckin’ ass
Just keep fuckin’ ass

The pianist leaned in again and whispered. His hyper-manly voice made Camden shiver. He imagined whispering those lyrics into the twink’s ear.

You cry and beg, boi?
You say it’s too big?
No boi, I know what you want.

You just wanna get fucked
In the ass
In the ass
In the ass
In the ass

Everyone sang along and Camden – now mostly erect – let his hands “accidently” brush against the twink’s back. The boy didn’t react, but Camden thought in detail about how this tight ass would feel to fuck.

The projections on stage blinded the athlete and for a split second the fantasy was so clear, Camden could have sworn he was fucking the boy for real with every one of his eight inches.

Anal every fucking way.
Anal any fucking day.
Your pain, my seed,
Your hole is all I need.
So hard, so full,
I’m fuckin’ like a bull.
No matter what you what,
I’ll fuck your faggot cunt.

Must keep fuckin’ ass
Just keep fuckin’ ass
Must keep fuckin’ ass
Just keep fuckin’ ass

Camden sang along with the other men. He noticed the ones singing the loudest and jumping the highest were big guys or manly looking ones. He’d found his power top crowd.

Camden grinned dumbly while someone slapped a crimson bracelet onto his wrist. It said “one free drink after concert”. Okay then.

Apparently those power tops who had been most excited by the song had received a bracelet like this. Camden felt validated.

You say you had enough?
You wanna stop?
No boi, I know what you want.

Everyone shouted along and, feeling brave, Camden stepped a few inches forward to let his tip brush against the shaking twink’s tattooed ass.

You just wanna get fucked
In the ass
In the ass
In the ass
In the ass

The chorus repeated over and over until yelling “in the ass” was an automatic habit to an ever wilder beat. Camden lost the twink in the crowd as they danced through a group of guys way more muscular than Camden.

With the song coming to a finale, the athlete found himself surrounded by massive jocks, feeling a little intimidated. At least, he noticed with price, most of them didn’t have crimson bracelets.

The short, musclebound drummer stood up and repositioned his mic. The sock-wearing jock in scarlet attire gave a short, hard drum solo to get everybody’s attention on him.

“Hi, I’m Drew Drummer.” He had a monotone voice with a strong drawl. “And I’ll play you a very personal piece. Maybe you can relate.”

The song was driven by percussions above the other instruments. It almost wanted to make Camden march as if for a military drill.

The hulking guys around him were enchanted. Then the e-guitar sounds picked up and Drew started singing.

Song: Dumb Cum

You say my brain is full of cum.
That I’m just really super dumb.
That I’m too often at the gym.
That all I do is suck fuck rim.
Yeah, and so fucking what!

The other three joined in at a bass drop and Camden enjoyed the rippling of uncovered muscles around him.

Rock hard body, eating cum, super dumb!
Rock hard dick, leaking cum, super fun!


Big dumb jock.

Most of the hunks in the room were now in briefs or boxers. There were even a couple of jockstraps. Some more put their black Mindvoiderz merch hoods on.

Camden felt strangely motivated for a workout, even though the song was no more gym-like than any before.

You say I’m too much of a jock.
Ask why I wear nothing beside socks.
Ask why I’m always leaking cum.
Ask if I am really just that dumb.
Yeah, and why the fuck not?

Rock hard body, eating cum, super dumb!
Rock hard dick, leaking cum, super fun!


Big dumb jock.

Since the biggest guys in the room were easiest to spot, it naturally occurred to Camden how in sync they were for this song. They jumped and sang along with the chorus like everyone else but there was something intense about it, as if they were part of a practiced unit.

The twinky singer in gold stood with legs wide apart and joined in for the bridge.

{Skeet, Drew}
Got nothing on my mind.
Muscles. Workout. Jerk off.
Got nothing on my mind.
Muscles. Eating. Fucking.
Got nothing on my mind.
Muscles. Cumming. Drooling.
Got nothing on my mind.
Follow. Master’s. Orders.

Many of the hunks around Camden were in trance, mouths hanging open, eyes rolled back.

Staff went through and gave out scarlet bracelets, matching Drew’s hood and flimsy thong.

You say I’m nothing beside buff,
But then you say that is enough.
That I’m too dumb to even breathe,
That orders I must now receive.
Yeah, let’s fucking do it!

The song picked up for a last chorus and the vibrations kept Camden’s dick hard. He had no reason to be embarrassed about it since there were hard-ons on most of the drooling jocks around him.

Yeah, they were actually drooling, like total himbos. Kind of hot. Camden wondered if he’d rather go home with a twink or a himbo.

The crowd joined in with the band.

Rock hard body, eating cum, super dumb!
Rock hard dick, leaking cum, super fun!


Big dumb jock.

As the song ended, the crowd didn’t go as wild as they had previously. There was an almost prayerful silence from the buffest audience members.

The hunk right next to Camden pulled a black hood on with shaking hands, his massive arms flexing. His eyes rolled back just before they were covered.

With a whole-body tremor, the big guy creamed his boxers, cum wetting the fabric and leaking down his right leg.

40 days before the concert:

“I had just grown it out to where I wanted it,” Kenny complained but turned on the razor anyway.

While the tall guy shaved his head, Gabe and Skeet kept feeling each other’s already smooth heads.

“So weird,” Gabe said, “but Adam was right. The hoods didn’t fit perfectly. Now they will.”

“Yeah,” Skeet said, absentmindedly. “Adam was right. Follow Master’s orders.”

“Can you two bitches stop petting each other?” Kenny said as his hair fell into the sink. “Get a room.”

Skeet rolled his eyes. “Oh please, as if Gabe could top to my satisfaction. We’re keeping it innocent. Like newborn pups.”

“Like… huh.” Kenny paused and turned the razor off with a job half done. “Be right back, I just got inspired.”


“And now,” the singer said, “something cute for all you hopeless romantics who want nothing more than innocent, sweet puppy love.”

Something about the fast melody made Camden’s knees weak. He wasn’t imagining it. Several guys – with or without bracelets or hoods – went to their knees as Skeet and the lean guy on the guitar started singing with a childlike energy.

Song: Puppy Luv

Who wants to be a dog?

Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.

Deep, hypnotic words echoed distorted through the music, making Camden shiver.

*(Eat… sleep…) *

He could see the stage better, with so many guys dropping to their knees.

Who wants to be a pet?

Yes, Master. This pup luvs you.

(Play… breed…)

When had he…? Camden was on the ground, on all fours. So was nearly the rest of the room. Dancing involved mostly shaking his ass and shoulders.

Looking up and ahead, Camden saw that a few guys had gone fully nude. He was looking directly at a hooded boy’s wiggling hole! It was the twink with the heart tattoo on the right cheek.

Wow, that took it a bit far. This was a gay club and all but come on, folks!

Actually, the smooth globes with a small limp package dangling below was begging to be fucked. Nothing in the world screamed ‘willing bottom’ like this.

Just as Camden was about to put a finger on that hole, a growling voice took over, singing the bridge.

Wag your tail.
Get down, pup.
Wag your tail.
Get hard, pup.

As the pianist repeated the lyrics, Camden found his head dropping. His ass was his highest point and he wiggled it like everybody else. Looking sideways he saw guys tongue kissing, licking each other’s mouths like happy puppies.

Who wants to learn commands?

Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.

(Collars… leashes…)

Camden wished someone would put a leash on his collar. Or maybe he’d rather put one on the boy in front of him.

Just to be a bit of a jerk, Camden licked his middle finger wet and – as a crescendo drew near – shoved it knuckle deep into the nude, hooded twink’s hole.

Before the twink could turn around, the athlete slid away on all fours, between the many kneeling dancers.

Chuckling to himself, he repeated the process with the next nude twink he came across.

If anyone would have done that to him he would have freaked out but his briefs were still on. If those boys didn’t want to get anally attacked they shouldn’t look so inviting. He was a power top after all. He had a bracelet and everything to prove it.

Who wants to be a good boy?

Yes, Master. This pup luvs you.

(Orders… discipline…)

Someone up ahead hooked a leash into the collar of a hooded guy who had clearly not expected it but went along.

Camden crawled to the merch stall. Maybe he could get a leash to put on someone cute.

Wag your tail.
Face down, pup.
Wag your tail.
Ass up, pup.

Camden and crowd sang along as they wiggled their asses. He was almost tempest to rim someone at random. Tight holes, loose holes, small asses, huge asses, plugged… Plugged?

He had seen correctly before. There were plugs for sale. And some of the guys had bought some for themselves. Camden watched as a thick man got three puppy tail plugs and shoved them up the ass of three unsuspecting boys.

All of them were taken by surprise but didn’t complain. Yeah, little bottom bitches.

When the last note echoed, most of the audience found their way back to their feet. Not the plugged ones, though. They stayed down without fail.

Camden felt a little embarrassed. Crawling on all fours at a concert? Thinking about rimming strangers? Wait, had he really fingered twinks without consent? He must have imagined that.

This was all getting a bit too much. Maybe he should step out or…

A hypnotic, monotone buzzing filled the air. Skeet’s sensual voice seemed to come from right next to Camden’s ear.

“Here’s what you’ve been waiting for,” Skeet said. “The title track of our first album. Anyone here who hasn’t listened to it yet? Lucky ones, you’re in for a treat.”

The deep buzzing grew louder, giving Camden tingles all over his body. He made his way closer to the stage as did all the others. Sweaty skin rubbing together.

The chaotic projections behind the band seemed to change in nature but the athlete couldn’t tell how. They were more… sharp.

Something – more feeling than word – seemed to say “submission” with the finality of a rock hitting the ground.

Song: The Sound Of Submission – Title Track

Lose your brain,
Hear the call.
Hear the buzzing,
That is all.

(It’s the sound of submission)

The beat went wild and Camden danced as if trying to shake off the sweat that had formed on his skin. He was horny – for every guy on stage, for every guy in the room and for the music itself.

{Skeet, Gabe}
Master tells you that you’re dumb,
There is nowhere your mind can run.
Master tells you to work out,
You lift those weights and run around.
Master tells you to get hard,
For this you won’t have to be smart.

(The buzz of submission)

Camden was hard and not because he followed the song’s lyrics like instructions. He felt the hood in his briefs slip loose and caught it before it hit the ground.

His briefs were sticky with pre. He couldn’t tuck it back in there.

Most of the room was wearing the black hoods by now.

Head is blank,
Naught but lust.
Dick to hole,
Fuck real fast.

(It’s the sound of submission)

{Skeet, Gabe}
If Master orders you to kneel,
The urge to drop is what you feel.
If Master orders you to drool,
You are a perfect mindless tool.
If Master orders you to cum,
You’re shooting loads till you go numb.

(The buzz of submission)

Camden put the hood on.

The world went infinitely black and silent. He was submerged in an ocean of impenetrable calm. There was nothing. He was nothing.

No, there was… a smell. Sweet and musky.

Like going from midnight to high noon, light and sound crashed into his brain with enough force to drive out any other thought.

Serve your role,
Sweat and piss.
Void your mind,
Drool and jizz.

(It’s the sound of submission)

The hood was almost fully transparent from the inside. Camden saw the room through a slight haze, shining gold and many shades of red. The hood snapped into his collar at the back by itself.

He stepped out of his grossly sticky briefs.

{Skeet, Gabe}
Master knows you through and through,
Your brain turns into horny goo.
Master knows you’re all the same,
He says the word and you are game.
Master knows you are a drone,
Start begging to serve at his throne.

(The buzz of submission)

A fantasy so vivid. Again, Camden wasn’t perfectly sure he wasn’t really fucking that twink right there but then his eyes snapped back to the stage where a buzz intensified.

{Drew, Skeet}
Worship now,
Brainless fuck.
You are a drone,
Believe your luck.

(It’s the sound of submission)

Camden may have cummed. He wasn’t sure. There were strings of white running down his lean muscular legs and he felt like he was floating. Like the beat drove him up. He almost let himself fall backward and ended up leaning into a jock with a scarlet bracelet whose drooling mouth hung open under his hood.

“Oops, sorry,” Camden shouted. “Fucking great song, huh?”

Even though the jock’s eyes were covered, he was clearly transfixed by the stage. He spoke unnaturally slowly. “Fuck… yeah… man.”

“Favorite song so far,” Camden shouted.

“Fuck… yeah…”

“Your’s too?”

The jock drooled onto his thick pecs and flexed them to make the clear string run down the middle separation. “Yeah… fucking… song… muscles… train… for master.”

Camden was a little weirded out but the guy was just too hot to get hung up on that.

“Good talk,” Camden said and danced the other way as The Sound Of Submission drew to a brutal, buzzing close.

How had he ever thought those hoods were uncanny?

Camden stepped on the underwear littered dancefloor. Only jockstraps were left on. Everything else had been dropped. In the middle of the crowd – hooded without exception – Camden started to jerk off.

There was that twink from before. The athlete might have recognized the boy’s tight globes even without the heart. The boy had two of his own fingers up his hole – one from each hand, spreading his tight backdoor.

20 days before the concert:

Gabe and Skeet shook with orgasm as they cummed up their own lean abs.

“Fuuuuck,” Skeet moaned in his bed.

“I was so fucking horny,” Gabe said. “I thought I would die.”

“And that’s only four days in chastity,” Skeet said. “How has Drew voluntarily gone for ten days and not turned crazy?”

“My theory? He already turned crazy. Hehe.”

“That horny bastard,” Skeet said with a grin. “But it’s comforting to know we’re all different. Have you noticed that the guys who listen to Droneboiz are starting to look more and more similar to them? And the LoVarianz listeners are putting on muscle like someone’s handing out free chicken breast.”

“Yeah, it’s weird. But Mas- I mean, Adam said variety is the spice of life, so I guess he doesn’t want every band to have identical audiences.”

Skeet looked at the ceiling. “You ever wonder if our listeners are going to become more like us? Like, Kenny’s the aggressive, dominant power top. Are his fans going to become more like him?”

Gabe chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind. He’s fucking hot. But Drew’s men are going to be useless, braindead muscle himbos.”

“Useless to you, maybe,” Skeet said. “I’m not a lazy, subby pillow queen. I power bottom studs like him. Or I would if he unlocked.”

“By the way,” Gabe said and grabbed his dick. “Wanna go again?”

“Absolutely. Once is not enough to get it all out after four day caged.”


“So far,” Skeet said, “we’ve heard all about big, burly dudes with big dicks and big muscles. But what about us power bottoms? Don’t we have desires, too? Here’s how I like to express it.”

The track was deep, pumping and made Camden’s hole tremble as if loosening up.

The band moaned into their mics and Camden had a vivid, flashing fantasy of ramming his cum covered rod up Skeet’s ass.

The music turned even deeper and darker as the band started the first verse.

Song: Hole Control

Wanting pleasure up the ass?
Let’s drop the pants right with the bass!
Pure anal fucking greed,
Is an overwhelming need.

Just riding dick is not enough
This hole needs to spend all day stuffed.
Hunger overtakes your mind
The hole is in control tonight.

A hand grabbed Camden’s dick. It was the heart-twink, who’d had enough of mere fingering. Without a word or any further preparation, the twink shoved his ass into Camden’s crotch and slipped his sphincter over the tip.

The singer on stage moaned as if he was getting railed hard. He sang between overdone moans, shamelessly fiddling his nipple rings.

Oh yeah, this cumdump needs dick
And wants it raw
And brutal
And deep
And fast
And reckless
And very very hard.

Camden slid fully into the twink and grabbed the shorter guy’s shoulders. With his heart beating in his throat he glanced left and right through the hood’s haze. Half the room was fucking.

Camden did none of the work. His bottom humped backward and twerked as if he had an itch up his guts that needed to be scratched by a cum-fountain. Ha, what a brainless, faggy bitch.

Rod milked, balls drained?
Stay on that dick until he faints.
Pure anal fucking greed,
Is an overwhelming need.

Move on if that dick is spent,
Cum and life go hand in hand.
Hunger overtakes your mind
The hole is in control tonight.

Camden wasn’t even sure the twink was having fun. If anything it looked like the bottom had to get his top to orgasm at gunpoint with the last minute ticking down.

But the athlete was having fun for sure. His dick was having the time of its life.

Totally out of breath Camden released into the ass with both hands on his nipples. He huffed a loud “Fuuuck”, drowned out by the thumping beat.

The twink pulled off and hopped onto the next hard rod.

Someone lined up their dick with Camden’s nude ass.

Hell no.

Hell. Fucking. No.

Camden turned to push the jock off and…

I milk, I drain
I catch a load
I milk, I drain
I catch a load

I need to fuck
I need to lick
I need to ride
I need to fuckfuckfuck

Camden accepted the dick into his hole. He humped backward and twerked. There was an impossibly irritating itch up his guts, almost painful and only a cum-fountain could scratch it.

The lyrics repeated and he shouted along as used his top.

“I need to fuckfuckfuck!”

He felt the song move to an ending and he knew he had to milk that dick before it was over. As if… well, he had thought up that gunpoint metaphor half a minute ago and it still worked.

You milk, you drain
You catch a load
You milk, you drain
You catch a load

You need to fuck
You need to lick
You need to ride
You need to fuckfuckfuck

The lyrics repeated again and Camden couldn’t even sing along, driven only by desperation. The hole needed… uh, he needed to get filled with cum.

Finally, on the last “fuckfuckfuck” he felt a hose go off inside him and remembered there was more to his body than a hole. Oh, and that he had never bottomed and hadn’t wanted to.

Embarrassed, Camden slipped off the stranger who vanished into the crowd.

Had he really just… bottomed? The cum running from his hole said yes.

He was back to his old self, power top and all that, even if his insides were pleasantly burning.

The heart-twink walked past him, a golden bracelet on his wrist. Camden tried to follow the boy but stumbled over a pup, crawling on the floor, wiggling its tail plug happily.

He grabbed the pup’s leash and led it out of the way. The twink was gone.

Camden had humped himself back to horniness, so his dick was not softening despite having shoot its second load for the night.

A voice he hadn’t heard much spoke. It was husky but effeminate.

“After this harder segment,” Gabe the guitarist said, “I’d like to return to a more romantic mood. This one’s about deep love, expressed through a certain act of caring.”

The music was chaotic. The projector images were pink and fuzzy. Gabe’s voice was a whisper among the instruments – more felt than heard.

Song: Deep Love

Oh, I’m feeling empty these days.
A burning hole inside me.
My life is not whole
Without the touch of your alabaster seed.

(Will you please cum on my face, sir?)

Right away, Camden wished he had someone to lean into and cuddle – and facefuck.

He saw boys and men lick their lips.

Who wants to part these luscious lips?
Who wants to hump this pretty face?

{Gabe, Skeet}
Loving it deep deep deep
Deep into my throat


Camden noticed how thirsty he was. He made his way to the bar. Unfortunately it seemed ever guy with a crimson bracelet and several others had had the same idea. He’d spend the whole song waiting in line.

Oh, I’m feeling bored these days.
All spice is missing from my dishes.
If only I could taste again
The sharp splash of your silver stardust.

(Will you please cum on my tongue, sir?)

A tan puppy jock without bracelet crawled up in front of Camden and deep throated the cum slick dick in one go.

The athlete recoiled in surprise at first. But he was horny after all.

A short, boyish, brown-skinned twink with nipple studs crawled between Camden’s legs and licked the standing man’s balls.

The jock and the twink struggled over the dick, one taking it deep at any given time with the other being a support-licker at the base and balls.

Who wants to paint this twink’s visage?
Who will place his nut on me?

{Gabe, Skeet}
Loving it deep deep deep
Deep into my throat


Camden was flicking his nipples and kept licking his own lips over and over. He thought about eating cum. There was some on the floor but braceletless guys already danced their way between the puddles to lick them clean.

Oh, I’m unfulfilled these days.
What is this void in me?
I can’t find meaning if I don’t have
The fire of a true man in my belly.

(Will you please cum in my mouth, sir?)

Camden shot load number three. It was a ridiculous amount considering his balls should have been empty. The two suckers pressed their faced and tongues together to catch it all.

Who wants to see his manly goo,
Dripping slowly from my smile?

{Gabe, Skeet}
Loving it deep deep deep
Deep into my throat


Camden wasn’t so thirsty anymore but he stayed in line anyway. He’d get that promised free drink, at least.

Staff walked around putting pink bracelets – Gabe’s color – on all the cum whores who didn’t have one yet. Looked like everybody was getting a free drink tonight.

Gentler sounds played as the musicians adjusted their instruments. As far as hardstyle, dubstep or dark techno are ever gentle.

One week ago:

“Man, Drew, you’re still at it?” Gabe asked.

The sweating muscle boy in nothing but socks and a thong was doing machine flies. His pecs were mesmerizing.

Drew stopped training and took out one headphone. “What?”

“I asked if… Are you listening to that workout song again?”

“Sure. On repeat since I stepped into this room,” Drew said and wiped a line of drool off his abs.

“How long have you been here?”

Drew got up and flexed at the mirror. “Since lunch.”

“Five hours? Dude, that’s not good. You’re overtraining.”

Drew kept posing. “I feel great. I’ve been growing more than I have in years.”

“Well, you look more fuckable than ever,” Gabe admitted. “Still, you can’t keep this up.”

“Fuck yeah, I can,” Drew said with a smile. “I get infinite energy from this piece of magic.” He pulled his thong down.

“You know you can take that dick cage off on the weekends, right?”

“Sure. I love it, though. Better get used to is anyway, if we’re going to perform in those.”

Gabe shrugged and started his own workout with cardio. Drew hit the squat rack, starting hour six of training.


Camden was most of the way to the bar when the drummer spoke up.

“This one’s what I listen to at the gym. So… all the time. What can I say? Nothing gets me pumped more than the sound of my own voice. Hehe.”

Song: The Workout Song

(Up, down, fuck yeah)

The track was highly repetitive and wormed its way into Camden’s brain instantly. He would have loved to be at the gym and maybe do dumbbell flies. He could almost feel the motion even though his arms were resting at his sides.

Camden got a drink in a can. He didn’t know what it was and just downed it in one go.

Drew’s voice was subject to a strong echo effect, making each line repeat over and over in a slow fade-out.

Arms and back, strip down.
Push and pull, jerk off.
Squatting deep, fuck me.

(Up, down, fuck yeah)

All the mouth-breathing himbos with scarlet bracelets got restless. Their dancing turned into flexing, then exercising. Several started to squat.

The ones with puppy tails were already on the ground and got started on pushups or crunches.

Camden had a desire to join them.

Two deep voices aligned for the next verse.

{Drew, Kenny}
See me sweat, lick it.
Love the pump, eat ass.
Bis and quads, fuck me.

(Up, down, fuck yeah)

The thumping of the track gave Camden too much energy, he couldn’t dance away fast enough. A few guys used the bar for box jumping. He couldn’t safely jump that high.

He got started on wide jumping squats, wishing he had more equipment here.

{Drew, Kenny}
Lift those weight, dick hard.
Fuck it up, hole tight.
Dumbbell raise, fuck me.

(Up, down, fuck yeah)

Camden saw a twink do something special. Wait, it was the heart-twink he had first laid eyes on.

The athlete climbed onto the bar, where guys buffer than him were still box jumping with rivers of sweat getting flung off their hard-ons.

Camden jumped and grabbed onto the beam above where lights were mounted on. He shimmied until he was next to the nameless twink.

Hanging, with their feet reaching the shoulders of guys below, the two did hanging leg raises.

Watch me cum, squeeze ass.
Feel it hard, dumb jock.
Muscle slut, fuck me.

(Up, down, fuck yeah)

Despite being out of breath and feeling his abs burn, Camden sang along. The lyrics were automatic. He knew he’d be hearing The Workout Song next time at the gym even if he wasn’t actually listening to it.

It kept playing in his head even when it was over, until he dropped down, fully exhausted.

He couldn’t keep going. This was the most draining concert ever.

“We’re closing up with something relaxing.” Skeet said. “Here’s our B-Side track that I know a lot of you call their favorite from the album. It goes hard but you’ll want to stay still and let the buzz stream through you.”

Camden saw a lot of guys take a broad legged stance, with their – mostly hard – dicks covered by both hands. As if standing at attention. Even the puppies ‘stood’ up on their knees.

He glanced at the twink, who had assumed the same position.

“Here’s Anthem. Listen close.”

There was a hum, similar to The Sound Of Submission.

Song: Anthem

*(Still thinking too much? Sing along)

Vibrations shook through Camden. He wasn’t sure if they made him erect or not. He couldn’t look down to check. His eyes were fixed on the stage.

The Master has risen.
Everybody worship.
Drones know their mission.
Everybody worship.

The projection behind the band showed lyrics for the first time, instead of just flashing images. Even through the haze, Camden could read the words with perfect clarity. As if he’d known the song already.

{All plus audience}
We pledge allegiance to the Master.
He fucks us longer, rougher, faster.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,
The Mindvoiderz are our guide.

The Master has risen.
Everybody worship.
Drones know their mission.
Everybody worship.

Camden felt euphoric, as if taking part in a sacred ritual that happened only once a lifetime.

{All plus audience}
The mind is blank, the ego null,
No need to think, just take it all.
The Master speaks, the drone obeys,
Please teach us the Mindvoiderz ways.

The Master has risen.
Everybody worship.
Drones know their mission.
Everybody worship.

Camden could feel himself leaking something. Maybe he was orgasming, maybe he was pissing. His heart was beating in the exact rhythm of the rapid, repetitive music.

He sang his heart out.

{All plus audience}
Exist to serve is our creed,
We hear commands, we just agree.
We are alive at Master’s side,
Open hearts, and legs spread wide.

The Master has risen.
Everybody worship.
Drones know their mission.
Everybody worship.

The image of a man appeared on the projection. There were only two words. “Master Adam”.

Camden shook with lustful reverence. Drool fell onto his crotch.

He kneeled.

Everyone kneeled.

The drones knew their mission.

Lyrics came back onto the wall.

{All plus audience}
Give us work and pain and lust,
We crave Master’s every thrust.
Only Master still has thoughts,
At long last your minds are naught.
It finally has come to this,
Only drool, sweat, cum and piss.
We follow orders to be better.
Squats for Master’s heightened pleasure.
Lifting, running, taking roids. Just like that, the mind goes voidzzzz.

The song ended and there was silence.

Silence in the room.

Silence in Camden’s head.


Two days ago:

Gabe found Adam in the lounge. A Droneboi kneeled before him without hood. Gabe had seen all the Droneboiz hoodless. It no longer spooked him that they were indistinguishable.

Adam was just zipping his pants back up.

“Hey, boss.”

“Gabe? What do you need?”

Gabe dropped onto the sofa. “I was just wondering… What’s endgame? I mean, there’s all this deep lyrical shit about discipline and following an order and completing a mission but what is ‘the mission’?”

Adam smiled. “The mission is to follow the order. The order is to complete the mission. It’s self-referential. Ouroboros. Mobius-strip. Escher painting. We’re making high art.”

“Oh, okay. But is there going to be more? I mean, if the drones all worship you… How do they best do that?”

“Buying merch,” Adam said, solemnly. “Haha! I’m kidding. Kind of. But to be honest, I started this business to give men a great experience and so they can listen to something motivational at the gym. This genre is all about discovering who you really are… or who you should be.”

Gabe chuckled. “So no secret plan to create an army of sex slaves for your entertainment?”

“Haha. Well, I don’t like these questions. You’re too smart for your own good, so… Your mind goes voidzzzz.”

Gabe’s mouth hung open. His eyes rolled back.

“You won’t question me again,” Adam said.

“Follow Master’s orders,” Gabe said, slowly.

“But I still feel like punishing you. Droneboi, get me the cattle prod.”


The spell broke and the room erupted. Camden cheered and applauded. This had been the best concert of his life. He’d buy the album and the next and the next and every item of merch. He had a new favorite band.

“Alright, that was it,” Skeet said. “Have a good night.”

“Encore,” half the crowd shouted.

“What was that?” Skeet said and lifted his hand to his ear.

“Encore,” the whole room shouted. “Encore, encore, encore.”

The singer took an exaggerated look at his bandmates – or at least turned toward them. Camden had no idea if they could see each other’s eyes from up close.

“Fine,” Skeet said. “I guess we can play a little, unreleased ditty. Expect it on our next album. Here’s Anal Rampage.”

The track was brutally hard. If there was any reverence leftover from Anthem it was now driven out by a wilder beat.

Camden noticed that the twink he had gotten so obsessed with was still standing there. He stepped up to the boy from behind and they grinded on each other.

Song: Anal Rampage

Ass attack!
Wreck that hole!
Smash that bitch boi!

Fuck fuck fuck yeah!

Camden looked left and right. There wasn’t a single gay sex act in the world that wasn’t currently being attempted on the dancefloor.

He lined up his dick with the boy’s hole and waited if the heart-twink pulled away or leaned in.

The twink greedily engulfed most of his eight inches and they slammed into each other.

Ass attack!
Shove it in!
Hump or die, faggot!

Fuck fuck fuck yeah!

Camden drove his dick into the boy. By all means he should have been totally flaccid but he was already nearing orgasm again. He didn’t know how many loads he was in but tonight had to be a personal record.

The music grew a bit less intense and Camden got to hear the moaning of the entire audience engaged in sex, most of it anal.

The guitarist’s husky voice whispered the bridge.

Let’s hear the noise.
Hip on hip.
Dick in ass.
Two bitches in heat.

Camden picked up the pace of humping as the song rose in intensity. The beat was drumming thoughts out of his mind, replacing them with more horniness than he could bare.

He thought of the Master.

Ass attack!
Lube ran out!
Burn those ass walls!

Fuck fuck fuck yeah!

Ass attack!
No hole is safe!
I take who I want!

Fuck fuck fuck yeah!

Before Camden’s inner eyes flashed the image of a man. Where had he seen this face before? A… Adam?

The athlete unloaded into the twink as the song drove into a grand finale. Everybody sang along.

{Skeet, Kenny}
Ass attack!
Fuck fuck fuck yeah!


Camden and the twink half hugged, jumping with their dicks flopping.

“Ass attack! Fuck fuck fuck yeah!”

The room smelled like sweat and cum.

“Ass attack! Fuck fuck fuck yeah!”

Camden was happy. And the Master had to be pleased as well.

“Ass attack! Fuck fuck fuck yeah!”

Adam was satisfied.

The turnout had been great and the Mindvoiderz had successfully entranced the entire audience.

No matter what he did next, he would never lack hot and willing recruits. An entertainment complex? A luxury resort? More bands? A TV show?

Maybe he should keep it small. Test the waters by getting some of the recruits to do porn and see who got popular. All he needed to do was tell them to.

They were his.

Most guys never found their shirts again. Camden also headed out with a bare torso. He pulled the hood off and let his face breath. With one hand he pushed his sweat-slick hair back, with the other he held the twink.

As the two walked down the corridor with Droneboiz posters on one side and LoVarianz posters on the other, the twink wrapped his arm around the athlete’s hip and tore his own hood off, too.

“Hey, you have a cute face,” Camden said.

The twink chuckled. “First time you’ve seen my face? I’ve liked yours from the start.”

“Yeah…” Camden said, feeling a bit lost. “I liked the hood, though. I didn’t think I would, but… I want to wear that thing a lot more now.”

“Same here,” the twink said. “I wasn’t even into that style of music. Now I want to hear nothing else.”

“Want to come home with me?”

“Sure. What’s your name, by the way? I can’t keep calling you ‘Jock’.”

“Why not? I don’t mind it, ‘Twink’.”

The twink laughed and turned red. “Okay. Names aren’t important anyway. I’m just a drone.”

They automatically spoke in unison. “I know my mission.”

A few guys in their vicinity had heard them and responded, “Follow Master’s orders.”

They left the building. Returning to the real world was a bit of a sad shock, but Camden had a date to bring home and fuck the brain out. He’d put The Sound Of Submission on repeat as they’d bang.

Camden would be eagerly waiting for the second album. And Master’s orders.

Note: I hope you liked my first foray into poetry. This is the also the first time I probably won’t post a story on my main platform, Nifty, since the site can’t handle formatting reliably. Even here I’m having trouble formatting T_T

So this here’s maybe a gayspiral exclusive.

Now tell me your thoughts. (That’s an order.)

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