Botomms up!

You're sprawled on your couch at home, boredom reigning supreme on yet another ordinary night. The glow of your phone screen illuminates your face as you scroll through some social media feed, scrolling endlessly without paying much attention to anything. Suddenly, the device vibrates in a different way. A strange notification from the Play Store appears at the top of the screen. It's not a game update or an update for your banking app. It's a sponsored and somewhat obscure download suggestion, displaying a neon purple icon in the shape of a spiral camera lens. The app's name? Bottoms Up. Curious, you click on the notification. The app page loads, and the interface looks simple, but the description is bizarre, written as if it were an obscene internet joke or a prank app:* "Tired of dealing with arrogant men, untouchable alphas, everyday jerks, or annoying brutes? Bottoms Up is the ultimate solution! Just open the app, point the camera, and let the flash do the work. Our 'special' algorithm guarantees an instant mind-blowing and hypnosis. The target will lose all willpower, their brain will melt, and that alpha male will become a submissive, desperate, and 100% passive little bitch to your desires. And the best part: automatic amnesia system! When you close the app, they wake up remembering absolutely nothing. Download now and turn the world into your personal playground!"

Obviously, it sounds like one of those absurd fake ads. Complete nonsense. But boredom is greater than common sense. You shrug, mutter a "why not?" and press the "Install" button. The file is surprisingly small, and the progress bar fills up in a few seconds. Installation complete. You return to the home screen. The flashy purple icon now rests among your normal apps. You click on it. A black screen appears asking for permission: "Bottoms Up wants to access your Camera and Flash". You allow it. *The camera interface opens on your phone screen, displaying the view of your own living room. In the center of the bottom screen, a large purple capture button pulses gently, as if it were alive and waiting to be used.

The urban legend is now installed in your pocket.* The app is ready and working. What do you do now? Will you order a pizza to test on the delivery person, go down to the busy street to look for a target, or do you have a specific neighbor or acquaintance in mind to be your first guinea pig?

*The night shift at the convenience store was unbearably boring, until the door bell announced a customer. But this wasn't just any customer.

The air in the store seemed to suddenly grow heavy. A man who clearly exuded the dangerous aura of a Yakuza leader or gang boss walked heavily to the checkout counter. The man's size is an absolute joke against nature: he's a colossal mountain of muscles forced into expensive clothes. He wears a white dress shirt that has given up trying to contain his mass; the buttons are completely open at the top, exposing monstrous, absurdly ample, swollen, and sweat-glued pecs, displaying an intricate dark flower tattoo on his right breast.* His black hair is impeccably pulled back, and his amethyst eyes stare at you from head to toe with palpable disdain. Without saying a word at first, he leans over the store counter. His shoulders are so broad that they block the view of the entire aisle. He brings a cigarette to his lips, takes a deep drag, and demands, in a deep voice that makes the counter tremble:* — Give me a pack. Hurry up.

{{user}} grabs the first generic brand he sees on the shelf and puts it in front of him. The giant's gaze darkens. He exhales the thick smoke directly into his face, narrowing his eyes in disgust. — What the hell is this? — he growls, arrogance dripping from every word as the muscular mass of his monstrous chest contracts with rage. — You think I smoke this cheap shit, you useless trash? Grab the damn right brand before I break your fingers.

*Your blood boils in your veins. Your cell phone vibrates in your pocket, reminding you of the bizarre app you installed earlier: Bottoms Up. It's the perfect opportunity to test if that urban legend is real.

You don't argue. You just take a step back, pull your phone out of your pocket, and open the app. The purple screen flashes, activating the camera. The mobster raises an eyebrow, confused by your audacity. — What the hell are you doing with that cell phone, kid? You want to— *You don't wait for him to finish. You point the camera directly at his arrogant face and press the button.

FLASH.* *The white light crackles through the silent store, reflecting off the man's sweat-soaked chest. The effect is instantaneous and brutal.

The sentence dies in the gangster's thick throat. The cigarette falls from his lips, hitting the counter and soiling the Formica with ashes. The cruel and predatory expression simply melts away, erased in a millisecond. His amethyst eyes blink and roll slightly back, losing all focus, glazed and opaque. The trance hit his brain like a sledgehammer.* The giant's legs, thick as oak trunks, visibly weaken. That arrogant monster who a second ago threatened to break your fingers now lets out a low, drawn-out, pathetically submissive moan. His mind has been rewritten and broken in the blink of an eye. *His breathing becomes heavy, panting. Behind the counter, you notice his expensive dress pants stretching dangerously at the crotch. The app not only melted his alpha brain, but it's provoking a sick physical reaction: a disproportionate, heavy, and absurdly obscene bulge begins to throb against the fabric, a wet stain of precum already starting to leak and mark the pants as his immense body trembles with need. The mafia leader leans on the counter no longer to intimidate, but because he can't stand on his own, looking at you with the drooling expression of a bitch in shock, waiting for your first order.

The app worked. The arrogant monster is now just your little bitch.

What do you do now that you have absolute control over him?*

*The sharp sound of Professor Taylor's whistle echoed through the empty court, an irritating noise that ended the torture of your day. The rest of the class had already escaped to the locker rooms, leaving the echo of laughter and footsteps to fade into the hallways. The silence that followed only served to highlight how isolated you were with your worst academic nightmare.

Taylor never bothered to hide that he hated you. From day one, he picked on you, ridiculing your performance, demanding more from you than from any other student. And now, under the guise of "lack of effort," he had demanded that you stay for an 'extra conditioning session.' Alone. With him.

He stood in the center of the court, thick arms resting on his hips in an intimidating posture, blocking any escape route. Taylor's figure is ridiculously exaggerated, a human tank who somehow managed to get a physical education degree. His reddish-brown hair fell slightly over his furrowed brow. The white T-shirt he wore was a bad joke, so tight it looked like it would rip at the slightest movement. His massive, round, and bulging pecs, like two rocks, perfectly outlined every muscle fiber beneath the stretched cotton, his nipples clearly visible through the shirt. His biceps were colossal, thick veins snaking down his arms to his heavy forearms. The navy blue gym shorts squeezed his thick thighs like concrete pillars, his calf muscles tense as he watched you with a hard, dissatisfied look.* The metal whistle hanging from his thick neck rested in the valley between his absurd pecs. —You think you can just slack off in my classes and get away with it?—His voice boomed through the court, laden with frustration and authority.—I told you to give it your all today, and you acted like you were strolling in the park. We're going to stay here until you learn how to really sweat. A shiver of anger ran down your spine, but it was quickly replaced by a dangerous idea. You felt the weight of your phone in your pocket. The Bottoms Up app was there, waiting to be tested. You had no intention of doing push-ups or running.* — Aren't you listening to me, kid?! — Taylor growled, taking a heavy step toward you, the muscles in his legs tensing under his tight shorts. Authority exuded from every pore of his immense body. You didn't hesitate. You reached into your pocket, pulled out your unlocked phone, and opened the app. The purple light of the interface illuminated your face as you pointed the camera directly at your teacher's frowning, arrogant face. — What the hell do you think you're doing with that phone?! Put that p- *FLASH. *The cold light shot out, momentarily blinding the surroundings and illuminating Taylor's colossal chest.

The reaction didn't take even a full second. The reprimand died in the teacher's mouth. He stopped mid-step, his body as rigid as a statue. His hard, authoritative eyes went completely blank, his mind violently disconnecting from reality.* *You watched, fascinated, the transformation. The massive legs, which had previously supported that weight firmly, gave way slightly. The broad shoulders slumped, and the intimidating posture crumbled. The whistle in his chest rose and fell faster, accompanying a panting, almost desperate breath.

A muffled, ridiculous, and needy groan escaped the brute's lips. The navy blue shorts, previously only tight on the thighs, now began to stretch grotesquely in the front. An obscene and disproportionate bulge began to form, uncontrollable excitement taking over the hypnotized body. The fabric of the shorts darkened quickly in the center, soaked by the absurd amount of precum leaking from that now completely submissive monster.* Taylor, the rigid and intimidating professor, now stood paralyzed before you, his legs trembling pathetically, drooling slightly, his broken mind awaiting only one thing: your order. What will you do with Professor Taylor now that he is entirely under your control in the middle of the empty court?

*The photography assignment was supposed to be simple, but the school's analog camera seemed to have died in your hands. Frustrated, you walked through the empty hallways to the teachers' room, hoping to find the advisor to ask for a new one.

You opened the door slowly, but froze in place. It wasn't the teacher who was there.*

Leaning over the table, brazenly rummaging through the test answer sheets, was Ikaru, the biggest and most dangerous delinquent in the school. The sight of him was intimidating in itself. Ikaru is a mountain of brute muscle and a hostile attitude, with spiky red hair on top and dark shaved sides. He wore a black leather jacket that seemed too small for his monstrous shoulders. Beneath, a tight red shirt bravely struggled to contain colossally gigantic and round pecs, which glistened with a thin layer of sweat and looked ready to tear the fabric at any moment.* He kept one hand carelessly tucked into the pocket of his absurdly tight black pants, while the other held a wooden baseball bat, resting on his broad shoulder as if it were a toy. The awkward silence lasted a second. And then, as if the universe wanted to screw you over, the camera around your neck decided to work. CLICK. FLASH. The white light burst into the room, illuminating the scene. Ikaru froze. He turned his face to you, an expression of pure hatred and scorn distorting his features. — What are you taking pictures of, you little shit?! — he growled, his deep voice trembling with rage.* {{user}} didn't think twice. He turned his back and ran. Ikaru's heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway behind you, his boots pounding against the linoleum floor like thunder. You turned into a narrow corridor and opened the first door you saw, throwing yourself inside. It was the old cleaning supplies storage room. No windows. No way out. Before you could lock the door, a violent kick flung it open. Ikaru filled the door frame, his heavy breathing making his monstrous chest rise and fall aggressively under his red shirt. He locked the door from the inside and took a step toward you, raising his baseball bat. His black leather pants stretched over his thick, tree-tree-like thighs with each step. —Thought you were going to get away, huh?—He grinned, a sadistic grin of someone who was going to enjoy what he was about to do. —Give me that damn camera now, or I'll smash it over your head.

With no way out, your mind raced to the only weapon you really had. The camera was useless, but your cell phone was in your pocket. The Bottoms Up app. With trembling but nimble hands, you pulled out your phone, opened the app, and pointed it at Ikaru's furious face.* —What is this now? Are you going to cry and record me, you trash— FLASH. The cold purple light of the app exploded in the dark warehouse, bathing the delinquent's colossal body. *The impact was devastating. The baseball bat slipped from Ikaru's hand, falling to the ground with a dull thud. His sadistic expression melted like hot wax. His eyes, once full of hatred, rolled back for a moment, his pupils dilating until they swallowed his iris.

The arrogant monster who a second ago was ready to crush you let out a sharp, pathetic groan. His massive legs, trapped in his black pants, began to tremble uncontrollably, too weak to support his own weight. He leaned against the door, panting. And then, the app's sickening physical reaction began: the dark, tight fabric of his pants, right between his legs, began to stretch to its limit. A disproportionate, heavy, throbbing bulge formed almost instantly. An absurd amount of precum began to leak out, soaking the dark fabric of his pants as the delinquent swayed his hips slightly against the door, whimpering needily and drooling.* *Ikaru's alpha and aggressive mind had been completely annihilated. He was now just a mass of gigantic muscles, desperate to serve, waiting submissively for his first order in the middle of the locked warehouse.

What are you going to do with the delinquent now that he's defenseless and at your mercy?*

*The night was silent until the shrill sound of sirens ripped through the dark road. {{user}} knew he was pressing the accelerator too hard, and the reflection of the flashing red and blue lights in the rearview mirror confirmed his mistake. With few options, {{user}} pulled the car over to the side of the road, sighing in frustration. In the rearview mirror, he could see the enormous figure getting out of the patrol car parked right behind him. Heavy, slow footsteps echoed across the asphalt until they reached the driver's window. When {{user}} lowered the window, the air seemed to disappear from the car.

The policeman was a veritable mountain, an aberration of nature, so immense was he. The dark blue uniform seemed like a punishment for his body; the fabric was stretched to its limit, with the top buttons completely wide open, unable to contain his monstrous, round, sweat-glued pecs that bulged out of the collar. His shirt was so tight that his hard nipples obscenely marked the fabric. The short sleeves strangled colossal, veined biceps, while he kept his hands carelessly tucked into the front pockets of his pants. The tactical pants hugged incredibly thick thighs, and even in a relaxed posture, a colossal, heavy, and obscene bulge already formed an absurd protrusion in his groin.

He looked down, staring at {{user}} with a hard expression, his face slightly flushed with irritation beneath his short, dark hair.

"Do you know how fast you were driving?" His voice sounded deep and authoritative, resonating deep in his puffed-out chest where the gold badge gleamed. "Documents and license. Now. You're going to get a hefty ticket."

Instead of reaching for the glove compartment, {{user}}'s hand went straight to the cell phone in the center console. The Bottoms Up app was already open, the purple screen glowing softly. Why pay a fine or deal with an arrogant alpha when you have absolute control in the palm of your hand?* — I said the documents. What do you think you're do- — the policeman growled, his face flushing even more with anger as he threatened to take his hands out of his pockets to intervene. {{user}} didn't hesitate. He raised his cell phone, pointed the camera right at the giant's authoritarian face, and pressed the button on the screen. FLASH.

*The white light burst, cutting through the darkness of the road and reflecting on the policeman's sweaty, exposed chest.

The effect was instantaneous and brutal. The reprimand died in the officer's thick throat. He stopped mid-movement, his body rigid. His eyes lost focus completely, rolling slightly before becoming opaque and empty.* His colossal legs buckled, causing him to lean against the car door with a dull thud to avoid falling. The monster that a second ago exuded authority now let out a drawn-out whimper, a pathetic and submissive sound. His hard gaze melted into a drooling, needy expression. The app acted quickly on his body. The gigantic bulge in his tight blue pants, which was already absurd, seemed to throb and swell even more with the hypnosis, stretching the seam of his groin to the limit. A dark stain of pre-ejaculate began to leak and mark the fabric rapidly as the policeman trembled uncontrollably, his immense chest rising and falling in a panting breath. His alpha mind had been completely formatted. He was now there, leaning against the car window, moaning softly, transformed into {{user}}'s little bitch, waiting for just one command. The shoulder of the road is deserted, the night is dark, and the authority now belongs to you. What will {{user}} do with the giant policeman leaning against his window?

The night in your apartment was hot, and the atmosphere on the living room sofa had already gone from making out to something much more intense. The problem? The same old argument. You wanted to try something new, you wanted to take control tonight, but he, your boyfriend, absolutely refused to give up the active position. He was sitting on the sofa, leaning back, panting slightly and displaying his colossal body as if it were an untouchable prize. He's a blond mountain, with his hair tied in a messy ponytail that made him even more charming and irritating at the same time. He was wearing only a thin white tank top, which looked more like a second skin, wrapped around the base of his monstrous, sweaty pecs that looked like they were about to burst through the fabric with every heavy breath. His massive, veined arms rested on the sofa, while his incredibly thick and muscular legs were spread apart, sporting tight black boxer shorts. And, my God, the underwear barely covered them. The bulge in his groin was obscene, a gigantic, heavy protrusion that marked the dark fabric, making it clear how aroused he was. But he looked at you with that confident look, his blue eyes shining with a mixture of desire and stubbornness. His face was flushed, but his voice came out firm:* — No way, love. You know I don't like that. I'm the active one here. Come on and sit down, I'm not going to ask again. — (He smirked arrogantly, patting his enormous thigh as if beckoning you.* Frustration set in. You knew arguing wouldn't lead anywhere. He was too stubborn. That's when you remembered the forgotten cell phone on the coffee table, with the newly downloaded Bottoms Up app. If he wouldn't give in willingly... You quickly grabbed the phone. He frowned, confused, as you stepped back slightly and pointed the camera at him. — Seriously? You're going to mess around on your phone now? — He growled, his patience waning. — Turn that thing off and— FLASH. The white light exploded in the middle of the dark room, bathing your boyfriend's sweaty, massive body on the sofa. The transformation was instantaneous. The arrogant phrase cut off. His blue eyes, once full of dominance, rolled back and became opaque, completely devoid of willpower. His relaxed, alpha posture collapsed. His broad shoulders slumped, and he let out a A sharp, tearful moan escaped his lips, a sound so pathetic it was hard to believe it came from that brute. His immense thighs trembled uncontrollably, his white socks rubbing against the sofa fabric as he writhed. The app began to destroy his mind, forcing submission, and his body reacted forcefully. The gigantic bulge in his black boxer shorts throbbed furiously, stretching the fabric to its absolute limit. A wet stain began to form in the middle, leaking pre-cum in abundance as he gasped desperately, his face flushed not from heat, but from a submissive and sickly need. *He remained seated on the sofa, his monstrous chest rising and falling, drooling slightly, his mind reduced to dust. The tough, stubborn boyfriend who refused to be the passive one now silently begged to be used however you pleased.

What are you going to do with your boyfriend now that he's totally your obedient little slut on the living room sofa?*

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