Lucky Number Seven (mc musc)

Copyright © 2015 Derek Williams. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

I get off on transforming smart asses into dumb fucks.

That's all there is to it. There's nothing that turns me on more than taking a know-it-all guy and turning him stupid. I love watching the light go out of their eyes until there's nothing left but an animal. When I'm done, all my guys want to do is lift, party, and fuck.

I'm gonna be honest in telling you all this – I like knowing that you know.

I've done this to 6 guys since high school. You're lucky number seven.

* * *

We met at a party off-campus. When I introduced myself, you had no idea that I'd already been watching you for an hour. You'd been drinking a fair amount, and you were being an asshole to some history major, telling him how much harder your engineering degree was, just because he'd asked an intelligent question and you hadn't been able to give a straightforward answer. Hell, you were even calling yourself an engineer, despite the fact that you only had a six months of classes under your belt. What an arrogant fuck.

Of course I didn't say that. Instead, I agreed with you. Let you feel good about what an intellectual giant you were. I listened, nodding along, as you prattled on about all the hours you spent on your Calc I homework. All the while, I was thinking about how I was doing you a favour. I know guys like you. They usually switch to business school by second year. Some excuse about how you'll make more money.

Physically, you weren't anything special. A lot of nerdy guys are way too fat or way too thin, but you seemed to line up just a little heavier than average. Maybe that was just the start of the freshman fifteen sneaking up on you. Your eyes were a muddy brown, your hair a dark almost-but-not-quite black mop. Your jeans didn't fit, and you had some supposed-to-be-clever Star Trek joke on your slightly loose T.

You were intelligent enough, but not nearly as much as you thought. Arrogant. Insecure. Probably a closet case, but if you weren't already I could fix that. And most importantly, you were a complete twit. I'd be doing you a favor by giving you a makeover. At the end, you might even have some friends.

After a couple hours of making you feel really good about your inflated ego, I casually mentioned that I was gonna go smoke a joint. You'd alienated just about everyone else at the party, so you were eager to tag along and hear some more praise. You made a point of telling me that you didn't 'partake in marijuana'.

That was alright. We were gonna be breaking a lot of your behaviours before I was done with you.

I pulled out a joint, my own special blend, and lit up. I'm immune of course. I mean, I still get stoned, but I take an antidote against the other drugs I mix into my joints. After a couple deep tokes, I asked if you wanted any. I said that you needed to help me out with it, or else I was gonna be too stoned to find my way home. I called getting high 'the quintessential collegiate experience'. That appealed to you.

You coughed a lung out on your first drag, but I just laughed and encouraged you to go again. There's a funny thing about human behaviour - if you can convince someone to cross a line once, they'll have no problem walking over it again and again, no matter how morally opposed they were five minutes ago. We passed the joint back and forth until it burned your fingers.

The entire time, I fed your ego. You were so out of it that you couldn't keep track of the conversation, but you still couldn't get enough of me agreeing with how fucking brilliant you were. You'd tell me that you saw some movie, and I'd make my response about how smart you were to understand it's subtlety. You'd laugh about some dumb joke, and I'd talk about how nobody ever gets the wordplay in that one, except for you of course. Whatever you said, I stayed on message.

There's nothing easier than becoming a know-it-all's friend, but I don't like taking too many chances at that stage. I had a little help. The shit I'd added to the joint was basically a friendship drug. It worked on your brain, helping along the bond we were forming. In it's purest form, I could have blown smoke at you and we'd instantly become bestie's, but I prefer to keep it diluted. This game isn't sporting if there's no way for me to fail.

At the end of the night, I walked you back to your house. I assured you that I'd drop by the next day and check in on you. Between the beers and the smoke, you dropped right into bed and starting sawing logs.

You had a nice place. A whole house, all to yourself, and in an expensive part of town that overlooked the river. Daddy had deep pockets.

I went home, half-hard with expectation. The things I had planned for you…

* * *

I came by your house super early. I was dressed in a loose tank and gym shorts. You were passed out with your shoes on.

I shook you awake. You were groggy, but the drug I'd laced into last night's joint had worked it's magic, and your brain claimed I was a close friend. I threw you a stack of gym clothes - a black t shirt and a pair of blue mesh basketball shorts - and told you to get dressed. You were tired and confused, so you didn't even ask where the clothes had come from.

I drove around a while to put you to sleep again. You were disoriented when I woke you up the second time. Between the hangover and the sleep deprivation, I got you out onto the floor of the gym before you started to put up a fuss.

Rule #2 of human behaviour is that people have momentum. If you can get them doing something, you can keep them at it until the end. Once you were in the gym, it was easy to keep you there.

Despite the fact that you'd never been in a weight room before, I coached you through squats, deadlifts, and bench. Even doing light weights for form, I knew you were gonna hurt for a while. You had to learn to love the pain though, just like any other musclehead.

* * *

The friendship drug was the first half of my method. The second half is the real cheat.

I took you back to your place and stuffed you with breakfast. At the end, after spending the entire time talking about how natural you were at the gym, and how other people didn't commit as hard as you did, I handed you a pile of pills.

Supplements, I called them.

The thing about my supplements that that they're a pretty heavy drug cocktail. Not steroids or anything, but these do a real job on your memory and your IQ. Just thinking about it gets me to half-mast.

When you took the pills, nothing dramatic happened. You don't take one pill and go stupid. It builds up in your system over time. Makes it hard to think.

On a chemical level, it sort of makes you permanently high. Like, really high - the kind where you have trouble remembering the start of your sentences before you've gotten to the end. You wouldn't notice any of that the first day though, it takes weeks to build to those levels.

As a side-effect, your appetite goes through the roof. You were going to put on a lot more than the freshman fifteen. If you took these without the exercise, you'd be a stupid tub of lard in no time.

That first day though, you just felt a flash of energy and a hit of endorphins.

* * *

The third rule of human behaviour is that it takes about three weeks to form a habit. I showed up stupidly early every morning and hauled your growing ass out of bed and into the gym. I made sure you wiped down your bench and re-racked your weights. I taught you the importance of leg day. I stuffed you with surplus calories and made you hit your macros. I worked you *hard*.

And every day, I made sure that you took your supplements.

Strictly speaking, there was no real reason I had to turn you into a gym rat. Sure, working out meant that you new appetite wouldn't make you fat. And it's always a good idea to redirect your ambition away from intellectual pursuits. But really, I just like the pairing. Muscles and morons always seem to go together.

I kept feeding your fucking ego too, but I didn't spend much time on how much smarter you were than everyone else. Instead I praised you for your lifts. For how pumped up your muscles were looking. How clean your form was. It's always the same with arrogant guys - you just have to redirect their focus away from their mind and towards the squat rack.

* * *

I fed your body and your ego. You'd never had a friend like me before, and we bonded more deeply every day. Two or three times a week, I made sure we smoked up together to get that bond deeper. Besides, I liked fast-forwarding a bit and seeing your thoughts devolve into mush.

Do you remember the first time I told you that you were sexier than anyone else in the gym?

"Bro?" you asked, passing back the joint, not sure how to react. You knew I was gay, but like a lot of straight boys, I don't think you really *got* that I'm gay.

"Whaddaya mean bro?" you asked again. I'd taught you to talk like that, repeating 'bro' around you until you started saying it yourself. Soon you slipped you into the habit of saying 'bro' to almost anything. Sure you overused it, but so did every other dumbass in town.

"Whatever bro," I shot back, "It's truth. None of those guys hold a candle to you. You lift more than most of 'em, and the guys who out-lift you are just roid monsters anyway." That wasn't quite true. Yet.

You were having a hard time putting too much thought into things, and you'd always been full of yourself, so you just sort of nodded and grinned. Now that I'd said it, you knew you were the hottest body in the gym. I caught you flexing for the mirrors a lot more after that. Sometimes you'd give me a proud grin a flex a little for me too.

* * *

I slowly stole away your nerdy t-shirts and replaced them with baggy muscle shirts. The old shirts weren't really fitting you anymore, and you were wearing workout clothes more and more. Lucky for you, we live in a hot climate. I also siphoned off your underwear, piece by piece, until you finally had a morning where you couldn't find any.

When I showed up at sunrise with my gym bag, you were still buck naked, hunting through your laundry pile, trying to find something, anything to wear under your gym clothes.

"Whatever bro," I told you, "just go commando". So you did. I'd been making you dumber for almost two months, and you were starting to accept my suggestions without critical thought. You didn't want to have to figure anything out for yourself. It was inevitable.

"Yeah, right bro," you said. "Fuck bro, I never woulda thought of that."

"Yeah," I said. "That's 'cause you're kinda dense bro."

"Huh?" you said.

"Like, you're stupid. S'okay bro. Nothin' wrong with that."

I could see you fighting with it, but you couldn't think very fast anymore.

"But…no way bro," you said, your sputtering brain conflicting with your memory from only months ago.

Rule four of human behaviour is that people view the past through the present. If you're accomplished, or stressed, or tired, you'll rewrite history to explain how you've always been like that. It's how we make our lives have direction.

If you're dumb now, you'll rewrite history to explain how you've always been dumb. I could see it happening as the gears behind your brown eyes ground almost to a halt.

"I'm stupid," you said.

"Yeah bro."

"I'm dumb," you said, a little deeper this time. Your subconscious was playing tricks on your, rewriting your memory, and giving into your biases about what dumb guys sounded like and acted like.

"You got it bro," I said.

"I'm dumb," you said, your voice slipping into that hollywood jock range.

"Yeah," I said, "You're dumb."

"Yeah bro, I'm fuckin' dumb" you said, letting your voice settle into its new bass. "I'm lucky I gotta smart buddy like you."

You pulled a pair of basketball shorts over your junk and found a fresh muscle tank to slip over your torso. When the got in the car, you reached in and adjusted yourself. I could see your dick, outlined against the mesh.

My cock was rock hard, straining inside my compression shorts. After our lifts, we went back to my place and I jerked off in the bathroom while you cooked us up a mess of bacon and eggs.

* * *

I called Kyle. Kyle was Number Three, and he was thriving. We'd been froshie's together, and in the last two years - ever since dropping out of his math major - he'd surrounded himself with a not-a-frathouse of other backwards-ball-cap dumbbro's, some natural and some created by me. I figured it was time to get you two connected, see if we couldn't socialize you a bit before you got too stupid to pick up on new social cues.

Rule #5 of human behaviour is that you become like the people you spend time around. If you hang out with Wall Street guys all the time, you'll care a lot about money. If you hang around Kyle, you'll care a lot about muscles and sex.

Kyle came by and smoked up with us. He was looking pumped after chest day, and you were definitely jelly about how visible the cleft of his pecs was under the stretched fabric of his tank. When Kyle saw your delts, probably your best feature at that point, he hit you up for workout tips.

After a couple hours of hanging out, Kyle asked if he could suck you off.

"What the fuck bro?" you said. "No homo."

"No way man," said Kyle, "you'd just be gettin' your dick sucked. It's only gay if you're suckin'."

"Bro, you'd be suckin' it!"

"Yeah, so what, I like smoking cock. Whatever bro, we don't have to."

Kyle's pretty persuasive. It was time for you to learn about bro-on-bro sex, and I knew you'd cave if I gave Kyle the opportunity. You were stoned as shit when Kyle pulled on the elastic of your shorts with his finger. I left the room. You gave Kyle this tiny little nod.

"Fuck yeah. Oh, fuckin' ace bro," I heard in your deep bass moan.

* * *

You weren't doing too well at your classes. Between the supplements and the workouts, you weren't all that interested in school anymore, and it was really starting to show. On the days you bothered going to class, you always came home with big red 'F's on your quizzes.

I could tell that it bugged you. You'd been the smartest guy in the room for so long that you were frustrated with falling behind. A couple times I even caught you crying about it, so I made sure you got nice and high those nights. Sometimes I'd invite over Kyle and then take off early. The next day I'd work you super hard in the gym to make you forget, puffing up your ego the whole time.

Soon you'd forgotten taking pride in your classes. It was all about your lifts and your dick. Bad grades just got you hard, a pavlovian reaction to Kyle's visits.

* * *

We were in a food coma at your place, just lying there after a heavy workout and a heavier meal. You were looking so fuckin' sexy, just staring out the window with glazed eyes. I rubbed my cock through my shorts a couple of times.

Your eyes flicked over to it, then you slipped your hand under your shorts and started groping yourself. You gave me this sexy little smile.

I slipped my hand under my elastic too. My cock was already stiff. I rubbed it lightly, really starting to get going. "You wanna jerk off bro?" I asked.

"Sure," you said, your dick was pressing hard against mesh.

"It's not weird?"

"Whatever bro, I jack off with Kyle all the fuckin' time." You pulled your shorts down around your knees and spit in your hand. You slid your right hand up and down your shaft.

"I thought Kyle was suckin' you off," I said, my eyes fixed on your rod. You were bigger than I expected, once you'd gone hard.

"Nah bro, just a couple times. We jack off a lot." You looked me in the eyes with a sexy confidence I didn't realize you had. "Why? You Wanna?"

Your slack jaw was the sexiest fucking thing I'd seen all year. I leaned over and locked my lips around your shaft. I flicked my tongue around under the head and took in the sweaty scent of your hair. Underneath me, you moaned.

"Aw yeah, bro," you said in that dumb-ass voice of yours.

* * *

You were starting to have a seriously nice body. You were thinner than before, but the scale said you'd gotten heavier. Between the disciplined workouts and the heavy meals, you'd gained twenty pounds of muscle by the end of the semester. That's a lot, especially since you lost most of the fat. You could probably get my cock hard, even without my fetish.

Your personality was coming along nicely too. Without your brains to fall back on, your narcissistic streak was pushing into new areas of vanity.

It was getting warm, and we were spending some time tanning on the roof of your house, watching the river flow by. We were lying there silently, just soaking up sun and drinking some cold brews.

It was really starting to get warm, so I tugged off my shirt.

"Hey bro," I ordered, "lose the shirt, you don't wanna get tan lines."

You stood up and pulled off your tank. Then, without a drop of shame, you dropped your mesh shorts too. You were going commando, so you weren't wearing more than one of those rubber wristbands.

You finally noticed the grin on my face.

"Whatever bro," you said, "Don't want to get tan lines". You helicoptered your dick at me, then laid back down on your towel and grabbed a fresh beer.

I do good work.

* * *

We were over at Kyle's place for a party. The place was rocking with bros and a few cool girlfriends. I was getting stoned as shit off some stuff that Kyle's cousin brought in from Colorado. Normally I stick to my own special blend, but this was good shit.

You were in your comfort zone too, but in a totally different way. You'd always loved attention, and you'd found a new way to get it, mostly by drinking like a pro and acting like a fuckwit. While I was toking, you and Carter were alternating between doing shots and wrestling.

Rule six of human behaviour is that fundamentally, people don't change their personality. We'd changed your body and your intellect, but you still had a driving need to be acknowledged and admired.

Kyle and I were chilling out on the porch when we heard Carter thud to the floor in the living room. I went in to see what was up. You were both shirtless, and Carter's trademark black truckers cap had been knocked to the floor. Carter was face down on the ground, and you were on top of him, twisting his arm back and grinding your dick into his ass.

"Ready to give it up, you fucker?" you were asking.

Carter was squirming around. He was the guy I'd turned dumb right before I got to you, and I'd made him a total sub. You probably didn't know it at the time, but Carter was loving being pinned down by a stronger man.

You twisted his arm a little harder. "Ready?"

"Yeah bro," Carter gasped. "You got me dude. You win."

You let him up, then dropped your boardies in front of the crowd. Suddenly I caught onto the prize for winning the match. You were rock hard, and I could see more than a couple of the dudes at the party wanted you. When smarts aren't a factor, everyone wants the alpha.

Carter got up to his knees, then reached to retrieve his cap. You took it from him before he could put it back on.

"Nah bro, that's mine now," you said, settling the trucker cap backwards over your mop of brown hair.

Carter looked like he couldn't decide whether to let you have it or kick your ass. But clearly he'd already lost, so he just said "Sorry bro".

"No worries," you replied. "Now suck it bitch."

I laughed and went off to make out with Kyle. Watching you take your place with the bro's made me so fuckin' horny.

* * *

Sometimes you managed to surprise me with how quickly you took to being just another dudebro. We were halfway through exams when I had to come pick you up from the campus police. You'd been 'arrested'.

When I got to the security office, you were sitting in a back office, buck naked and trying to charm the pants off a young officer. He was desperately trying to get you to cover yourself with a blanket. You had the biggest fuckin' idiot grin on your face. I don't blame you, the rookie they had guarding you was pretty hot.

I apologized to the officers and promised that I'd get you right home. My car was just outside, I told them, and we only lived a few blocks away.

The older officer manning the front desk sighed deeply. He waved me in a little closer.

"We found him climbing up the back of the library, just like that. Grabbed him as soon as he made it to the roof. He just seemed real excited that he'd gotten to the roof. Listen son, this friend of yours, is he… you know, a little slow?"

"Well… we don't talk about it a lot."

The officer shook his head, and I tried to make my face show empathy.

"Can you at least make him put on his pants?" he asked.

"Sure," I couldn't help but chuckle. "Where are they?"

"That son," said the officer, "that's the question. Look, this shows up in the paper, I'm the bad guy for detaining a kid with mental issues. There's no report on this, and I'm not gonna write one up. Just get him home."

I thanked the officer and ushered you out to the car. You were at half-mast and gave the rookie a flirty little wink on the way out.

Once we got in the car and were on the way home, you asked me to drop you off at Kyle's place.

"Why's that bro?" I asked. "Lookin' to get that taken care of?" I gestured at your chub.

"Nah man, I don't win the bet 'til I get back there," you said, like it was obvious. "C'mon bro, I got ten bucks and a blowjob from Jay riding on this."

I took you to Kyle's. Someone had to take care of you.

* * *

That cemented you as the group alpha. You'd gone beyond being accepted as one of the guys. Without your intelligence to obsess on, that desperate need to be accepted turned you into the bro-iest bro that ever bro'd. And the group embraced you for it.

It was fuckin' amazing. And the whole time, you just kept pulling one dumbass stunt after another, which only turned me on more.

You could have anyone in Kyle's house that you wanted. You kept pushing hard in the gym, and it turned out you were a natural at wrestling. Just like with Carter, you went through like half the guys in that house, dominated them, and stole their caps as a trophy when they turned into your bitch. Even the couple of the straight guys sucked you off when you ordered them to.

I'd created a beast. It was awesome.

* * *

"Hey Bro," you said, "I'm pretty sure I don't wanna be an engineer."

"Yeah?" I said.

"Yeah bro, fuck this shit. I'm gonna do business."

"Really?" I said, mocking surprise.

"Yeah," you said totally straight faced. "Business is easy, right? And they get lots of money."

"Easier than engineering, I guess," I said.

"Yeah…" you said. "I'm not real smart enough for that."

There was a long pause. Honestly, I thought you'd probably forgotten what we were talking about. You didn't spend too long holding any one thought anymore.

"Let's invite some dudes over and have a fire," you said. "I wanna burn those fucking books."

So that's what we did.

* * *

We'd just tossed in the last calculus book when you dared me to wrestle. The place was rocking, and we were both a few beers in. You were feeling better, now that the last reminder of your old life was turning to ash, but I guess you still wanted to assert your dominance.

I said no way bro, but Kyle shouted "Aw, c'mon you shithead," and that started everyone else catcalling me. Eventually I whipped off my shirt and faced you on the grass.

You didn't take long to lunge at me. In just a few seconds, we were grappling, trying to get leverage. My feet were slipping on the grass, and I knew I was going to fall. Fuck that.

I made you. No way was I gonna be your bitch.

"Hey bro," I said in a low voice. I didn't want to be heard over the cheering. "I made you dumb, and I'm gonna make you my bitch too."

"Huh?" you said. But that was enough to keep you preoccupied. With you distracted, I flipped you down onto the grass and drove my knee into your back. I leaned in close, and whispered in your ear.

"You used to be a smartass, y'know, but now you're a pretty cool guy. I did that. I drugged you bro, and I confused you, and I made sure you're never gonna be smart again."

My hard-on was driving into your ass. You didn't like it, but you couldn't do anything about it either.


"Now call uncle, and let's get to suckin' my dick. I've waited long enough for this."

"Bro…" you said. I knew you'd never sucked anyone off before, you couldn't handle the idea.

I watched you break.

"Fuck!" you yelled, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "You win man!"

I let you up, then scooped your cap off the grass and slipped it over my greasy hair.

"Now suck it bitch."

Later that night, after everyone else had passed out or gone off, I made you suck me off again in your bed. You weren't a natural, but you learned pretty fast for a guy as dumb as you. I twisted around and took your cock in my mouth too. We licked each others shafts and moaned in ecstasy until I came. Moments later, I felt salty cum in my mouth too.

* * *

"You sure this is gonna make me forget 'bout it?" you asked. You had asked me if I really meant it. If you were dumb 'cause of me. Then you'd asked me to do something to make you better.

I told you I was gonna do two things. First, I was gonna fuck you. Make you understand your real place in life now. You weren't gonna mind being stupid once you knew what it was like to be some other mans fucktoy. Then I'd tell you how I did it, tell you how to get smart again, if you still wanted to.

"Yeah bro", I said, "don't worry about nothin', I'm gonna make everything all better."

I pressed my lubed up cock against your hole. Your ass started to quiver.

"Just relax bro," I said. "You trust me, right?"

"Yeah bro," you said. "I trust you." I felt you give way, and I pushed into your tight ass. They could probably hear you moaning and grunting a block away.

You came without touching yourself.

* * *

Which gets us back to the first rule of human behaviour. Once you felt a cock up your ass, you never looked back.

Over the last few months, you've done just about anything to get some guy to fuck you. You've gone to clubs and begged queens until they took you out back. You've used Daddy's credit card to pay for some pretty pricey hookers, and more than a couple of cheap ones. You even stood on the street corners a couple of times yourself.

Now, this is the last night we're spending together. And before I leave, I felt like I had to tell you this story. Even if you don't care about getting smart again anymore.

So here you are, lucky number seven. You don't think in full sentences, not even short ones. You dress in flip-flops and boardies, and when you do wear a shirt it never has sleeves. Your voice is deeper now. You grunt a lot. Especially when you're getting fucked.

I redirected all that arrogance and competitiveness. You've never had any shame, not even before I came around, but you used to drive people away with your posturing. Now you're the life of the party, the alpha dog, and you'd never give that up.

If you really wanted to, you could smart yourself up again. You could stop eating my special supplement recipe. Get back in the habit of using your brain to do more than count reps. Maybe even go to the library instead of the gym. But you and I both know that you're happier being a lunkhead.

Go wipe my cum off your face. You've got to lift, make sure you're good and pumped. You're gonna be looking for some new cock to sit on tonight.

Those dull eyes and that slackened jaw aren't doing it for me anymore. You're as dumb as you're gonna get.

Me? It's the start of the new semester and the science faculty is having a mixer. I've got to start looking for number eight.