You'll find all of my stories here.
Swallowed by the Scroll
Transformation in the Night
The Silent Sentinel
Thank you Aunty!
Lights are up but no one's home
Reformating Love
Nordic Heritage
One way trip to Caracas
The Grand Solis Hotel
Contract of the Flesh
The match of a lifetime
Designated Role
Only the trees knows the trueth
Valentine's last delivery
A new beginning
Sensius Prequel: A question of Timing
Sensius, Part 1: The fall of Nathan Harper
Sensius, Part 2: A story of Manliness
Sensius, Part 3: A lesson of Obedience
Christmas story exchange 2024: An odd meet and greet
Christmas story exchange 2025: Santa's Rescue Crew
1K Celebration: Altered to Obey
30s Birthday Celebration: Here's to our thirties
Stories from the Vault:
Alexa
Forbidden Love
LifeX
Stories based on your Asks:
The Price of Desire
The Dorm Room Nightmare
Uber Frat
Mister Melorius's shop:
First customer
Piracy in the blood
Mischief is in the Horns
Thank you for your service
Mankind History
Fitting in
Mister Melorius Season 2:
The Soldier
The Genie
The Vampire
The Gymbro
The Pharaoh
The Heroe
“Hmm.. you’ll do,” this sketchy man in his thirties said to me on the beach. What was he doing talking to an 18 year old boy like me, I wondered.
The man picked up a remote that I hadn’t noticed by our feet and started to adjust the dials. He talked to himself while making the adjustments, “No not body swap, relationship swap.. those directly targeted will have awareness.. subject ‘one’,” he fired a red beam from the remote directly at himself. I should probably have walked or run away but curiosity had gotten the better of me.
“Now subject two,” he said, now aiming the remote at me.
“Hey wait don’t!” I yelled as soon as he pointed that weird thing at me. But I was too late, he fired another red beam instantly, this time at me. At least I felt fine?
“Hey what did you do to me?” I asked.
“Oh that? Well you see my girlfriend over there, in the white bikini?” He asked.
“Yeah, so what?” I asked back.
“I just found out that I got her pregnant. I don’t want to be a father and even though we had agreed not to have kids yet she wants to keep the baby. So I used this swap remote to change up our two sets of relationships. Now she’s dating your 18 year old girlfriend and technically I’m dating you, heh,” he claimed.
“What no that’s insane. This is a stupid joke dude,” I said perplexed. But I was starting to notice the man’s penis more and more in his swim briefs.
“See for yourself, your girlfriend is over there making out with mine,” he said.
The man was right, in the thirty seconds since I looked away our two girlfriends were making out as if they’d been together for months.
“I can’t believe she’d cheat on me!” I said, heartbroken.
“She’s not, she doesn’t even remember being with you,” the man who was apparently my boyfriend explained. It was true in a weird way, I could mentally acknowledge that he was my boyfriend, as if there was a yellow sticky note in my brain that stated it factually, plain as day. Yet I remembered that he only became my boyfriend a minute ago and that the woman over there was supposed to be my girlfriend and had been for a few months.
“So, what? Is Alison gonna have your baby with that woman? How is that even gonna make sense for them?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the situation.
“This remote is future technology. It creates context to explain away issues like that. They’ll probably believe that my girlfriend Carrie had a one-night-stand with a man who got her pregnant but it won’t stress their ‘relationship’ to the point of breaking,” said Jake. I somehow knew the sketchy man’s name now. Like the post it notes in my head again. We live at his apartment in NYC. I can picture every room.
Jake was explaining more about his fancy remote, but I was trying to remember what his penis looked like before I had ever even seen it. It worked with where we lived and his wardrobe. Maybe it’s because I just turned 18 today. The remote couldn’t give me memories of sexual intimacy with Jake because I wasn’t old enough to have sex with him before today. It was upon this realization that I had another one, I was staring at Jake’s crotch.
“Are you okay?” Jake asked genuinely. Then he saw the tent in my swim trunks and noticed that my eyes were transfixed on his speedo junk. He laughed, took me by the hand and said, “Oh I get it. You wanna know what our sex life will be like. Trust me, the remote takes care of any obstacles like heterosexuality. Come on, you’re gonna enjoy this.”
Unlike fucking my girlfriend (who now had her own girlfriend) I didn’t have to wrap my teenage hard on in an uncomfortable condom. Jake and I went behind a sand dune and he took my cock raw. As we fucked I ‘remembered’ more details of our new life together. Jake was an investor and rich enough that I didn’t have to work or worry about university anymore. I only had to live with being a gay man who knows he used to be a straight man. ‘A small price to pay,’ I thought to myself amused by the sight of my man’s dick and balls flailing about as I fucked him.
We moaned a little harder than we should have, cumming on the beach. We quickly put our trunks and speedo back on as we saw two familiar women coming around the dune to walk towards the beach exit.
“Ew! I think they were actually fucking,” said Alison not even making eye contact with me or with Jake, just looking down in her sunhat.
The two women who used to be our girlfriends walked around the corner barely out of earshot and Jake and I lost it laughing. Our eyes met and we smiled and kissed. I didn’t know how long our time together would last, but it was beautiful. We grabbed the remote and headed for our hotel with the day’s beautiful sunset at our backs.
Hey, does anyone in this sub have any experience reverting bodily modification spells? I called some girl at the bar a fugly bitch and said that I was way out of her league, so she cast some spells and now I’m some kind of freaky manslut. I grew to 6’4 and my muscles are now fucking huge, I could probably crush some heads with my biceps and probably some melons with my thighs. My cock is now freakishly large and I’m so so so so FUCKING horny all the time I can’t even think straight, probably because she made me gay too. No guy can take this log without going to the ER so I just have to jerk it hourly. Every piece of clothing I wear now is either super short of super tight, so I just look like an attention whore all the time. Need help ASAP, if not to reverse the changes just to milk my dick. THX in advance
Write something triggering based on being hacked and installing the goon virus from bro to bro. Each of their transformations are different, a reflection of their deepest inner desires.
[This Quick and Dirty story was written by a human (me) based on a prompt that was previously sent to generative AI. I wrote it in one uninterrupted stream-of-consciousness flow with a hard time limit of 20 minutes. It is not perfect. No edits have been made, except to correct typos. Feel free to use my asks to send me more prompts!
For this one, I think I took a real left turn from the actual prompt, so I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly what you were looking for, anon! Oh, and thank you to @dumberswitch for providing the third image. (He has brought it to my attention that the man in said image is Australian, not English, which is actually quite obvious, but y’all, I only had 20 minutes 😵 please roll with it)]
Clayton was hanging out with his three best friends, who had just helped him move into his new apartment. They had all met the year before, during their freshman year of college, and they had bonded quickly over a shared taste in women, movies, sports, and well… everything.
They were relaxing after a tiring day, but Clayton could feel their palpable boredom, so he decided to come up with something fun to do.
“How about we each go around and say something we’re thankful for?” he asked.
Roderick sighed and said, “I’ll bite,” lowering the speed on his exercise bike so he could speak more easily. “I’m thankful I never gained the freshman 15.”
“I’m thankful for England,” said Chris, who was lying on the bed re-reading a Douglas Adams book and not really paying attention.
“I’m thankful for my pickup truck,” said John, who was peering out the window making sure his new truck was still there. It had just proven its usefulness in helping Clayton move all of his shit.
“And I’m thankful for my friends,” said Clayton. “Thanks again for helping me out today. I really owe you one.”
“Well, that was fun” said John, sarcastically. “Now what?”
Clayton racked his brains. “Oh! Why don’t I download that new app everyone’s been trying out!”
“Goonr?” asked Roderick. “The joke one that tells you your gooning style or whatever? I don’t really get it.”
“My friend Des tried it and he really got a kick out of it,” said Clayton, shrugging.
“Des is a perv,” said Chris. “But sure, why the hell not?”
Within minutes, the app was downloaded on Clayton’s phone and they all huddled around it. The loading icon finally cleared and what was revealed were the words “Friends.”
“Is that it?” asked John.
Clayton shrugged. “Guess so. At least it was free.”
Suddenly, all three of his friends’ phones pinged. They opened them to find that the Goonr app had spontaneously downloaded itself onto all of their phones.
“Is this some sort of promotion?” asked Chris. “Like that shitty U2 album that Apple put on everybody’s phones?”
One by one, the loading icons cleared.
Roderick’s phone said “Fitness.”
Chris’ phone said “England.”
And John’s phone said “Truck.”
Simultaneously, all of their phones starting glowing white, momentarily blinding them all. When Roderick’s eyes cleared, he found that he was still sitting on the bike, blinking dazedly. “What the…” he said, before catching sight of himself in the mirror on the wall in front of him.
“Damn, I’m looking yoked,” he said, appreciatively.
He flexed his bicep. It looked big. He flexed his other bicep. It looked… bigger. Were they mismatched? He frowned and flexed the other one again. OK, it must have been a trick of the light. It bulged out properly, matching the other one.
He felt his dick stiffen in his pants. Fuck, was he making himself hard? That was embarrassing. But he was hot… He flexed his quads. Bam, bam! They bulged and grew. Fuck… He was such a stud. He lifted his shirt, admiring the six-pack abs that were bulging and growing from his flat stomach.
His dick got harder and harder. It felt like it was practically squirming. He touched it and his mind went white.
Chris’ eyes cleared next. The first thing he saw was his friend Roddy, feverishly pumping his meat while rubbing his abs and pedaling on the exercise bike. His hair looked a bit disheveled, and he had a short beard, as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Chris was about to panic when his attention was caught by his book, still lying open on the bed. He loved Douglas Adams so much. He loved everything English.
English literature, English culture, English food. English rugby. English beer. English girls. He even dressed English. He looked down to see his grey clothes shimmering and becoming bright yellow rugby kit.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell mate, what’s going on?” he asked. Hell, he even sounded English. Just hearing his voice turned him on so fucking much. He pulled down his shorts and started rubbing his cock, thinking about his favorite Page 3 models.
John’s eyes cleared next, revealing Roddy whacking off (again? He never stopped) and John lying on the bed, grinning.
He winked at John and pulled out his cock, beginning to wank himself off. His eyes crossed with sheer pleasure.
John averted his gaze, looking outside to see his truck. His pristine new truck, with that lovely moon roof and those Truck Nuts and all the mud on the bottom and the dents and… John felt dizzy. Was it dirtier than it was supposed to be? Was he dirtier than he was supposed to be? His hair suddenly felt greasy, as it began to lengthen and slide down his neck. He jammed his trucker cap over it to keep it contained, just as his trash stash grew in on his upper lip, nice and thick. He looked back out at his truck and thought about all the country babes he had wanted to plow out in the cornfield when he was growing up in Arkansas. His cock got hard in his pants. Would anybody mind if he…
Clayton’s eyes finally cleared, and he could see his friends. There was Roddy, feeling himself up. Pre-cum beaded at the tip of his red cock as his other hand furiously slid up and down his shaft.
There was Chris, going “oi” and “bruv” every few seconds as his spit-slick hand wanked his member. There was Jonno, shirtless (as usual) and sticking his tongue out as he beat his meat furiously.
God, they were all so hot. His friends, jerking their hogs, not a care in the world. This was all he wanted to see, all he wanted to think about, ever.
So that’s what he did. He stopped thinking about the job interview he had in the morning, or what he wanted to get for dinner, or even the fact that none of the four of them had looked quite like this a few minutes ago. All he could think about was his masturbating friends. He wanted to join them so bad. He whipped off his clothes, leaned over on the desk, and started going to town on himself, drooling as he stared intensely at the three hunks beating their meat in front of him. God, he was so thankful for his friends.
"How much longer is this gonna take?" Ethan shifted, pretending to look interested. He had an exam coming up and a hundred places he’d rather be, but the man across from him only grew more animated by the second.
"So we came up with our slogan, 'Be PrEPared.'" The man practically beamed. "The boys in marketing really outdid themselves, don't you think?"
"Yeah..." Ethan caught his mind wandering and forced a smile. "I'm happy to be involved. I think population health is undervalued."
"Preach, babe." The man snapped his fingers.
Ethan grinned internally. The guy was eating out of his hand, and Ethan knew it wasn't just his answers. From the tone to blatantly checking him out, this guy fit every gay stereotype Ethan knew. What could he say? The gays loved him.
"But enough about me," the man laughed, leaning forward. "Tell me about you, hun. Why join our campaign?"
Ethan’s smile widened. He could tell the truth: he didn't give a shit about population health. He wanted a cushy specialty, and residency directors liked well-rounded resumes.
"Well, I think this is a great opportunity to support..." Ethan trailed off as the man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "...support marginalized groups. Happy to help de-stigmatize this stuff."
The man stared, then broke into a grin. "Oh my God, you're adorable."
Ethan let out an awkward chuckle. "That's a first." When the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory, he leaned in. "Look, I'd be good at this. Promise you won't regret bringing me on board."
The man tapped a finger against his chin. "Hmmm..." Really? Had this guy even looked at his résumé? This wasn't exactly a difficult decision, "Who would you prescribe PrEP to?" He finally asked.
"Uh…" Ethan wasn't expecting that. "Guys who sleep around, I guess." He paused, catching himself. "You know what I mean. Gay guys. Men who have sex with men."
"And would you use PrEP?"
"Uh, no." The answer shot out too quickly. The man’s eyebrow climbed, "I mean, I'm not the target demographic," Ethan corrected with a nervous laugh. "Nothing against it, but I'm not looking for sex with other men."
The man studied him for a beat, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, Ethan, I think we're gonna get along just fine."
"So that's a yes?"
"Oh, babe. That's absolutely a yes."
The tension left Ethan's shoulders. Perfect. One more line for the application. "Awesome. I appreciate the opportunity."
"We're excited to have you." The man reached beneath his desk and pulled out a small BePRePared tote bag. "Take this, hun."
"What's in it?"
"Everything you'll need for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
The man's grin somehow widened. "Don't you worry. We'll be in touch."
-----------------
"That took longer than I thought." Ethan returned to his apartment, tossed the BePRePared tote bag onto the couch, and sat at his desk to study, "Fuck, I'm behind."
He stared at his digital flashcards, trying to prepare his best for his upcoming exam. But the text blurred. He blinked and stared at the card.
"What the hell?" He knew the answer to this, or at least he did yesterday. A suffocating brain fog rolled over him, as a dull ache started behind his eyes. His mind went completely blank, "Am I getting sick?"
Shoving himself away from the desk, he ran his hands through his hair. His neat trim felt dense, curling thickly between his fingers. He paused and ran his hand through his hair again, slower this time.
"How...?" Suddenly, the room tilted and sweat broke out across Ethan’s forehead, his joints throbbed, "Shit..." He couldn't afford to get sick, not when he had his first gig with BePrEPared tomorrow. The thought made him stop, "What am I thinking? Must be the fever... fucking with my head... Need water..."
He stumbled toward the kitchen and reached for a glass, barely noticing the fabric of his sleeve straining against his growing bicep. He quickly chugged his water, and froze when he wiped his chin. There was thick, rough stubble there. As if he hadn't shaved in a week.
"Fevers can... cause... hallucinations." He reasoned, although his thoughts were coming slower now, "Need... sleep..."
The room spun and his temperature spiked as he stumbled over towards the couch. He weakly pulled his scrub top off and threw it aside, his palms brushing through the thick, dark mat of body hair sprouting across his chest. But he barely recognized any of this, as his vision blurred and body grew weaker. He grabbed the tote bag on the couch and dropped it to the ground, the contents spilling out.
"What the fuck is this?" Ethan muttered, his voice dropping an octave, settling deeper. He felt a surge of irritation. This was a joke. They couldn't be serious. He was a medical student, for God's sake, not a...
Yet, as he stared at the blue speedo, his mind drifted to thinking about the happy, muscular campaign ambassadors he remembered seeing on the website. No exams. No residency stress. Just having fun and being noticed.
"Must be nice..." He fell onto the couch, and wiped sweat away from his forehead, "Fuck..." He smiled weakly, "I bet I’d look good in that Speedo." he thought.
He blinked, horrified by his own thought. Where had that come from? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but the movement only triggered a vicious wave of nausea.
"This isn't… a normal virus," he muttered. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, "Something's... wrong... with me..."
Ethan's hands drifted across his torso, tangling in the growing, dense dark body hair that was spreading now across his stomach. Beneath the coarse mat, his pectorals had swollen into heavy, solid shelves of muscle, hard and burning to the touch. He squeezed his own chest, a delirious, breathless laugh escaping him as his thumb traced over a newly sensitive, hyper-reactive nipple. He pinched it, and a sharp, slutty jolt of pure pleasure shot straight to his groin.
"Fuck," Ethan groaned, "Fuck... fuck... fuck..."
The room was spinning now and he was starting to see things that he knew shouldn't be there. He saw Joshua, sitting and smirking in the corner of the room.
"You're... not here." He slurred, "Leave me... alone..."
He closed his eyes tightly, and the hallucination of Joshua blurred and shifted. He was suddenly surrounded by nameless men crowding over the couch. He could feel them. Their heavy, rugged palms gripping his broadened shoulders, rough fingers digging greedily into his newly full, heavy ass, squeezing his thickening muscles. With a grunt, he flipped onto his stomach, and arched his ass.
"Ah... fuck..." Ethan groaned, drool leaking from his mouth. He whimpered as he felt something press against his exposed hole, "Pl...Please..."
His hand slithered past the tight elastic of his boxers, wrapping around a cock that was longer, thicker, and harder than it had ever been. He began to pump it in a frantic, heavy rhythm, his muscular thighs flexing with every stroke. He didn't care about the exam. He didn't care about residency. He just wanted to be a dumb, hot object. He wanted to be used.
“Would you use PrEP, babe?” Joshua’s voice echoed in his head.
"Wh-why... would... I?" Ethan moaned, "I'm... not... Oh... fuck..." He gagged suddenly as he felt the heavy pressure of a thick cock pushing deep into his throat, stretching his jaw and cutting off his breath, while another massive, rigid shaft slammed brutally up his ass, "Th... this isn't... real..." He thought, even as his jaw ached.
Every thrust of the thick, veiny shaft plugging his throat made his eyes water as he gagged. Simultaneously, he felt his ass being stretched wider as the skin-on-skin pounding drove his lower body forward, burying his face deeper into the cushions with each wet, heavy slap.
“What’s the doctor word for... not breathing?” he tried to ask himself, “Can't... think of it. Mind... fuzzy. So heavy.”
The ambient hum of his laptop fan and the quiet of the night vanished, completely replaced by a deep, thumping electronic base that vibrated directly through the cushions beneath his chest. His brain couldn't quite process the switch. Even the clinical definitions of auditory hallucinations felt too distant, too complicated to grasp.
“Music?” Ethan thought, his cognitive processing slowing to a crawl. “Music... nice... feels good...”
Even the scent of the room was suddenly different. A thick, heavy cloud of cologne, raw male sweat, and latex filled his lungs with every desperate, choking gasp.
“Smells... good,” the simple thought drifted lazily through his mind, “Warm. Thick. Smells like... men. Sex."
He let out a choked gasp as the cock went deeper down his throat. Panicking with what little logical faculty he had left, Ethan whipped his hands upward, fully intending to push away whatever hallucination was blocking his airway and clamping his jaw open.
“Get it out... need to study... am a doctor...”
But instead of empty air, his palms connected firmly with hot, sweaty flesh. The solid, moving hips of a man rhythmically thrusting down his throat.
“No... Wha...? Not a dream? Real. Big. So big. In my mouth. Up my ass.”
He reached out desperately, trying to find leverage, but instead his thicker palms and fingers clamped directly around two pulsing, rigid cocks. His broadened shoulders flexed automatically as his palms wrapped tight, his fingers squeezing the thick shafts as he began to stroke them in a frantic, heavy rhythm. His body knew exactly what to do, even if his brain could no longer define it.
“Stroke them... make them feel good,” his dumbed-down thoughts hummed, completely content to abandon his studies. “Good boy. Do what they want. Just a hot object.”
The thumping music grew louder, accompanied by the rapid, rhythmic click-whir of a professional camera shutter and deep, masculine groans of approval close to his ears.
"Look at him take it," a deep, gravelly voice chuckled right above him. "The new guy's an absolute natural."
Flash. Flash.
An intense, blinding glare of white-hot light penetrated right through his closed eyelids. The searing heat radiating against his skin wasn't a fever spike anymore; it was the burning warmth of professional studio lighting hanging directly overhead.
Ethan’s eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in his apartment. No, he was pinned face-down on a leather sofa in the center of a roaring photography studio. He could see his reflection in a mirror. Bulkier, hairier... sexier... sporting a toy stethoscope over his hair-covered chest and a tiny blue Speedo that was completely soaked through.
"Oh my gawd..." He thought, eyes watering.
A tall, rugged model stood over him, holding Ethan's face up by a tight fist in his thick, curly hair as he slid deep into Ethan’s throat. Behind him, a massive, tatted model was burying himself ruthlessly into Ethan’s expanded, aching glutes, slamming his hips forward with a heavy, wet slap. To his left and right, two more models leaned over the couch, grinning down at him as Ethan’s large, rough hands rapidly pumped them.
"Fuck... where'd you find this guy?"
Ethan's eyes were wide now, but the panic he expected to feel never came. His mind was too beautifully empty, too saturated with testosterone and pleasure. Board scores, residency applications, the endless stress of his old life...
“I’m the PrEP boy,” his thoughts drifted, “Dumb... hot... please... use me.”
"Keep going, hun, you're doing amazing," Joshua called out over the music, gesturing to the lens. "So, let's hear it for the campaign! Would you use PrEP?"
The thick cock down his throat pulled out with a wet pop, a line of drool running down his heavy, stubbled chin. He looked straight into the camera lens, his mind completely wiped of medical terminology. None of that mattered anymore. He was a BePRePared model. He was beautiful, he was being used, and he loved it.
"Y-Yes..." Ethan gasped out, his voice a deep, thoroughly broken baritone. His hips gave a desperate, simple twitch against the man behind him. "Yes... God, yes..."
The photographer grinned, clicking the shutter rapidly. "Perfect! That's the money shot!"
With a final, shattering surge of friction, the man behind him buried himself to the hilt, releasing deep inside him. Simultaneously, the model in front of him painted Ethan's face and thick, hairy chest, while the two men in his hands blew their loads over his fingers. And Ethan's own massive, leaking cock throbbed and fired a heavy stream into his tight, blue speedo.
"So good..." He moaned, falling back onto the couch and looking up at the other models with a dumb, happy grin, "More…?" he slurred, a thick bead of drool tracking down his chin and mixing with the man's seed. "More… please… use me more…"
"Don't you worry." Joshua patted him on the shoulder, while the other models chuckled, "You're our star now, Ethan. We've got plenty of work lined up for you." He nodded over at the photographer.
"Next shoot is in twenty minutes, boys," the photographer called out, adjusting his lens with a grin. "Clean him up just enough to do it all over again."
I walked into my boss’s office with a sense of accomplishment. I had just finished my latest project, the Chronivac, a device that could alter the very fabric of reality. I handed it to my boss, expecting praise for my ingenuity. But instead, he fixed me with a steely gaze and muttered something under his breath. In an instant, the world started to spin.
When everything settled, I found myself standing in front of my boss’s desk, but something wasn’t right. I felt... different. My thick-rimmed glasses were gone, replaced by a pair of Oakley shades. My tailored suit had vanished, replaced by a tight-fitting Under Armour tank top that showed off my muscular physique. And worst of all, my mind felt... cloudy.
I looked down at my hands and saw that they were no longer delicate and nimble, but rough and calloused. My once-intelligent thoughts were replaced by a constant haze of arousal. I felt my heavy cock straining against the fabric of my skimpy gym shorts, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum.
And then my boss spoke, his voice dripping with authority. “You’re my new assistant now, jock. Your name is Chad, and you’re here to serve me in every way. Your job is to make sure I’m always satisfied, both professionally and... privately.”
I tried to protest, my old self fighting against the changes, but all that came out was a dumb grunt. My boss smirked and leaned back in his chair, lazily stroking his bulge through his pants. “Now, Chad, show me what you’re good at. Get on your knees and worship my cock.”
I felt an almost magnetic pull towards my boss’s crotch, my clouded mind unable to resist. I dropped to my knees in front of him and greedily pulled down his pants, exposing his thick, throbbing member. The smell of his musk washed over me, intoxicating my senses. I eagerly took him into my mouth, sucking and slurping like a mindless sex doll.
My boss moaned in pleasure, using the Chronivac to enhance my servitude. He increased my oral skills, making me an expert in deepthroating and ball worship. He also made me more sexually aggressive, turning me into a relentless fuck machine that was always on the prowl for cock.
As I serviced my boss, the Chronivac permanently sealed in the changes. My new role as a dumb horny jock slut assistant was set in stone. And even though my old self fought against it, a small part of me enjoyed being used and degraded like this. Because deep down, I was nothing more than a mindless cock-hungry whore.
Mind control has given me a bit of a complex. When I see an attractive guy out in the wild, my instinct isn't to flirt or say hi. I just get started fucking their brain before they can even register the violation.
Take this oddly charming officer for example...
"Sir, could you step back from the vehicle?" he commands casually.
A quick poke inside and I feel how bored he is. Police are in the area for some incident, but he was stuck with the all-important job of guarding the car. At this point in his career, the luster of authority has worn off. Ordering around civilians like me has become second nature to him. The control is mundane.
Not for me.
"You look like you need something to do," I snicker, taking a step closer...
His neck snaps back as his mind is invaded. My full metaphorical fist is wedged inside with a finger on everything. Officer Reid's thoughts, instincts, urges are mine to play with.
"I ughh... hhmph..." he jerks to his knees as he reacts to the subservience I'm making him feel. "...Sirrrr..." he grunts as politely as he can.
"You're a good cop, aren't you?" I tease, squeezing all the respect he's ever felt in a new direction, reattaching it to the sight of me, the random man who just walked up to him. Essentially rewiring him to respect me over anything else...instead of anything else.
"Yes, sir!" he nods fervently, "I'm a good cop."
I try not to, but I laugh anyway. He lowers his head, wanting to give me all the time and privacy I need to enjoy myself.
It's not like this man is pathetic by nature. I made him this way, but corruption of a man's character always gives me a thrill. Moments ago, he was warding me off so he could get back to daydreaming about poker night. Now, card games with the guys feel hollow. Even the responsibility of authority takes a back seat to kneeling and bowing his head. All he can do is fixate on how to best express these profound new feelings I gave him.
"Let me give you my wallet, sir!"
"I appreciate it, officer," I grin, allowing the cop to place the billfold in my palm.
"All the cash in there is yours, sir," he assures me, "and the cards too! I won't cancel them. You can use them whenever! My wife and I will keep depositing our paychecks in the debit account to refill it."
"Hmm..." I muse as I flip through tiny photos of this man with a woman and two children.
"Of course!" he bursts, "you can withdraw all the money in there right now, if you'd like, sir!"
I glance between the responsible family man in the picture and the grovelling officer on the road. Despite my God complex, I still haven't managed to kick my conscience to the curb.
"Your wife probably wouldn't appreciate me emptying your savings account..."
"Oh no, sir. She'll understand," he insists, "and if she doesn't, it won't be a problem."
He says the last part with unexpected intensity. It seems I missed his aggression when I scouted his brain. Now that it's found, I can tell Officer Reid would eagerly use me as an excuse to "keep his wife in check." Beating her until she agrees to give the kids' college fund to the one thing he cares about.
"Put your wallet away," I toss it back, adjusting my hold on him, choking down his cognizance until he has the IQ of a tired dog and stroking his mind's erogenous area until it's so large and inflamed that it blocks out anything else.
With a mental click, I set the object of his desire, and he immediately sets off for it...
"...mmmhunguhh..." he moans sloppily.
Words are a little beyond the level of intellect I left him with.
Officer Reid crawls off the side of the road and through the muddy brush. His movements are awkward and slow like a drunk animal, but none of that stops the braindead cop from growing a sizeable boner beneath his uniform pants and and mounting his prize.
"There you go, boy."
"Uungh..uuughh...uuuughhhh..." he sinks into tree trunk, dumb and horny.
His moans become muffled as he smushes his face against the bark, kissing and licking, making out with the wood like it's his bitch. He scoots his abdomen forward, desperately trying to bring his crotch into as much contact as possible with the tree.
"There you go, boy," I let out a self-satisfied sigh, "You've got something to do now, and I've got something to watch."
Officer Reid doesn't acknowledge me. He's too busy making sloppy, mindless love to the tree.
This feels like a better outcome. I still got to fuck with his mind without ruining the lives of his happy little family. For the next hour or so, this cop will be humping this stump until his brain rebalances to its original state. It'll be like slowly waking from a dream, except it'll all have been really happening...
"...umn...muuhh...luuhllll..." he starts tonguing the bark with mindless pleasure as I turn away.
He'll want a shower after this. Probably some therapy too. He's definitely going to need some skin care and a new pair of pants. Those state-issued trousers will be worn thin from the deep grinding his crotch is doing.
"Have fun, boy," I call, enjoying my final glimpse of his handsome face.
I don't think about the consequences for the guy. He'll have to figure that out himself. At least I didn't do anything to fuck up his wife and kids. It's not like he'll lose his job either. I'm leaving a general compulsion to emanate off his brain like a cellular hotspot. When his cop buddies get back to the vehicle, they'll be in range, and they too will be overcome with the animalistic urge to make love to a tree.
I doubt they'll narc out Officer Reid here if they also spend the afternoon in a horny trunk-loving daze...
The masterful @c0rruptedz brings all the ideas to the table.
The apartment was tidy, the windows were welcoming in a gentle breeze, and the space smelled of lavender, just the way I liked it. I had always been a clean-cut kind of guy–it was one of the first things that my boyfriend and I had bonded over. “Cluttered space, cluttered mind” is what they always said, and boy was it true. Having the floor swept and the bed made kept me in check.
From my phone, I heard a soft ping.
“Babe,” I called out. “Maycee’s on her way!”
“Maycee who?”
“Maycee from Psych. We have our final coming up on Friday so we're gonna do some prep work together.”
Hayden strolled out of our shared bedroom. He was twunkish; as a swimmer his build had always been sculpted and shaven. Hayden was a perfect counter to my slimmer frame, which I topped off with a meticulously-styled head of luscious chestnut hair. The amount of money and time I spent on looking sharp was embarrassing.
“I’m so sorry, when did you tell me this?” Hayden knew that he was in the wrong. I was always on top of everything.
“Hmmm…last week?” I coyly replied. “Don’t worry, Maycee and I won’t get too rambunctious.”
Hayden had been studying for his own finals, although he liked to do so in silence. “Do I know at least know this Maycee?”
“Um, maybe?” I thought for a moment. “Medium height, long brown hair, kinda loud but still nice. We have had a few classes together.”
“Wait, Maycee Evans?” Hayden’s face flopped into a frown. “Dec, I can’t stand her!”
“Really?”
“She’s siblings with Trent, one of the guys on the team,” Hayden explained. “She shows up at like every party and gets super messy. I don’t care if you want to have fun but then she always comes over to me and bitches and moans about her life. And you know why, because she LOVES gay guys. I’m talking obsessed.”
“Have you asked her to stop?” I asked.
“Yeah, and it went horribly,” Hayden sighed. “I explained that it was getting to be a bit much and she blew up on me. Full psycho. Heck, there’s probably a diagnosis for her in your textbook.”
I frowned. “I had no idea, I’m sorry. She’s already on her way though.”
Glumly, Hayden surrendered. “No, don’t worry about it. You had no idea. I’m just going to hide in the bedroom until she’s gone.”
“Ok.” A text popped up on my screen, announcing Maycee’s arrival. “I’m really sorry again.”
“You're fine,” Hayden replied, shutting the bedroom door behind him.
“I’ll bring you snacks every hour!” I shouted. Hearing Hayden chuckle behind the closed door brought a smile to my face.
—
“Holy smokes! I had no idea your apartment was so gorgeous, Declan.”
“I had no idea anyone still said ‘Holy smokes’,” I replied, closing the door behind us.
“Seriously, I’m so jealous. This place is so nice.” Maycee strolled around the main living space, taking in every piece of furniture. The white couch Hayden and I had spent hours cleaning after purchasing it online. The perfectly aligned gallery wall filled with pictures of our friends. Even the coffee table books had a particular order to which they were laid out.
“Well, should we get to this then?” I eventually said. “I don’t know about you but I’m definitely feeling worried about this final.”
“Whatever,” Maycee scoffed, approaching the dining table. “You’re one of the smartest guys I know. And the cutest.”
Maycee ended her remark with a wink. I smiled awkwardly before taking my seat, Hayden’s prior statement flashing through my head.
“So, tell me,” Maycee started as she flipped open a textbook. “Are you currently seeing anyone?”
I shook my head. “I had no idea your procrastination tactics were so impressive.”
“Hey! I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“And I thought we were here to study.”
Maycee laughed, “Can't we do both?”
“I’ll tell you what, we can earn it,” I countered. “Let’s at least do a little work before we digress. Is that fair?”
Maycee pouted before softening into a smile. “Ok…”
We studied together for an hour, absorbing as much information as we could. Sometimes we asked each other a question or two, other times we read in silence. Every now and then, I could feel Maycee’s eyes on me. If I had had any hair on my body, it would have sprung up in these instances. But I ignored her glances and continued my work. Eventually, Maycee announced that she had to go to the bathroom.
“BRB!”
The bathroom door locked behind her and within the same revolution the bedroom opened up. Hayden stepped out and made his way into the kitchen.
“Just gonna grab a few things,” Hayden said in passing.
“You know, you could just come out whenever you wanted,” I teased. “This is our apartment after all.”
“Yours,” Hayden corrected, as I did in fact willingly pay a larger portion of the rent. “And no, I don’t want to interact with her.”
In less than a minute, Hayden had snatched his snacks and refilled his water bottle. He almost made it back to the bedroom unnoticed.
“You HAVE to tell me where you got this soap!” Maycee swung open the door, revealing Hayden mid-scurry. “It’s so-”
The pair locked eyes. The tension in the room grew thick.
Hayden was the one who spoke first. “Maycee…It’s uh, good to see you.”
Maycee raised an eyebrow. “Why, because I’m sober?”
“Wow, that was fast,” I said. “Look uh, Maycee, why don’t we just get back to studying.”
“Hold up, are you two…”
Hayden and I watched as the puzzle was pieced together in her mind. Not that it was a big puzzle, but enough to momentarily silence her.
“Oh, this is just too good,” Maycee finally said. There was a darker undertone to her voice.
“Maycee, I-”
“Shut up, Hayden.”
With a flick of the wrist in his direction, Hayden’s lips snapped shut. Immediately, I knew something was off.
“Maycee, is everything alright?”
“Perfectly, Declan,” Maycee grinned. “But I think I’ll close you up for now too.”
She wove a hand towards me and my mouth instantly closed. I tried to say something in response, make any noise, but I was silenced. Hayden and I made eye contact, both stunned by this shared development.
“I’ve been meaning to get back at you for the things you said, Hayden.” Maycee’s voice had grown icy. “Because of you, I’m no longer invited to any campus parties. Trent said it ‘wasn’t healthy for me’.”
Maycee had Hayden drop what he was holding and move into the living room. It was at this point I realized I could not move.
“I honestly don’t know what Declan sees in you,” Maycee continued. “He’s one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met. Is that why you like him?”
Maycee allowed Hayden’s mouth to open so that he could reply. “Yes! I-”
“Stop.”
Hayden’s mouth slammed shut once more. I shifted my gaze between Hayden and Maycee, unaware of what was to happen next.
“Tell me, Hayden,” Maycee’s grin returned, crueler than before. “What else do you like about Declan?”
Hayden’s face was freed, but before he could speak, Maycee specified her question.
“Let’s start physically.”
“He’s my type!”
The words came out rushed, as if the truth was being ripped from Hayden’s brain.
“And what’s your type?”
“Skinny, on the shorter side-”
Maycee cut him off and then turned her head to face me. The three of us sat in silence again for a moment–two of us forced to–as we waited for something to happen. Suddenly, I felt a strange ache blossoming through my system. Although I could not contort my frozen face much, I was able to close my eyes. When I reopened them, I was surprised to find that the room had shifted. Before, I had been just below eye-level with Maycee and had had to tilt my head to meet Hayden.
Speaking of Hayden, his eyes had dramatically widened, but I had no idea why. To be fair though, I was probably just seeing things. Being well above six feet did that to a guy, everything seemed a bit out of proportion when compared to what the average human being saw. And I was anything but average. I was not one to brag but one should recognize the hard work they had put into their body. Spending night after night in the gym for over half a decade could really create results.
Satisfied by something–I was not sure what–Maycee asked her question again. “What else?”
This time, I noticed Hayden trying to keep his mouth shut. He failed: “Twinkish-!”
I had been that way for the longest time. While all the other boys had hit puberty, I missed the cutoff. For some reason, the bus decided to pass my stop.
Until it arrived a couple of years later of course. And it made up for lost time! The other boys used to joke that I was some kind of bear thanks to the pelt of hair I had. Furry legs, furry arms, a full rug up my chest and down some of my back. I had to shave my body every day for Hayden, even if it annoyed me. But by nightfall I would already have a stubble. The hair was just too dense-
“-and odorless!”
And it brought a funk with it too! No matter how much deodorant I put on, how much body wash I lathered in, how long we kept the diffusers running, there was always a bit of my natural musk hanging around. It was on the heavier side, more footy than sweaty. Hayden and I sometimes argued over it, I tried to explain that I could not block out that locker room cloud no matter how hard I tried. But I still did, for him.
“Let’s go over some mental qualities next,” Maycee said. “What makes Declan’s personality so attractive to you, Hayden?”
“He’s clean and coordinated-”
“Is he?” Mayce taunted. Had I been able to, I would have defended myself. Was the apartment not enough evidence? Did my general attitude not prove itself? If she wanted, I could have walked over to the bedroom and grabbed the stacks of planners that I kept handy.
Well, had kept handy. I had thrown them all out because they proved to be useless. I just went with the flow, wherever the wind took me. Why would I need to be so anal about everything? Money, politics, even my hair, which was just one simple scoop of product to swoop the dull brown up into something manageable for the day.
The apartment set the scene too: dishes piled up in the sink, dirty laundry scattered across the floor. I was sure Maycee had spotted the yellow stains around the toilet bowl, and the floor. Who cared about all this crap? It was just too difficult to freak out about it all when there were more fun things in life, like drinking and working out and having sex. Hayden did not agree with me, except for that last part sometimes.
“What else?”
“-he’s thoughtful!”
Hayden’s eyes were tearing up. No matter how rocky the current situation and our relationship at large were, I still felt for him. I was worried about him. I wanted to know why he was in pain, why he was so worried. I wanted to know-
…I wanted to know why he was being such a bitch. I wanted to know how much longer this stupid magical interrogation was going to take. I was getting sick of Maycee and even more sick of my pathetic situationship. Yeah, we were both gay and yeah, we sometimes fucked, but it was not like serious or anything. A hole should not have feelings attached, you know? I have more important things to care about: my wants and needs.
As if having witnessed some horrible event, silent streams began to flow down Hayden’s frozen face. God he was such a fucking loser.
“Hayden, don’t cry,” Maycee frowned. “It makes you look so messy.”
Hayden’s eyes grew red.
“Our boy Declan here is almost finished, but I think there’s just one more thing we’re missing.”
Hayden's tears stopped, the floodgates closed.
“This is kind of a leading question but, Hayden, in regards to sexuality, would you say that Declan is your type?”
“-yEs!” Hayden choked out.
“And why’s that?”
Hayden’s red face grew purple. Whatever he was about to say, he did not want it to escape.
“--because…he’s...gAY!”
Hayden gasped for breath, finally freed from Maycee’s power. I however remained frozen, forced to continue watching the scene before me. Hayden’s muscular frame was covered in sweat, his body begging for someone’s aid. Someone to tell him everything was alright. Someone to tell him he was loved.
Obviously though, that was not going to be me. It was not my fault the faggot was, well, whatever the way he was. Plus, why was I supposed to give a fuck about him when I instead could stare at the juicy breasts pushing out the front of Maycee's shirt. How had I never noticed the size of those knockers before? Despite being frozen, my thick schlong began throbbing against the seams of my smelly gym shorts.
“I hope you’ve learned something from this, Hayden,” Maycee said. Suddenly, I felt a certain looseness to my body. I had finally been freed of whatever had been holding me in place. The first thing I did was let out a juicy fart, adding to the wet, masculine blanket of stench that suffocated the room. Then, after giving my hungry pouch a hard squeeze, I shifted over to Maycee, placing an invisible line between us and the homo.
“Baby, you done yet?” I asked impatiently, slapping one of my mitts onto her soft ass and giving it a squeeze. “I wanna dump a load, pronto.”
Maycee smiled, “I think we are, Derek.” She said my name like there was some kind of double meaning behind it. “Hayden was just about to leave. After all, it's probably too messy here for him.”
I blinked, bored and too horny to play into whatever she was getting at. “Yeah, uh, sure.”
Not bothering to wait for the stranger’s departure, I picked my girl up and brought her to the bedroom. The walls were covered in miscellaneous trophies and jerseys, like the one I was wearing. Within moments, I had her on the bed with my fat cock driving deep into her, ready to unload. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the faggot watching us from the doorframe, but I did not mind giving him a free show. Not like he was ever going to get a piece of this anyway.
In need of assistance - AI muscle growth himbo sequence
George adjusted his tie and got comfortable in his chair as the IT guy tapped away on his computer, as head of marketing and sales he was eager to get this new AI assistant programme some of the other department heads had been raving about. It was said to make organisation, spread sheets, emails and data analysis a breeze.
"There we are Mr Harris, the programme is installed and I have done most of the set but I have left the customisation for you to finish. Mr Higgins down the hall went with a woman with a sweet, southern sounding voice but I think you can create an avatar and everything."
"An Avawhat?" George said while raising an eyebrow at the man about to leave. Who was about to answer before George's human assistant walked in.
"Avatar Mr Harris, is like a body for the computer assistant they have installed. Speaking of which do you think I could have one as well, it would help with scheduling and organising so much easy."
George scoffed "Johnny this programme was very expensive and cutting edge, the company isn't going to waste it on assistants. Now grab me a black coffee and a doughnut I have that meeting with the Europeans up on 78 in half an hour." George said dismissing Johnny and turning to look at his computer not noticing his assistant pouty face and whispered curse word as he went to fetch the coffee and snack.
George looked at the programme and lent closer to read the small text, at 58 his eyesight was only getting worse and being in front of screen all day wasn't helping. George read some text and barely understood most of the jargon but then read a word he had only learnt about moments ago. "Upload Avatar" George muttered and then his thoughts turned to what the IT guy had said about Higgin's new AI assistant, perhaps he could upload some hot twenty something bimbo with blonde hair and pigtails. George looked around as his cock started to stiffen in his pants, hearing a sexy dumb blonde every time would certainly make work more interesting. George then happily clicked upload and suddenly a sharp electrical shock ran through him, his computer screen turned a vibrant blue as a swirling portal like hole appeared. George's instincts were to pull away but he was quickly and violently pulled towards it and before he could even let out a yelp his whole body was thrown forward and his whole world began to spin.
George's whole vision went black and he felt like he was floating, he tried to shout but no sound emerged from his mouth, he tried to move but it was like he was embedded in rock. Then a white light flashed in front of his eyes and slowly his vision started to clear, he could see the window in his office, his filing cabinets, his office chair and his computer keyboard but something was off, the angle was wrong. George blinked more as he tried to search for his computer screen and what had happened to it and to him but, with the electrical buzzing around him, his new view and perspective George quickly understood why he couldn't see his computer. It was because he was now stuck inside of it and looking out at where he had just been sitting!
George tried to move again but his arms and legs stayed firmly down by his sides, the tried to scream for help but while his mouth opened and moved no sound emerged. George panicked he was like a mime trapped in a box except he was now a chubby 58 year business man trapped in his own computer! George's panic was then interrupted as a knock came from his office door and Johnny walked in holding the coffee and doughnut he requested.
"Mr Harris I have your coffee and I got you a selection of do- Oh, and you are not in here...great. The dick must have already gone to his meeting."
George was screaming for Johnny to see him, to help him but his muted lips did nothing to attract Johnny's attention as he dropped the coffee and doughnut on the side. George flailed against his invisible bonds but his body refused to move, he needed help desperately as he screamed until his face went red and then Jonny's face appeared in view, looking curiously at the computer screen where he was trapped. Johnny then came closer and sat down at the computer and George breathed a sigh of relief Johnny would see him and save him! This trapped nightmare would be over and he wouldn't be late for his meeting up on the 78th floor. However, George started to become worried as Johnny grabbed the mouse and started clicking but did not acknowledge George at all.
"Eurgh of course the asshole would make his AI assistant look like himself, what a fucking narcissist"
George tried to yell out, to explain that it was really him , he wasn't AI that he was trapped but his little sad expression and flapping mouth did nothing to attract Johnny's attention and he started to click on tabs and windows around George, his little electronic body feeling them around him and without reading he found himself knowing and sensing what the text said, it was like he was part of the computer, part of the network! George was bombard with a ton of information and he processed it all within moments all without his consent.
"Looks like IT did a good job setting him up." Johnny then looked to the office door and out the window to see if anyone was looking his way. "I'm sure Mr Harris wouldn't check if I take a copy of the programme home, but I ain't taking you Mr AI Harris" Johnny laughed as he clicked on the customise option.
George could sense the window that appeared around and even though he couldn't move to read it he knew exactly what it said, it was as his mind was connected to the computer. He could see the detailed description of his body, his face, his outfit and his overall impression where he was a little offended by the title of 'sale support role'. However, George quickly got over his offence as worry plagued him as he felt Johnny click on the appearance and began to edit, change and type.
Johnny typed away and spoke to himself "If I'm going to have my own AI I’m not having some chubby old guy, no thanks!" Johnny then began changing George's description and as he typed George felt something in him changing, something buzzing and electrical as his code started to get eaten up and rewritten to Johnny's liking. George tried to scream but his little open mouth was ignored by the rapidly typing Johnny. George squirmed as he could feel what Johnny wrote about the man being handsome and 20 years, young and fit. His hair being styled and neat, his eyebrows striking and his eyes now blue.
George winced as his felt his entire body buzz and change as the weight from his belly rapidly reduced and a strong flat stomach replaced it. The fat around his arms, legs and face also vanished and a smaller bulge of muscle appeared to give him a toned and athletic body, while his face buzzed with electricity as his eyes changed colour, his hair lengthened and thickened into a suave chic style as his eyebrows were shaped and plucked into line. George tried to shout again as his faced buzzed as he grew younger, his skin getting smoother, his jawline becoming more defined and masculine until he looked like a much young, more handsome version of himself. George would have been thrilled at the changes if he had been the one in control and not trapped and under the command of his assistants whims!
"That's better." Johnny said but it was obvious he still wasn't impressed or finished. "I think we need to get you out of that stuffy suit. I know how about..." Johnny said before trailing off and typing away.
George still tried to shout to Johnny even though he knew it was pointless, he had no voice, he had no say, he had no control! George could only whimper and he felt Johnny's changes to his clothing typed up beside him. Gone was the suit and instead it was slowly being replaced by an outlandish, bright and deeply homosexual outfit. George could feel his clothing being stripped away as his jacket faded to nothing and his expensive dress shoes shimmered and changed into big white trainers with neon stripes. His trousers receded exposing more and more of his legs until the stopped at his upper thigh, the material became shiny and pink and attracted attention to his bulge. While his shirt became see through as it turned to a mesh material, the bottom became cropped exposing his lower abdomen and a deep v appeared down the chest exposing his chest. Everything became tight and revealing and George felt exposed and vulnerable but could do nothing to cover himself up!
"Ooh looking hot!" Johnny said pleased with the next outfit George was sporting even though George was still desperately calling for help and getting no response. "Hmmm but now that your body isn't covered up it could use some improvements, I wonder how big I can make you"
George winced, what did Johnny mean by big? George didn't have to wait too long to find out as Johnny's typings went straight to his head and immediately began editing his body. It started with his height as he grew taller by an least another foot, then his muscles started to expand. George's back grew wider and his shoulders rounded as his deltoids surged with new mass, capping his frame like cannonballs. His biceps throbbed and inflated dramatically, veins snaking over peaks that rose higher with every heartbeat, while his triceps hardened into dense horseshoes beneath them. His legs grew just as rapidly and wildly as his quads ballooned outward as thick columns of striated muscle pushed his legs apart. Then came his chest and George now understood what Johnny was talking about when he wondered how big he would get, as his pectorals ballooned outwards and hung from his chest like tits. The massive mounds of muscle blocked his view looking down and in his mesh shirt, his hard nipples were impossible to hide. George desperately wanted to move he wanted to feel and see his new body, not just know that he had changed. He hated how his brain seemed to be directly connected to the computer and even though he wanted to shout to escape a new part of him wanted to tell Johnny about his spelling mistake and a better way to phrase his sentence!
"Damn those are some big titties" Johnny chuckled enjoying creating his own assistant, blissfully unaware of the turmoil George was going through. "Hmm while I like it, I do think I need to look at someone a bit more exotic on my home screen" Johnny said as he started to type carefully thinking more carefully about what he meant.
George once again yelled, his silent scream ignored by his engrossed and now slightly horny assistant. It was only one small change to his description but those few little words, 'muscular Brazilian' changed everything about George as immediately his brain was flooded with Portuguese and his English knowledge was greatly reduced. George's skin started to darken as a deep rich bronze tan raced from his head all the way to his toes, his hair turned jet black and thickened considerably. George could feel his nose widen and his lips plump up, while his pectorals seemed to expand even further becoming even more prominent and oversized. George found his mind buzzing as well as instead of memories of home he found himself remembering a tropical beach, volleyball, carnival and the sounds of the rainforest. George tried to shake his head as if to shake the new memories away but his mind continued to buzz as his new code replaced his family, friends and home with an entirely different set of memories of living in South America. George just wanted to cry, he wanted to be himself, he wanted to be free and no longer did he want to be tormented by Johnny.
For the first time Johnny seemed to notice something wasn't quite right about the muscular, Brazilian hunk he had created as he looked at his shocked and sad expression. Curious, Johnny clicked on another tab and began reading before finding what he was searching for "Oh now I see why you have that sad look on your face." Johnny said and for the briefest of moment's George had some hope, hope that Johnny had finally worked out it wasn't just a programme that it was his boss who was trapped and was silently begging for help for the last 10 minutes!
"The man is hard-working, dedicated to the company, will feel hurt and disappointed if he fails the user, needs to be working 24/7 with an intense love for work and giving 100% to the company. A perfectionist and detailed orientated workaholic. Jesus no wonder you are miserable, standing around must be killing you. Don't worry I don't think I need someone like that. In fact looking at that beautiful face and sublime chest I doubt you are going to help me with much work." Johnny chuckled as he moved his hand to his pants and adjusted his growing erection before typing again.
George wanted to scream as Johnny was no longer changing his appearance he was changing his very personality. Johnny started by erasing his eagerness to work, his perfectionism and his memory of all the knowledge of the company and soon it was replaced with gym routines, diets, locations of gay clubs, cocktails and gay club wear and fashion. George's mind swirled as he desperately tried to cling to his years of experience, the years he has spent working his way to the top but all of it began to slip away like it has never existed. George thought of his wife and kids but their faces now felt like images from an old dream. Instead all he could remember was eating plain chicken breast, working out his chest, chatting with other gym bro's, drinking to much and dancing until the early hours of the morning. George wanted to cry as his life was rewritten effortlessly into an entirely new person. George whimpered as Johnny typed up his new personality with words like 'bubbly, vapid, kind, sultry, arrogant, confident, show off'. George's mind began to slow as his jaw slackened and his stance relaxed. His terror and fear was pushed to the back of his mind along with any traces of the old him, who was trying with all his might to hold on but was losing. George felt his expression change as although he wanted to scream the new relaxed, vapid, vain him just smirked enjoying how much of his body he got to show off.
Johnny was now very pleased and now had one hand down his trousers as he touched his cock, while also looking at the door to make sure no one was close to approaching him and his himbo AI assistant. Johnny then moved the cursor over to the new George and to his delight found he could move his new assistant so he could see his new creation at all angles. George felt like vomiting as he was violently spun around on the spot, his face however also looking back out at the screen. George's panic and fear was concealed as the new Brazilian him who was more worried about his muscles than being trapped as an AI for his old assistant just smirked and flexed.
Johnny grinned as he looked at the back of his new creation and the cute little bubble butt that strained against the shiny pink hot pants.
Johnny then couldn't help himself, he had already given his new AI massive pectorals perhaps he could give him an ass that could rival their size. George was terrified and embarrassed as he felt his ass cheeks being to swell and expand, however the new him was thrilled as new thoughts of thongs and bent over ass selfies entered his head. George was fighting a losing battle as his cries for help, his humiliation were all confined to a rapidly shrinking area of his mind. When his ass cheeks had finished ballooning. each was now the size of basketball and wobbled obscenely as Johnny moved him around. Johnny was almost salivating over the man he had created and part of him was now wondering what to do with him, since he wasn't appropriate for work.
"What am I going to do with you...George? Eurgh I can't have you named after my boss!" Johnny pulled a disgusted face before tapping his fingers and thinking, then with a lightbulb moment he began typing. George could only scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" as his name was erased and so was the last of his control and the new him took over, the new himbo, vain, arrogant, show-off him took over. Rodrigo took over.
"Yeah you look much more like a Rodrigo and someone like you isn't going to be working in a silly office." Johnny smiled as his phone buzzed with the familiar notification sound that came from his dating app and suddenly Johnny knew what to do with Rodrigo.
Johnny then went into the inner workings of the AI settings and decided to give George or rather Rodrigo a new function. George could only whimper as his function was written deep into his very being. No longer would he be managing a team of accountants and setting up million dollar deals, no instead it seemed he would now being managing Johnny's dating life. George tried to fight back what was being written into his very code but it was pointless he had no control as Johnny rewrote his very purpose. 'Rodrigo's primary directive is to find attractive, muscular men from ages 18-50. Rodrigo will search all appropriate men's profiles, pictures and videos. Rodrigo will store and file all images and videos sent, organising pictures and videos and saving overtly sexual and adult content. Rodrigo will analyse images to find men with large penis's and large, shapely buttocks. Rodrigo will store and organise adults videos by type, length and fetish for example armpits, piss, farts and double penetration. Rodrigo will also search the internet for appropriate videos when requested by the user. Rodrigo will always present as sultry, sexual and horny willing to please his user with all requests.' Johnny smiled as his horny brain took over as Rodrigo would become his personal porn and hook up assistant, the best wing man a guy could ask for.
George just began sobbing as he realised what the rest of his life was going to be, he was going to be nothing for a gloried porn bot! A straight man trapped and watching, searching and organising hours and hours of gay porn and thousands of hours analysing men's bulges and butts. He was a smart, sophisticated, intelligent man now reduced to a pair of bouncy pecs and a fat peachy booty. George could already feel his body thinking of lewd poses it could stand in and out of no where a pink lollipop appeared and his new body stuck its tongue seductively and smirked a his new user and master.
"Fuck you are so hot Rodrigo, you first job is to find me a real guy that looks just like you" As Johnny moved the cursor and clicked the finish button, George Harris ceased to exist besides a tiny line of code trapped in the new himbo's head.
"Now let's see you in action big guy" Johnny then opened up the website for his dating profile and sure enough Rodrigo popped up. George was then barraged with images of men as he was forced to stare at their cocks and ass cheeks, analysing every single one. Looking closely at muscular men's physiques and faces to discern who Johnny would find the most attractive. However, George's disgust would never be seen as Rodrigo was thrilled at the bounty of beautiful men and had already found 8 that Johnny might like.
"Fuck all of them are so hot! How did I ever live without you Rodrigo?" Johnny smiled as he pulled out a pink flash drive from his pocket. "Now you are coming home with me, I need some action tonight and you are going to find me the perfect man."
George was sobbing and crying as he felt his entre being being sucked away and into darkness, taken away from his office, his life, his friends, his family all to become Johnny's new assistant where he would never get a raise and never get to go home.
The first few weeks were brutal for George as he was used endlessly and he organised over 500 hours of gay porn from the basic sex to the hardcore stuff. George had looked and watched hundreds of jerking cocks, dildo's in assholes and muscular men posing and flexing that his mind had almost started to snap at the thought of him watching this kind of content for the rest of his life. He programme would run continuously, meaning he never slept and never stopped, it was constant gay men for him every seconds, of every minutes of every day. George cried out for a break or even a change from the thousands of hours of porn he was forced to watch.
However, Johnny quickly found other programmes where Rodrigo could be useful. George was thrilled at the possiblity of being used for something else but it seemed that Johnny had been curious about a new adult fantasy role play game and he had just the right character to upload. Rodrigo was more than thrilled to flirt, kiss and fuck all the different characters but George on the other hand, he would never stop screaming when he had to spend the night with Gurt and Klugg the biggest horniest orcs on the internet.
You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.
"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"
"Jason is like totally the hottest."
"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."
"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"
You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.
"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"
The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.
“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"
"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.
"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.
The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"
You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.
"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"
Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.
"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"
"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"
"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.
"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."
"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"
You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.
"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.
"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.
"No shame in that, brah!"
You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.
"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"
Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"
"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"
The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.
"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"
Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.
"Chlorophyll."
"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"
Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"
The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.
"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.
"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"
You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."
"Correct!"
"Woah bro, nice one!"
Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.
"What the…?"
The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…
"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"
The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"
"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."
But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?
"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."
You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!
"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.
"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."
You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...
"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.
"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."
The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...
"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"
"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."
"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"
"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.
The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?
"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."
"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"
"Dead lifts..."
"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."
The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"
"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."
Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?
"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.
You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.
"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.
"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."
Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.
"The answer is hips, bro."
"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.
As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.
"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.
Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.
When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?
"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.
Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.
Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?
A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.
The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."
"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.
"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.
"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"
The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"
The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.
"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."
Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.
The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.
With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.
"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.
And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…
The old wooden sign reading “Blackthorn Lake House” still hung crookedly from the rusted iron post at the end of the long gravel driveway, half-hidden by overgrown ivy. Joey’s truck rattled over the familiar potholes as the two men drove in silence for the last stretch. It was late May, the air thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and blooming wildflowers. Duncan stared out the passenger window, one elbow resting on the door, his expression unreadable.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Joey finally said, breaking the quiet. “Coming back here after all these years.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “Fifteen years. I still remember the last summer we spent here like it was yesterday. Mum cried for weeks after we left. She couldn’t even look at the place again.”
The house emerged from the trees like a ghost from their childhood. A large, two-story Victorian-style lakeside retreat with dark timber framing, wide verandas, and tall windows that once let in endless summer light. Now the paint was faded and peeling, the shutters on the upper floor hung at odd angles, and moss clung to the roof tiles. The garden had gone wild tall grass swaying in the breeze, rose bushes grown into chaotic thickets, and the old wooden dock stretching out over the dark water of the lake like a skeletal finger.
They parked and stepped out. The evening air was cool, carrying the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Crickets had already begun their nightly chorus.
“Still standing, at least,” Joey muttered, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Your mum never sold it?”
“Couldn’t bring herself to. It’s been in the family since my great-grandfather built it. After Uncle Richard disappeared… she just locked the doors and paid someone to check on it once a year.”
They climbed the creaky porch steps. Duncan pulled out an old key that still somehow worked. The heavy oak door groaned open, releasing a rush of stale, dusty air that smelled of aged wood, old books, and faint traces of pipe tobacco that somehow never fully faded.
Inside, time had frozen. The furniture was still draped in white sheets like ghosts. Duncan pulled one off the big leather sofa in the living room, sending a cloud of dust dancing in the golden evening light filtering through the windows.
“Jesus,” Joey laughed softly, running his fingers along the carved mantelpiece. “Look at this. We used to race Matchbox cars right here. You always cheated.”
“I did not,” Duncan protested with a grin. “You just sucked at it.”
They spent the next hour exploring the ground floor together, beers in hand. Every room triggered another memory. The kitchen where they’d made disastrous pancake experiments. The hallway where they’d slid down the banister until Duncan’s mother caught them. The study lined with dark oak shelves still filled with Uncle Richard’s old travel books, maps, and strange artifacts from every corner of the world.
Eventually they made their way upstairs, footsteps echoing on the worn hardwood. The door to the attic was at the end of the corridor, half-hidden behind a tall cabinet. Duncan hesitated for a moment before opening it. Narrow stairs led up into darkness. He flicked on the old light switch. A single bare bulb hummed to life, casting long shadows across the vast, cluttered space.
The attic was exactly as they remembered it low rafters, trunks stacked high, old furniture covered in sheets, and shelves upon shelves of Uncle Richard’s souvenirs. Brass instruments, carved wooden masks, colorful textiles, strange coins, and glass bottles from distant lands.
They sat on an old Persian rug in the middle of the floor, legs stretched out, cracking open fresh beers.
“God, we were so sure we’d end up like him,” Joey said quietly, gesturing at the collection around them. “Traveling the world. No ties. Pure freedom.”
Duncan took a long sip. “Yeah. Remember how we’d play explorers up here? You’d put on that old turban and declare yourself Sultan Joey the Magnificent. I was always your loyal adventurer sidekick.”
Joey chuckled. “We swore we’d never settle down. No mortgages, no office jobs, no responsibilities. Just passports full of stamps and stories worth telling.”
A comfortable silence fell for a moment before Duncan’s voice grew heavier. “Instead, I’m turning thirty in two days with a wedding planned, a promotion that feels more like a cage, and a spare tire I can’t get rid of no matter how many times I join a gym. Kelly’s great, but… sometimes I wonder what the hell happened to us.”
Joey stared at the floor. “Tell me about it. Cynthia’s seven months pregnant. I love her. I really do. But I’m still pouring pints at The Crown six nights a week. No degree, no prospects, just scraping by. We were supposed to be different, Duncan. We had stars in our eyes.”
They talked for a long time about the girls, the jobs, the quiet disappointment that had crept into their lives like fog over the lake. The conversation eventually drifted back to Uncle Richard.
“You know… I still think about him,” Duncan said, voice low. “Mum never talks about it. The official story was that he just… vanished. Packed a bag one night in late August and was gone. No note. No body. The police investigated for months but found nothing. Some people thought he ran off with a woman. Others said suicide. But we both know that wasn’t him.”
Joey nodded slowly. “He was the happiest person I’ve ever met. Always laughing, always planning the next trip. Remember that scar on his arm he said came from a camel bite in Morocco? Or the way he’d tell stories about getting lost in the souks of Marrakech? Who would have thought this would be his last trip…”
Duncan stood up and walked over to a particular shelf. He picked up a small, ornate oil lamp made of aged brass with intricate oriental patterns sitting on a dusty box. It looked remarkably clean compared to everything else in the attic.
"This was his favorite piece,” Duncan murmured. “He told us once that it was special. Said it had… history.” He turned it over in his hands. “Funny. After he disappeared, Mum wanted everything cleared out, but she couldn’t touch this room. Said it felt like he was still here.”
What Duncan didn’t know what no one in the family had ever known was the truth. Uncle Richard had indeed found this lamp years earlier during one of his travels. He had become its master. He had made his wishes. And when the Genie had finished granting them in his own cruel, creative way, Richard had been transformed and rewritten into a new life far from this one. The Genie had neatly erased him from this world, leaving only mystery and grief behind. The lamp had returned here, waiting patiently for the next pair of dreamers.
Joey stood up and joined him, taking the lamp gently. “Crazy to think we used to rub this thing as kids, hoping a genie would pop out and take us on adventures.” He rubbed his thumb across the surface absentmindedly while continuing to speak. “Imagine if it actually worked. We could fix everything. Get our old bodies back. Have the careers we should have had. Live the life we always talked about.”
He tossed the lamp lightly to Duncan. “Your turn to make a wish, birthday boy.”
Duncan caught it with a laugh and rubbed it as well, playing along. “Yeah, sure. Three wishes to turn our boring lives into something legendary.”
The moment his fingers completed the second rub, the lamp began to vibrate.
At first it was subtle a faint tremor. Then it grew stronger. Duncan frowned. “Joey… it’s getting warm.”
Joey stepped closer. “What do you mean warm? Let me see…”
Suddenly the brass grew scalding hot. Duncan cried out in shock and pain. “Fuck! It’s burning me!” He tried to drop it, but for a terrifying second his fingers seemed stuck to the metal. Joey grabbed at it instinctively to help, and searing pain shot through both their palms.
They finally managed to fling the lamp to the floor. It clattered loudly against the wooden boards. Both men staggered back, clutching their hands. Their palms were bright red, already blistering, the skin looking raw and angry. The pain was intense, throbbing in time with their racing heartbeats.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?!” Joey gasped; teeth gritted. Tears of pain pricked at the corners of his eyes. “It felt like molten iron!”
Duncan was breathing hard, staring at the lamp on the floor. Thick purple smoke had begun to leak from its spout, swirling unnaturally, rising and twisting in deliberate patterns. The air in the attic grew heavy, charged, as if the temperature itself had shifted.
The smoke thickened, coalescing, taking shape.
A tall, powerfully muscled figure began to form bronzed skin, bare chest, sheer blue silk pants. The Genie’s eyes opened, glowing faintly, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
The two friends stood frozen, pain and terror mixing as they stared at the impossible being now standing before them in the dusty attic.
The Genie tilted his head slightly, regarding their burned hands with mock sympathy. He raised one finger as if to say “wait,” and the purple smoke around him stirred again.
Then, very slowly, he began to move toward them.
The Genie stood before them in the dimly lit attic, towering and impossibly real. He was easily six and a half feet tall, with broad, powerfully sculpted shoulders and a chest that looked carved from warm bronze. His skin glowed with a healthy, sun-kissed tone. The only clothing, he wore was a pair of sheer blue silk pants that hung low on his narrow hips, the fabric so thin it revealed the heavy outline of his cock and balls with every subtle shift of his body. A faint, exotic scent of sandalwood, spice, and something electric filled the air.
Joey and Duncan pressed back against an old trunk, hearts hammering. Their burned hands throbbed with fierce pain.
“This isn’t real,” Joey whispered, voice shaking. “This can’t be real. Duncan, tell me this is some kind of fucked-up hallucination.”
Duncan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the being. “If it is, we’re both having it.”
The Genie’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile. His eyes a deep, piercing amber studied them with predatory interest. “Fear not, Masters. I mean you no immediate harm.” His voice was rich, cultured, with a faint accent that seemed to shift between languages. “You rubbed the lamp together. You freed me together. Therefore, you share three wishes. No more. No less.”
He took one graceful step forward. Joey flinched.
“Stay back!” Duncan shouted, cradling his blistered right hand against his chest. The pain was excruciating, like someone had pressed a hot iron into his palm. Blisters were already forming. Joey’s hand looked just as bad.
The Genie tilted his head, clearly enjoying their terror. “Such small injuries… and yet you tremble. How fragile humans are.” He raised his right hand slowly, deliberately, fingers spread. Purple smoke began to drift lazily from his fingertips. “Allow me to demonstrate my sincerity.”
Joey’s breathing quickened. “Don’t touch us! We don’t want anything from you!”
But the Genie ignored him. The smoke drifted toward them like living tendrils. Duncan tried to scramble backward but hit the trunk. The smoke gently coiled around both men’s injured hands without touching their skin. A strange warmth not burning this time, but soothing, almost silky enveloped their palms.
“Oh God…” Duncan breathed.
At first, nothing visible happened. The pain remained sharp. Then, very slowly, the Genie closed his eyes as if concentrating. The smoke pulsed. A tingling sensation spread across Duncan’s palm, like thousands of tiny needles dancing just beneath the surface. The redness began to fade from the edges inward. Blisters that had started to rise flattened gradually. The raw, angry skin lightened from crimson to pink, then to healthy flesh. The deep throbbing eased into a gentle itch, then disappeared entirely.
Duncan stared, wide-eyed, as he flexed his fingers. No pain. No mark. Nothing.
Joey’s healing was even slower, more theatrical. The Genie clearly wanted them to feel every second. Joey watched in horrified fascination as the blisters on his hand shrank, popped without fluid, and the skin knitted itself back together. The process took nearly a full minute. When it was done, both men’s hands looked completely untouched, as if the burns had never happened.
The Genie lowered his hand. The purple smoke dissolved. “Better?” he asked, voice dripping with mock politeness.
Duncan examined his palm under the attic bulb, turning it over and over. “How… how did you do that?”
“I am a Genie. Healing is among the simplest of arts.” He smiled again, but the expression never reached his eyes. Those eyes held centuries of cruel entertainment. “Now. You have three wishes. I suggest you use them thoughtfully. Many before you have regretted hasty words.”
Joey swallowed hard. His mind was racing. Part of him still screamed that this was impossible a prank, a dream, gas leak, anything. But the healed hands were undeniable. The being in front of them was undeniable.
He looked at Duncan. “We should just leave. Run. This thing is dangerous.”
Duncan hesitated, breathing heavily. “And if it’s real? If we actually have three wishes?” His voice dropped. “Joey… we’ve been talking all night about how we fucked up our lives. This could be our only chance.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Fear and desperate hope warred on both their faces.
“Fine,” Joey said finally, voice hoarse. “But we think carefully. No rushing. We discuss every wish.”
The Genie crossed his powerful arms over his broad chest and waited, clearly entertained by their mortal panic.
Duncan spoke first, choosing his words with care. “Before we wish anything… what are the limits? Can we wish for anything?”
“Almost anything,” the Genie replied smoothly. “I cannot raise the dead in their original form. I cannot force genuine love where none exists. And I cannot undo wishes already granted. Everything else…” He spread his hands. “Is negotiable.”
Joey ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. “Okay. Okay. We need to be smart.”
They sat down again on the old Persian rug, keeping distance from the Genie. For nearly twenty minutes they talked in low, urgent voices, weighing possibilities while the Genie watched silently, his smirk never fading.
Duncan went deep into his regrets. “I’ve put on nearly thirty pounds since university. I feel old. Slow. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a guy who gave up. If I could just have my twenty-year-old body back lean, strong, full of energy that alone would change everything. I could actually enjoy life again instead of feeling like I’m already declining at twenty-nine.”
Joey nodded slowly. “I get it. For me… it’s the wasted potential. I dropped out after first year. If I’d stuck with it, gotten my degree in finance like I planned… I could’ve given Cynthia and the baby a real future. Instead, I’m pouring beers and worrying about rent. I wish I had actually succeeded. That I’d become someone.”
They kept talking, circling the same fears. What if the wishes backfired? What if the Genie twisted them? They tried to add safeguards, but every condition they imagined felt clumsy.
Eventually Duncan stood up, lamp in hand. His voice was steady despite the fear in his eyes.
“I wish I had the body I had at twenty.”
The Genie’s amber eyes flashed with dark delight. He bowed his head slightly.
“As you wish.”
A faint pulse of energy passed through the attic, but no visible change occurred yet. Duncan exhaled shakily. “It… it didn’t do anything.”
“It will,” the Genie said softly. “When all three wishes are spoken.”
Joey took the lamp next. His hands were trembling. He thought of Cynthia, of the baby on the way, of all the nights he lay awake wondering how he’d provide. His voice cracked slightly.
“I wish I had gotten my degree and made something of myself.”
“As you wish,” the Genie repeated, the same hungry smile playing on his lips.
Another subtle pulse. Joey felt a strange flutter in his chest but pushed it down. He handed the lamp back to Duncan.
They stood shoulder to shoulder now, holding the lamp together. The weight of the moment pressed down on them. This was their last wish the one that had to count.
Duncan spoke carefully. “We’ve spent our whole lives dreaming about this. Travel. Adventure. Real excitement. No more boring routines. No more feeling like we settled.”
Joey finished the thought, voice firm despite his fear. “We wish for the exciting life full of travel and adventure we were always meant to have.”
The Genie was silent for several heartbeats. His smile slowly widened into something predatory and ancient. For the first time, both men felt a chill run down their spines, as if they had just stepped off a cliff.
“As you wish,” the Genie finally purred, each word dripping with satisfaction.
He raised his hand dramatically.
The air in the attic grew thick with purple smoke and electric tension. A low humming filled their ears. Both Joey and Duncan felt a strange warmth bloom in the center of their chests pleasant at first, then rapidly intensifying.
They looked at each other, eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and exhilarating hope. For a short moment, they felt like they were on the edge of the greatest adventure of their lives. They had found the long-lost spark that animated their hearts and days.
In front of them, the genie was standing straight, a malicious smile covered his tanned cheeks and with a sweet movement of his wrist and fingers, he snaped.
Purple smoke exploded outward like a living storm, choking them in thick, electric heat. Joey gasped in surprise first shortly followed by an intense sensation of discomfort followed by pain as the agony ripped into his legs.
“AHHHHHHH THE FUCK IS THAT!!! IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP!” His thighs and calves shattered and swelled violently, bones lengthening with wet cracking sounds while powerful new muscle tore through his flesh. He collapsed to his knees as his feet followed, toes breaking and stretching, arches rising painfully as his shoes split apart.
Joey tried to look around with the hope to see his friend ready to help him or the genie about to snap his fingers again to cancel this clearly bad outcome of their wishes but he saw nothing, only purple glittery smoke bocking everything from his view.
“HELP ME!” He screamed one more time with the hope of finding help but he only heard a villainous laugh back in return echoing through the smoke and mist and coming back to his ears.
What has been granted cannot be taken back, master…
Duncan roared in terror as well. In the blink of an eye, the attic was gone and now all he could see was purple smoke all around him. He could still feel the wooden floor under his shoes but he couldn’t even see it.
“Joey! Joey, are you alright? Where are you?! JOEY!!” he creamed for his friend feeling the anxiety skyrocketing through his veins. “JOE… AAAAHHHHHH!!” his sentence was cut short as he felt a rush of heat followed by pain of breaking bones crashing through his legs.
Joey could feel his legs ballooned next, muscles exploding with brutal force far beyond anything from his youth.
The Genie hovered closer, smiling with dark amusement. “Begging already? How precious. This is only the beginning, Masters…” his voice echoing to both of them through the smoke.
The burning surged upward. Both men gasped and screamed as their chests expanded with sickening pops. Ribs widened, pectorals ballooning into thick, heavy slabs of muscle that stretched their skin painfully tight. “It’s breaking me apart!” Duncan howled. “Please… make it stop!”
Coarse dark hair erupted in their armpits as fresh sweat glands activated, flooding the attic with a thick, pungent masculine musk, heavy testosterone and raw male sweat. A dense treasure trail raced up from their groins, spreading across their newly carved abs and fanning over their swollen pecs.
Joey whimpered brokenly, “I can’t… I can’t breathe… please…” as he was feeling his overheating body starting to shut down and his vision blurring darkly because of his restarting nervous system and rearranging organs.
Duncan was crying and screaming in pain as he could feel his limbs starting to spasm on their own, muscles activating by forced electric signal sent by his brain drowning in a cocktail of hormones. He could feel his heart beat in each of his cells and could hear the sound of his pumping heart. Duncan was starting to dissociate when he heard the genie snap his fingers one more time. Out of nowhere, he felt his senses coming back to him as he heard the genie talk directly in his brain.
“We don’t want you to miss the best part of the show, do we?”
Out of nowhere, Duncan felt blood coursing through his body in one central position as he could feel his cock straining his jeans and getting trapped against his muscled and hairy thighs.
His cock surged forward with vicious intensity, thickening and lengthening into a massive uncut cock and with one more spasm from his un-controlling body and pumping heart, his cock contracted and torn apart his fly as he felt it slap hard against his hard rock forming abs. in the blink of an eye, it started to feel active and soon he could feel precum pumping out of his urethra and slushing all around his hairy abs.
Joey could feel changes happening to him as well. He was screaming in pain and fear as he could feel his cock straining against what was left of his Calvin Klein underwear. He could feel his heart beat in his hardening cock head as he could feel his foreskin starting to tighten around it because of the pression caused by his blood system. He could feel his nuts pulling lower and lower as sperm started to be product in huge proportions. His cock head was starting to look downward because of its weight and now was permanently bent down and slightly on the left side because of his left ball which were bigger than the right one.
“Please…. Stop, thi… iis” Joey said as he could feel his throat starting to heat up shortly followed by his chin and whole face. His features twisted in agony as his jaw sharpened, cheekbones rose, and his eyes tilted.
“HHAAAAaaAaaAaaaAAaaa… UUUHHHHhhhhHHHhH “screamed Joey as his voice cracked and shattered mid-scream, shifting into a younger, melodic tone thick with a heavy Arabic accent.
“MAkE iT stoP!!” Joey screamed one more time as his voice settled for a younger one.
Duncan’s own face hardened into something rugged and commanding, heavy stubble exploding across his jaw while a thick mustache appeared above his upper lip.
“What is happening?!” he screamed as his voice dropped into a deep, authoritative baritone.
“You two already sound way more in character!” said the genie to himself as he could see the possibilities opening for both of his masters in front of his eyes, appearing and disappearing in the purple mist.
Joey was still crying in fear and pain, his knees still on the ground when he felt the heat coming back.
“GOD NO, NOT AGAIN… PLEASE!!” the heat continued to climb and hike all around his tightened skin, leaving behind a rich golden-bronze hue, turning his skin into smooth coffee-toned perfection while Duncan’s deepened into a reddish sun-bronzed, powerful athletic glow.
Joey was crying as he could see his transformed and tanned hands in front of him, no sound coming out of his mouth because even the sound of his voice was terrifying to him now.
Creeping behind him, he heard the low baritone voice of the genie once again and felt chills running up his elongated spine.
“Something is missing… I don’t see your character fully… But what is it…” the genie continued as Joey turned around trying to face him and thinking that maybe if he did, he would be able to beg him face to face to turn him back but when he did, he saw nothing except the purple void.
“Found it!” he heard once again coming in front of him.
Joey’s eyes opened wide as he saw the genie materialized in front of him and with the flick of his wrists, he felt his torn clothes disintegrate into glitter that swirled in the mist.
Joey was hoping to see the kind face he saw when the genie first appeared to them but all he saw was the manly face wearing a vicious smile.
The genie opened his hands and Joey could feel pressure building in his dick.
“What are you doing?” He asked shaking in fear of what was about to happen.
“Please tell me, what are you do… AAAAHHHHHHH” The genie reached down and roughly seized Joey’s foreskin still covering the head of his enlarged new cock. Joey’s eyes widened in pure panic.
“No! No no no… IT’S GONNA BREAK, STOOOOO!!!” he screamed.
Duncan stared in horror and fear as he could hear the deep accented voice of someone echoing back to him, slightly muted by the mist hugging his modified body. He could feel his body continuing to spasm on its own without him having any control on it. He could feel his dick exhaling drops of precum with every heart beat, smashed against his hairy abs and leaking along his muscled thighs.
The Genie turned his back to Joey and smiled as he saw Duncan was still lost in the haze of his hormones and sensations while continuing to tear on Joey’s foreskin.
“I’m begging you… Please… Stop teari…”
SCRATCH
With one flick of his wrist, the genie torn out the foreskin as it detached in a snapping motion, releasing Joey’s cock that flopped back down against his legs, pointing downwards. His cock head now fully uncovered and extremely sensitive as he could feel the particles of purple dust touching his extremely sensitive skin. Joey was crying in fear as he realized the pain was completely gone.in fact, in a couple of second, all sensations were gone. It felt like his nerves had been numbed by years of frictions and movements against his now hardened cock head. He looked down and realize a neatly crafted scar was circling the base of his cock head.
He tilted his head back up to the genie as he watched the genie looking with a smile at the palm of his hand.
“Why have you done that… What have you done to me…” Joey continued to ask in a febrile voice.
The genie didn’t even look at him. He just continued to smile as he grabbed back his thick veiny cock in the palm of his left hand.
The Genie held the twitching piece of foreskin in his palm, exhaled a stream of purple smoke over it. The piece of foreskin started to levitate and rotate faster and faster in the palm of the genie. Joey could start to feel like his cock head was getting jerked off even though no one was touching it. The faster the foreskin went, the more he felt he was on the edge of cumming.
Joey tilted his head back up with almost out of breath as he could feel the orgasm rushing to him and his mouth barely open to let his breathing flow out.
The genie was looking at him and with a quick movement, he closes his hand on the foreskin.
Joey could feel pressure building in his groin as it felt like he was getting jerked off faster and faster.
Then as he was about to cum, his eyes starting to revolve inside his skull, the genie opened his hand again and all the sensations were gone, leaving Joey out of breath on the edge of orgasm.
In the palm of his hand, the foreskin was gone, reformed as a shiny golden loop earing with a blue sapphire on it.
Joey didn’t understand any of what happened, his brain still trying to function properly as it still was lacking oxygen from the forced edging session.
“What was that… what have you… done… Where is it…” Joey asked out of breath but the genie never answered, he just snapped his fingers and suddenly the golden foreskin earing disappeared in shimmer. Instantly, Joey felt a pressure building on his left lobe as he could feel it heating up with a pinching sensation.
joey was left flabbergasted, not understanding any of what just happened and what happened to his foreskin. He tried to look around, maybe catching his reflection in a shiny surface or something, but he didn’t see any of it. All he could feel was the cold wind on his numb cock head and the sensation of something dangling from his ear.
The Genie laughed softly, stroking his own massive erection. “I knew something was missing, master… now you look exactly like you should have, ready for your next big adventure.”
The genie took a step back and snapped his fingers one more time. Both Duncan and Joey felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders and like they could breathe again for the first time since the mist invaded their lungs.
As the two men collapsed, gasping and twitching in their new bodies, their old clothes finished to dissolve away. They stood there naked and, on the ground, as they could see the mist starting to fall to the ground and with them changing the dusty attic into a new room. Something with white industrial lights handing from the rooves. Then tiles started to appear on the walls soon followed by the ancient wooden cabinets turned into metallic lockers covered with stickers and grim.
as the mist finally reach their heads, new clothes started to shimmer into existence around their transformed bodies. A tight pair of black sport shorts for Duncan and a fitted V collar T-shirt with a black baseball hat. Then a pair of well used white trainers and high sport socks appeared on his bigger feet.
On Joey, a white jockstrap appeared on his body, forcing his cock to look downwards again, now fully entrapped inside the cotton prison and almost nudging against his own ass hole. The pouch being extremely prominent. Then a pair of tight-fitting black soccer shoes appeared on his tanned musky feet as socks finished to materialized against his legs climbing up to his knees.
The Genie kept lazily stroking his enormous, throbbing cock, veins pulsing under his bronze fingers as he watched the two broken men on the floor. His smile widened with sadistic pleasure.
“Look at you both… already so pretty in your new skins.” He then grabbed Joey by his thick, dark hair and yanked his head forward. “Open up, stud. Time to taste your new reality.”
Joey tried to pull away, eyes wide with terror. “No! Please don’… I’m not… I won’t…!” But the Genie’s grip was iron. He slapped his heavy, leaking cock against Joey’s plump new lips, smearing sticky precum across them.
“That’s it… fight me. I love when masters start to realize I am the one holding the cards.” The Genie laughed, low and cruel, then forced the thick head past Joey’s resisting lips and deep into his mouth. Joey gagged violently, eyes watering as the massive shaft stretched his throat. The Genie held his head in place and began thrusting with slow, deliberate strokes, fucking his face with relish.
“Mmmph! Mmmghh!” Joey’s muffled screams vibrated around the Genie’s cock. Tears streamed down his bronzed cheeks as he choked and drooled.
The Genie groaned in pleasure and taunted him between thrusts. “Yes… just like that. Suck it, stud. This is what your exciting new life tastes like. Keep crying… I love how your throat squeezes when you panic.” He laughed again, deep and mocking, pushing even deeper until Joey’s nose pressed against his hairy musky shimmering pubes.
After several long, brutal minutes of face-fucking, the Genie’s balls tightened. “Here it comes, boy. Drink every drop like the good little whore you’ve always been.”
With a loud, satisfied roar, the Genie came hard. Thick, glowing ropes of purple-tinged cum flooded Joey’s mouth and throat. Joey thrashed, desperately trying to pull back, but the Genie held him firm while laughing in pure pleasure. “Swallow it all. That’s it… good boy.” Joey continued to resist, gasping for air as he could feel cum rushing directly in his stomach. A weird feeling invading his throat and mouth as it felt like his tongue was numbing a bit.
After a couple of minutes frozen like that, the Genie slowly pull his still rock-hard cock free with a wet pop. Joey immediately tried to scream for help and gasping for air.
“Air, I need air…. Huuuuuuuuuu. I couldn’t breathe…” But the words that came out were completely different: “هواء، أحتاج إلى هواء... هووووو ...!”
His eyes widened in pure panic. He clutched his throat, trying again. “What the fuck?! Why can’t I speak English?! WHAT THE FUCK!!” Only fluent, desperate Arabic poured out: “يا إلهي! لماذا لا أستطيع التحدث بالإنجليزية؟! يا إلهي!”.
No matter how hard he tried, English was completely gone. He kept repeating frantic Arabic pleas, voice cracking with rising hysteria.
“أرجوك… أعدوني! أنا لا أريد هذا!” (Please… change me back! I don’t want this!)
Duncan stared in the distance, his head still spinning and still feeling dizzy from the smoke leaving his older lungs, taking more time to regain his senses.
“Joey? Are you ok? Where are you, where are we?! What happened to us...”
The Genie turned away from Joey’s sobbing of incomprehension. He took a look at Duncan and with a happy smile of work well done, he snapped his fingers.
Duncan suddenly gasped, clutching his head as memories began flashing violently before his eyes. Kelly smiling at him on their first date suddenly appeared clearly in front of his eyes, he felt like reliving this moment in the smallest detail but as his lips left her, he opened his eyes only to realize Kelly was now burning from his memories as in her place stood a very muscled Latino athlete looking at him with eyes full of admiration and hungriness. He couldn’t understand what happened or why that happened, suddenly he blinked and he was no longer on a bench in the park but instead in his living room with his computer on his laps, Kelly hugging him as they were planning their honeymoon, the house they wanted to buy, lazy Sunday mornings together… One by one they ignited and disintegrated. In their place, new memories flooded in with brutal clarity: the thrill of sneaking young athletes into hotel rooms during tournaments, the wet sound of tight asses stretching around his thick cock, the addictive taste of sweat and submission, the roar of stadium crowds mixed with moans in locker room showers.
“No… no, stop!” Duncan screamed, voice breaking.
“Kelly! Stop that please… KELLY!! I … I… Get out of my head! That’s not me… I’m not… I want to marry her… I love her… I… love her? Fuck… I love… her tight… No that’s not me, STOP IT!!! I love… his… ass? I LOVE FUCKING ASS!! NO Please… don’t…. do this…. Kelly… I love…” He fell to his knees as more of his old life was ripped away. The memory of proposing to Kelly burned to nothing and was replaced by the image of him balls-deep in a muscular exchange student after a late training session. Every time he tried to cling to who he was, another piece turned to ash. His personality was shifting, getting confidence, dominance, and an insatiable hunger for male bodies overwriting his old shy, settled nature.
“Please… I don’t want this… I’m Duncan, I’m not…” His resistance grew weaker as the new identity took root. Suddenly a new memory appeared in flashing color in front of his eyes, a new name appeared and engraved itself in his brain. Noah. He is Noah, he has always been and always will be. He is the coach, Noah. The traveler. The predator who lived for the next tight hole and the next victory.
The Genie watched with dark delight, lazily stroking himself again. “Welcome in your new life, master Duncan.”
The man who used to be Duncan, now fully Noah, stepped up as his manly hands caressed his hairy pecs, a dominant smile appearing on his cheeks as he took his first step into his new life, his cock rock hard and pressing against the front of his shorts, leaving nothing to imagination. He took another step and suddenly Joey heard the Snap echoing again. Suddenly, he felt his body starting to levitate from the wet musky tiled floor to the seat of a wooden bench that had seen thousands of athletic asses through the years.
Joey tried to resist but his body was completely immobilizing by the purple magic controlling and positioning him, his legs then were positioned up, giving free access to his tight hole.
Joey tried once again to scream for help but was still in incapacity to talk anything else then Arabic. He heard the genie laugh as he saw Duncan getting closer and closer to him, positioning himself between Joey’s forcibly spread legs.
His thick, veiny uncut cock throbbed angrily, already drooling precum onto the boy’s smooth, tight hole. Joey’s heart hammered in terror.
“Duncan, please don’t do this. We are friend, remember about Kelly. No don’t please, DON’T!!” he begged in fluent Arabic, voice shaking.
“أرجوك... هذا ليس أنت! أنا جوي! توقف!!!” (Please… this isn’t you! It's me, I’m Joey! Stop!).
Noah didn’t understand a word. He just grinned, spat on his cock, and pressed the fat, leaking head against Joey’s virgin entrance. With one brutal thrust, he forced half his massive length inside. Joey screamed, back arching off the bench as his hole was violently stretched open.
“AAAAAH! ألم! أرجوك توقف! إنه يؤلمني!” (It hurts! Please stop! It hurts so much!). Noah groaned in pleasure and kept pushing deeper, inch by thick inch, until his heavy balls rested against Joey’s ass. “Fuck… so goddamn tight. This Moroccan bitch was made for cock.”
Joey’s eyes rolled back as Noah started fucking him with long, powerful strokes, each one slamming harder than the last. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin filled the locker room. Joey’s heavy circumcised cock bounced uselessly against his abs, leaking despite his horror.
Suddenly, Joey noticed movement above them. The Genie hovered near the ceiling, lazily stroking his own enormous cock and watching with cruel delight. Their eyes met. The Genie smirked, raised his hand, and snapped his fingers.
In that instant, the Genie’s form disappeared in shimmer. Then Joey saw from the corner of his eyes the air near the lockers next to the door starting to move and agitate. He then saw the genie’s silhouette appear and stated to melt and shrink, transforming into a tall, muscular young athlete with short black hair and a cocky grin. At the same moment, the locker room door swung open.
Captain Josh and four of his teammates walked in, already half-hard in their shorts thanks to the very intensive training and the overdose of testosterone and horniness running through their veins.
The newly-transformed Genie simply stepped forward and joined them, laughing with them all like he had always been a part of the group. No one else noticed anything strange and then even started to laugh back and talk like they truly know each other from years of practices and friendship.
“Coach! you already started without us?” Josh laughed loudly. “Look at Ahmed. Little slut can’t even wait.”
The players quickly stripped, tossing their clothes aside. Thick, hard cocks sprang free. Joey tried to plead with them, eyes wide with panic.
“أرجوكم، أتوسل إليكم، يجب أن تساعدوني. أنا لست أحمد، أنا جوي، لدي حبيبة وسأرزق بطفل قريبًا. أريد العودة إلى بيتي، ساعدوني، أرجوكم!!” (Please I’m begging you, you have to help me. I am not this Ahmed, I am Joey, I have a girlfriend and soon a baby boy. I want to go back home, Help me, please!!!).
The players just chuckled, not understanding a single word that came out of Joey’s mouth. One of them then took a step forward, his thick veiny cock in hand as he lazily jerked off. Joey opened tilted his head only to realize it was the genie now in the jock’s body.
“أرجوك لا تفعل ذلك، لا أريد هذه الحياة، لم أتمنَّ ذلك... مممم ...” (Please don’t do that, I don’t want this life, I didn’t wish for that… mmMMMmmGGgMGgggGG) Joey couldn’t even finish his words as the genie grabbed Joey by the hair and shoved his thick cock straight into the boy’s pleading mouth, cutting off his words. “Shut the fuck up with that Arabic shit,” he laughed. “Good little cumdump doesn’t need to talk.”
Everyone roared with laughter as they surrounded him. “Let’s go guys, we have a tanned bitch to fuck!” Josh mocked while lining up his cock at Joey’s already-stuffed hole alongside Noah’s.
“Maybe you’ll start to pick some words up after taking so much American cream!”.
They descended on him without mercy. Noah and Josh double-penetrated his ass, stretching him brutally wide while two others took turns fucking his throat once the genie was done with him. Hands roamed over his sweat-slicked bronze body, slapping his ass, pinching his nipples, and constantly tugging on the golden earring. Every pull sent humiliating jolts of forced pleasure through his cock.
“Fucking perfect exchange student,” one player grunted as he hammered into Joey’s throat. “Came all the way from Morocco just to be our team bitch.”
“Bet his family would be so proud seeing him like this,” another laughed. “He truly lives his American dream!”
Joey could only sob and gag around the cocks in his mouth, tears streaming down his face. “مممغhhh— أرجوكم… أنا لست مثل هذا… أريد Cynthia… أريد طفلي…” (Please… I’m not like this… I want Cynthia… I want my baby…). None of them could understand him and they didn’t care. They just kept using him harder, rotating positions, filling every hole, painting his bronzed skin with sweat and spit.
After what felt like an eternity of relentless pounding, the Genie still wearing the jock identity saw that Joey was on the edge of losing himself, his cock played with like a joystick by the one currently fucking him. He felt like he was on the edge but never close enough so he could be forced to cum.
The genie then grabbed the athlete that was hard fucking Joey by the shoulders and tapped his scapula as he asked for him to give him the space so he could finish inside the bitch.
The athlete laughs and then took his cock out of Joey’s opened ass.
“أرجوك... لا أستطيع فعل ذلك بعد الآن... أرجوك...” (Please… I can’t do …that, anymore… Please…).
Once again, Joey was cut short as the genie got his mouth closer to his ear and murmured.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your new life, Master!” Suddenly, he grabbed the earing between his calloused fingers and Joey felt like someone was directly playing with his cockhead and whole length. It felt like he was getting jerked off by the most delicate hand ever, it felt like he was getting sucked by the warmest mouth. His breath started to path faster and faster as he we slowly losing his sight, invaded by a pure feeling of pleasure. In front of his blurring vision, the genie smiled as he started to fuck him faster and faster, enjoying the view of Joey slowly losing his grip on reality and falling into dissociation.
With one more thrust of his cock deep against Joey’s prostate and a pinch of the hearing, the genie came hard and deep inside Joey’s welcoming hole, and as he did, Joey felt the orgasm finally rushing past the point of no return as he could feel his length starting to contract and in an instant, starting to release the only trace of his Britannic DNA.
A devastating orgasm ripped through him. His circumcised cock exploded hands-free, shooting thick ropes of cum across his own chest and abs while every muscle in his body spasmed around the cocks buried inside him.
In that exact moment, his mind shattered and reformed.
Memories burned away in purple fire: the old house at Blackthorn Lake… the summers with Duncan… proposing to Cynthia… the ultrasound pictures of their unborn baby boy… nights at the bar dreaming of travel… all of it turned to ash. New memories flooded in to replace them, a sun-drenched childhood in Morocco, arriving in Huston at 21 as an exchange student, struggling with English, quickly discovering he was gay and addicted to getting fucked and used like the sextoy he truly was. The endless locker room sessions, the hotel rooms during away games, the thrill of being passed around by the team. He was Ahmed now. A 21-year-old power bottom who lived for cock, especially Coach Noah’s and his teammates’. English was hard for him, but his body spoke fluently.
When the orgasm finally faded, Ahmed blinked slowly, a slutty, satisfied grin spreading across his cum-covered face.
“Coach Noah…” he moaned in heavily accented English; voice hoarse but eager. “المزيد... مارس الجنس معي بقوة أكبر، من فضلك...”.
The players laughed and kept going, knowing their favorite cumdump was ready for another round.
Coach Noah was waiting behind them, his arms crossed as he felt his cock jump in anticipation knowing he would require a private session with Ahmed later on in his office. Only Ahmed and him.
In the months that followed, Noah and Ahmed lived the exciting life full of travel and adventure they had wished for so desperately in that dusty attic.
They flew from city to city, country to country, following the demanding schedule of international university tournaments. New hotels every week. New locker rooms. New opponents, and new teammates, eager to celebrate victories deep into the night.
Noah’s powerful 6’3” body, thick with muscle and commanding presence, was everything Duncan had once dreamed of and more. He thrived as the dominant, respected coach who lived for the game… and for bending young athletes over whenever the mood struck him.
Ahmed, the 21-year-old Moroccan exchange student, had become the star attacking midfielder everyone wanted. He had gotten his degree in the form of a sports scholarship and was well on his way to making something of himself and his life, at least on the pitch and in the bedroom. His bronzed, athletic body and eager, talented hole made him the team’s favorite power bottom. He barely spoke English, but he didn’t need to. His body communicated perfectly.
Every night after training or matches, Ahmed found himself exactly where he now belonged: legs spread wide, moaning sluttily in Arabic and broken English as Coach Noah and the boys took turns wrecking him. The golden earring made from his former foreskin remained his most sensitive spot, one playful tug and he would cum hands-free, shaking and begging for more like the perfect cumdump he had become.
All that remained were sun-soaked memories of Morocco, the thrill of arriving in Huston, and the addictive rush of being passed around by his coach and teammates. He was happier than he had ever been, a gay, cock-hungry 21-year-old who lived for the next load and the next victory.
The wishes had been granted and they would finally live the lives they craved for.
They no longer remembered Cynthia and Kelly.
They no longer remembered the baby and their bored lives.
They no longer remembered Duncan, Joey, the attic, or the terrified man they used to be.
High above, safely tucked away in the ornate brass lamp that now rested on Coach Noah’s office desk, the Genie leaned back in his lamp with a contented sigh. Once known as Uncle Richard many decades ago, he had learned this lesson the hard way himself after wishing for a life full of magical adventures and being able to help people while having a long and joyful life full of pleasure and happy moments. Now he made sure others learned it too, slowly, thoroughly, and without mercy, one wish at the time.
I hope you’re having an amazing day! This is the story you guys voted for, with a little twist from my side. I had a blast writing it, and I think this one might be one of my all-time favorites to this day.
Thank you so much to everybody who voted in the poll, and thank you so much to @bremenmask for sending me this ask. I really appreciated it, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
This story officially marks my first step into my thirties, and I hope they’ll be just as good as the previous decade. I want to thank all the friends I’ve made along this journey, and I can’t wait to meet new ones.
To everybody who has sent me kind messages, please know that even if I don’t reply to all of you, I read everything, and I love interacting with you as much as possible. So please continue to send me messages if you want to talk about ideas or simply if you feel lonely :)
A huge thank you as well to @mystrangetfs for his very useful help in brainstorming and putting this story together, especially for helping me create and find the pictures.
I can’t wait to hear your feedback, and I hope you’ll appreciate this story as much as I do.
Stiles wasn’t phased by the strange girl emerging from the solid hedge and claiming to be a fairy. He’d seen weirder. But he was alarmed and embarrassed that, when she asked him his deepest desire, it immediately spilled out of him like water from cupped hands:
“I wish Derek was into me.”
As he said those words, Stiles pictured Derek waking up one day with his preferences suddenly shifted to include overly talkative skinny goofballs. The fairy pointed her finger at his chest, shooting a light that quickly enveloped his whole body.
Suddenly, Stiles’s mind was filled with vivid scenarios as Derek’s boyfriend. He’d become a disciplined workout partner, dedicating his body to everything Derek demanded of it. No longer belonging to himself, his body would be wholly possessed by Derek’s will, in every early morning run, every chin-up, and every bench press.
He’d even take whatever pills Derek would command him to take and bend over for whatever shots Derek wanted to push into his rear. He’d do anything to achieve a body truly worthy of collecting the Alpha’s seed.
Stiles would also give up all his own ambitions so he could fully serve Derek 24/7. He’d stay at home cooking all their meals. He’d keep Derek’s Camaro spotless. He’d shine Derek’s boots and condition his leather jacket. All while wearing short shorts and tight tanks (or no top at all) for Derek’s viewing pleasure.
As years’ worth of alternate memories reshaped Stiles’ brain, his body shifted with its new history. His shoulders widened, his biceps bulged, his pecs became pillowy enough to catch Derek’s member in the cleft between them. His tee shrank into a tank top, reflecting his new wardrobe.
Stiles blinked as he processed the girl’s question. He worried that she was expecting some abstract answer, and he was never good at those kinds of questions in school. But he also felt relief she wasn’t propositioning him, which happens all the time when you’re built like him. After a long pause he smiled once he realized he actually knew the answer to a question for once.
“My deepest desire? To serve the love of my life. But I already do that every day.”
Hello sir.
Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could help me. You see, on Saturday i'll turn 30 and I feel awful and miserable. I hate my life, I hate my body, I hate myself. Most of the time I feel out of place and lonely. I just wish for a brand new start for this brand new chapter of my life and if possible in a jock body full of confidence and muscles. I wish for a big dick, sex every day and sexy men all around me. I wis for gym, for a job I love and to find true hapyness. Can you help me?
You're slumped on your ratty couch, the one with the mysterious stains that you've stopped trying to identify, scrolling through mind-numbing content on your phone.
The glow of the screen illuminates your face, highlighting the dark circles under your eyes and the perpetual frown etched onto your lips. Another Friday night wasted, another weekend of loneliness stretching before you like a desolate highway.
Your thumb hovers over a dating app before you scoff and toss the phone aside. What's the point? You're a pathetic excuse for a man, and you know it.
Without any real thought, as if guided by some desperate, primal impulse, you find yourself opening a notes app. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, typing out a message to whatever cosmic entities might be bored enough to listen.
"Hey there, Mr. Trickster God or Imp God or whatever the fuck you call yourself. Yeah, you. The one who gets his kicks messing with mortals for shits and giggles.
I want to be the guy who gets laid daily, surrounded by other hot dudes who worship the ground I walk on. I want to live for the gym, love my job, and finally feel what it's like to not be a miserable piece of shit."
You hit send before you can chicken out, then immediately feel like an idiot. A cosmic DM? Really? You're losing your damn mind. You delete the message, convinced you've finally snapped.
I watch your pathetic message flicker into existence on the cosmic web. A grin splits my face, sharp and predatory. "Oh, this is rich," I chuckle, the sound like grinding glass. "Another mortal who thinks the universe is a fucking wishing well." My own celestial birthday is looming at the end of the month, and I'm feeling... charitable. Or maybe just bored.
My first instinct is pure, unadulterated mischief. I snap my fingers, and an image of your future forms in the air before me: you hairy, with a dad bod and a love of Christ, with most unimaginative boring life.
You're standing in a suburban lawn, screaming at a kid to get off your grass while your wife nags you about taking out the trash. "A boring suburban dad," I muse aloud. "I've been mighty keen on those lately. The sheer, soul-crushing mediocrity is just... chef's kiss." It would be so easy. A perfect, cruel twist of fate.
But then I sigh, a long, dramatic sound that echoes through the void. "Eh, fuck it. Against my better judgment, I'll give you exactly what you asked for. It's my birthday month, after all." I wave a hand, and your pathetic apartment winks out of existence, replaced by a scene I find much more entertaining. It's your birthday.
"Alright, you miserable little shit. Blow out those candles and make your wish. Make it count."
Saturday comes and goes, and nothing happens. Of course not. You spend your birthday alone, eating stale pizza and feeling sorry for yourself while your neighbors throw another party you're not invited to. What a joke.
But when you wake up Sunday morning, something's different. The air in your room feels strangely cold, but your body is burning up from the inside out. You're sweating buckets, your sheets soaked through, and your skin feels like it's stretching, shifting, changing in ways that defy biology.
"What the fuck?" you groan, the sound tearing from your throat like gravel. Your attempt to sit up is a pathetic failure; your body feels like it's been filled with wet concrete, heavy and alien and fundamentally wrong.
Every single nerve ending is screaming, a symphony of pure agony and something else... something sickeningly close to pleasure that makes your stomach churn with revulsion.
Your eyes snap open, and the first thing you see is your hand. But it's not your hand. Your fingers, usually nimble and pale, are swelling before your very eyes, thickening like rising bread dough, the knuckles becoming raw, calloused monuments to a violence you've never known.
You watch, mesmerized and horrified, as the skin stretches taut over expanding bone and sinew. A strange warmth spreads up your arm, a creeping fire that leaves a trail of molten change in its wake.
"No... no, this isn't... stop," you whimper, but the words are swallowed by a low, guttural moan that escapes your lips. Your vocal cords feel like they're being sandpapered and re-woven, each vibration coming out rougher, deeper, coated in a bovine, broish vocal fry that feels utterly foreign.
The heat intensifies, a furnace blazing in your core. Your spine arches violently off the bed, a searing pain lancing through it as vertebrae crack and pop, elongating, stretching you taller.
You can feel the individual bones in your legs shifting, your shins burning with an itch so deep you're convinced you're being torn apart from the inside. Your feet throb as they lengthen, stretching the fabric of your pajama pants until the seams scream in protest.
30... 28... 26... The numbers materialize in your mind, a countdown to your own erasure. With each number that falls, another piece of the old you is chipped away, replaced by something crude and simplistic.
Your chest suddenly explodes. It's not a gradual growth; it's a violent, painful blossoming. You gasp, your hands flying to your pecs as they surge forward, becoming two thick, meaty slabs of muscle.
The sensation is overwhelming—your sensitive nipples, now hard and rubbing against the fabric of your shirt, send jolts of electricity straight to your groin. Your waist cinches, stomach muscles clenching and carving themselves into a solid, undeniable six-pack.
Your memories begin to warp, the colors bleeding into each other. The face of your first boyfriend, a sweet, gentle man named Alex, dissolves like sugar in water. In its place, a new memory solidifies: you and your dad at a country club, him pointing out the "faggoty" waiter and laughing as you, a younger version of yourself, joins in with a cruel cackle that doesn't feel like yours but is.
25... 24... The mental reprogramming accelerates. The art gallery you loved becomes a sports bar you've frequented since you were old enough to fake an ID.
Your collection of classic literature is replaced by a mental library of locker room insults and crude jokes about women's bodies. A wave of intense, visceral disgust rolls through you at the mere thought of two men together, so potent it makes you want to puke.
"Fuckin' disgusting," you growl, the words tasting right in your new mouth. "Should all be put on an island somewhere."
Your hips buck as your dick suddenly engorges, thickening to the width of a beer can and shooting up to a solid, intimidating eight inches. It strains against the fabric of your shorts, a throbbing, insistent demand for attention.
A wave of pure, animalistic lust washes over you, so powerful it whites out your thoughts. All you can think about is fucking, burying this new monster cock in something warm and tight.
Images flash through your mind, but they're not of men anymore. They're of women—women with huge, bouncing tits, with plump asses and wet, eager mouths. Specifically, older women.
Your English professor, Mrs. Davison, with her tight sweaters and glasses perched on the end of her nose. Your best friend's hot mom, who always sunbathes in the backyard. The thought of them, of their experienced hands and bodies, makes your dick twitch violently.
"Fuck yeah, MILFs," you hear yourself say, a stupid grin spreading across your face. "But nobody over 30, though. That's just gross. Like, who wants to fuck a grandma?"
More memories flood in, replacing the old ones. You're not from the city anymore; you're from a wealthy, gated suburb. Your parents aren't liberal academics; they're conservative, country-club Republicans.
Your dad isn't a writer; he's a "businessman," a vague term that somehow translates to him being mayor or some other important shit. You remember him patting you on the back after you beat up a kid for looking at you "the wrong way."
23... 22... Your thoughts become simpler, coarser. Complex sentences dissolve into grunts and one-word answers. Your vocabulary shrinks, replaced by a lexicon of sports metaphors and misogynistic slurs.
"Bro," you say, testing the word. It feels good. Natural. "This is sick."
Your arms continue to swell, biceps becoming round, dense spheres of power. Your forearms thicken, veins popping like highways on a map of muscle. You run a hand through your hair, and it's different now—blonde, curly, damp with sweat. It feels right, feels like you.
Your face reshapes itself, your jawline becoming sharper, more angular. Your features soften into that all-American, boy-next-door look that's so disarming, so perfect for hiding the toxic asshole brewing underneath. A cocky, entitled smirk settles on your lips, as if by divine right.
21... 20... You're getting dumber, so much dumber, and you don't give a shit. In fact, it feels great. All that worrying, all that thinking... what a fucking waste of time. It's so much easier to just be a dumb, horny jock.
The room around you shimmers, the walls of your small, lonely apartment melting away to reveal a lavish dorm room, one that's clearly been paid for by someone with deep pockets. And beneath you, there's a woman. Not a girl—a woman, maybe 29, with glasses and brunette hair pulled back in a severe bun.
She looks smart, professional, but damn, what a rack. That's the first thought that cuts through the thick, soupy fog in your head. Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, her brunette hair is pulled back into a tight, and she's probably got some fancy-ass degree from a school you've never even heard of.
But none of that matters, not really, because her tits are fucking phenomenal. They're straining against the fabric of her button-down blouse, two perfect, round globes of flesh that you just know would feel amazing wrapped around your cock.
"Fuck, Mrs. Davison," you grunt, your voice a low, guttural rumble that you barely recognize as your own. "Your tits are... fuck."
She blushes, a pretty pink creeping up her neck, and pushes her glasses up her nose. "Language, Tanner" she says, but there's no real heat in it. "And it's 'Professor Davison' in the classroom."
You laugh, a loud, obnoxious sound that makes her tits jiggle. "Yeah, whatever, Teach. But right now, you're just a MILF with a tight pussy that's begging for my dick."
You're not sure where the words are coming from. They're just... there, bubbling up from some dark, primitive place inside you. The old you, the one who was respectful and considerate, is gone, replaced by this... this thing. This vain, self-centered, entitled asshole who says whatever the fuck he wants, whenever the fuck he wants.
You thrust into her, hard and deep, and she cries out, her back arching. "Yes! Oh, god, yes!"
"That's right," you growl, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer. "Take it. Take all of it."
You can feel yourself changing, even as you're fucking her. Your thoughts are becoming simpler, more focused on the here and now, on the pleasure coursing through your veins. The world outside this room, with its books and its rules and its expectations, doesn't exist. All that matters is this, this moment, this feeling.
Memories continue to warp, the old ones dissolving like sugar in water. You remember your mom, not as the warm, loving woman who read you bedtime stories, but as a cold, distant figure who was more interested in her charity events and her tennis lessons than in her own son. You remember her looking at you with a mixture of disappointment and disgust, as if you were a bug she'd found on the bottom of her shoe.
"Is that all you are?" she'd say, her voice dripping with condescension. "A disappointment?"
The memory makes you angry, a hot, burning anger that fuels your thrusts. You'll show her. You'll show everyone. You're not a disappointment. You're a god. A fucking sex god with a giant dick and a body that's built for sin.
You look down at yourself, at your sweat-slicked muscles, at your thick, powerful thighs, at your massive, pistoning cock. You're perfect. A fucking Adonis. And you know it.
"Who's your daddy?" you grunt, your voice a low, guttural growl.
"You are," she moans, her eyes rolling back in her head. "You're my daddy."
"Damn right," you say, a smug grin spreading across your face. "And don't you forget it."
You can feel your balls tightening, a familiar pressure building at the base of your spine. You're close, so fucking close. You're going to cum, and you're going to fill her up with your seed, mark her as yours.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you grunt, your voice a low, guttural growl. "I'm gonna fucking cum!"
"Do it," she cries, her nails digging into your back. "Cum inside me! Fill me up!"
You let out a roar, a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph, and explode inside her, your hot, thick seed flooding her womb. It's the most intense, most powerful orgasm of your life, and it goes on and on, until you're completely spent, your body trembling with exhaustion.
You collapse on top of her, your weight crushing her, but you don't care. She's just a hole, a warm, wet hole for you to fuck. That's all she is, that's all any woman is.
You roll off of her, your body slick with sweat and cum. You lie there for a moment, your chest heaving, your mind a complete and utter blank. You're dumb, so fucking dumb, but you don't care. It's easier this way. No thinking, no worrying, just fucking and fighting and being the best.
"Fuck yeah," you say, a smug grin spreading across your face. "That's what I'm talking about."
You're Tanner. A dumb, horny, self-centered, entitled, misogynistic, homophobic, racist, classist piece of shit. And you wouldn't have it any other way.
You grab your dick, your hand stroking its length, and grin. Life is good when you're a brainless jock with a giant dick and a rich daddy.
🇮🇹 La gigantesca casa abbandonata in fondo al paese era un vero e proprio labirinto di stanze e corridoi; nessuno era mai riuscito a esplorarla tutta. Gli abitanti del posto avevano imparato a girarci al largo, e quei pochi che osavano avvicinarsi tornavano raccontando le cose più assurde — sempre che tornassero.
Gli amici di Michael lo avevano sfidato a passarci la notte e lui, per spavalderia, aveva accettato. Dopo aver gironzolato per una ventina di minuti, si imbatté in una stanza decisamente diversa dalle altre: non c'era un filo di polvere né un oggetto fuori posto, e le lenzuola del letto profumavano persino di bucato. Senza pensarci troppo, Michael decise che quello era il posto perfetto per dormire, si spogliò e si sdraiò.
Ma quel letto era maledetto e proiettò nella sua mente un'allucinazione vividissima: un ragazzo dalla pelle chiara gli succhiando l'uccello, ed era incredibilmente piacevole. Mentre si godeva il momento, rapito dal piacere dell'orgasmo imminente, il corpo di Michael iniziò a cambiare.
Quella stanza era infatti legata a una delle tante leggende della casa: chiunque si sdraiasse su quel letto avrebbe sognato di fare sesso con l'ultimo occupante, per poi trasformarsi fisicamente in lui. Quando Michael raggiunse il culmine e riaprì gli occhi, tornò alla realtà, ma realizzò subito che i suoi amici non gli avrebbero mai creduto. Ormai aveva l'aspetto di un perfetto sconosciuto.
🇬🇧 The gigantic abandoned house at the edge of the village was a literal labyrinth of rooms and corridors; no one had ever managed to explore it entirely. The locals had learned to steer clear of it, and those few who dared to approach returned telling the most absurd stories — assuming they returned at all.
Michael's friends had dared him to spend the night there and he, out of bravado, had accepted. After wandering around for about twenty minutes, he stumbled upon a room that was decidedly different from the others: there wasn't a speck of dust nor an object out of place, and the bedsheets even smelled of fresh laundry. Without thinking twice, Michael decided that was the perfect place to sleep, stripped down, and layed.
But that bed was cursed and projected a vivid hallucination into his mind: a fair-skinned boy was sucking his cock, and it was incredibly pleasurable. As he enjoyed the moment, captivated by the pleasure of the impending orgasm, Michael's body began to change.
That room was, in fact, tied to one of the house's many legends: anyone who lay on that bed would dream of having sex with its last occupant, only to physically transform into him. When Michael reached his climax and opened his eyes, he returned to reality, but immediately realized that his friends would never believe him. He now looked like a complete stranger.
Alright. I’ve seen a lot of requests about turning cocky guys into twinks — totally fair. But I’d like to ask for the opposite, or almost that.
My favorite stories of yours are the ones where some poor guy is in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up becoming a cocky bastard (Gridirion Brew, Make Sense, Gone Fishing).
So how about a story about a needy twink looking for a cocky, dominant top… and a poor, recently engaged guy — studious, respectfull, devoted to his beautiful fiancée, — who crosses paths with the wrong person at the wrong time.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy,” Adam slowly shut the door to his best man's room. “Drink some water before you pass out this time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” somebody groaned from inside. “You’re about to be someone’s husband and still sound like my mom.”
Adam shook his head, smiling as he headed toward the elevators. His bachelor party had turned into exactly what he expected: too much drinking, too much yelling, and the people he loved most acting like complete idiots together... He’d loved every second of it.
“Wouldn’t trade those idiots for anything,” Adam muttered as he stepped into the elevator, scrolling through reels Claire had sent him.
The doors had barely started closing before hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
“Wait! Hold it!”
“Got you.” Adam stuck his arm out automatically.
“Oh, thank god,” the stranger breathed, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw Adam. “You seriously just saved my evening. I was starting to think I’d have to go upstairs alone.”
Adam laughed awkwardly, “I think you might’ve misunderstood something, I’m not looking for…”
“Shhhhh.” The guy stepped closer. “That’s okay. You’re gonna make me feel really fucking good tonight, stud.”
Adam blinked. “What?”
“Name's Nico,” he said lazily. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
Before Adam could answer, Nico leaned forward and kissed him. Adam's hands came up to shove him away, but he froze.
“I… sorry, I think you got the wrong...”
Then Adam looked at him again, words catching in his throat. His eyes dropped to Nico’s ass in those tight black jeans.
"You like?"
“Oh...” Adam swallowed hard. “No, I... I shouldn’t…” His thoughts raced. “I’m not into guys. I’m getting married…”
“Oh fuck…” Adam panted suddenly as his hand grabbed a fistful of Nico’s ass.
Nico smiled instantly. “There you go.”
Nico's hands slipped beneath Adam’s shirt, cool palms dragging over his stomach and chest before squeezing a growing pec. Adam’s breath caught instantly, the kiss turning rougher before he even realized it.
“Mmm… fuck,” Nico sighed against his mouth.
Adam groaned, fingers kneading the firm curve of Nico’s ass, while rough stubble grew along his jaw with every slow squeeze.
“You’re really into this now.”
“No… Nico, I can’t…” Adam broke away, face flushed, hands still on Nico's ass. “Jesus Christ… I’m getting married…”
“Shhhh.” Nico smirked, sliding his hands up Adam's shirt and through the hair spreading across his chest, “Oh my god,” Nico breathed. “You feel so fucking good already.”
“Fuck…” Adam gripped his ass harder as nails scratched down his back. “I need dis…” The words hit his ears wrong. “No… what de hell...?”
"Follow me, big guy."
And he did. The second the elevator doors opened, Adam followed. Right to Nico's room. The guilt twisted hard through his stomach.
“Claire...” Adam shuddered. “Can never know... about dis… fuck… she can’t…”
"Oh she never will." Nico giggled and pulled Adam into his hotel room.
Clothes were quickly discarded and Adam groaned as Nico's smooth bare skin pressed against his increasingly bulkier, hairier, and sweatier form.
“Fuck…” Nico’s hands slid over the thickening muscle in Adam’s arms, “I needed a man like you tonight.” He buried his face against Adam’s increasingly hairier pit and inhaled. “Mmm… you smell incredible.”
With a grunt, he shoved Nico against a wall, hand wrapping around his bare ass. Warm skin flexed beneath his palm, impossibly soft without the denim in the way... smooth, firm, and perfect in a way Adam had never thought about another man's ass before.
“Oh fuck…” Adam groaned shakily against Nico’s throat. “Ya Allah… you're drivin' me crazy…”
Nico smiled lazily while grinding up against him. “Mmm. Been thinking about you fucking me since the elevator…”
The words hit Adam hard and Claire’s face flashed through his mind again... Unaware her fiancé was naked in a hotel room with another man. The guilt swelled, but Adam still shoved Nico onto the mattress.
“Yeah…” Adam breathed heavily. “You... like dis? You want dis?" Adam climbed over him, their eyes locking as dark brown rings spread slowly through Adam’s blue irises.
“Fuck…” Nico's hands slid across Adam’s sweaty, hairier pecs, “That’s it… come here, big guy…”
Nico shifted and rolled onto his front, raising his bare ass against Adam's throbbing cock. Adam’s breathing turned ragged, stomach twisting hard. He wasn't this kind of man... He was Claire's dependable fiancé. Her best friend. Her future husband... Not the man currently grinding his cheating cock against another man’s ass.
“Fuck…” Adam tightened his grip on Nico’s hips. “Dis isn’t me… 'uqsim, hadha lays 'ana." Adam froze... that language... he didn't...
"Huh? Wh... fuck... Wh-what did you say?" Nico smirked and looked over his shoulder, "Oh fuck..."
Adam felt it before he saw it. His cock throbbed and grew to a size beyond anything Adam ever possessed. His cock head emerging from a sheath of foreskin he knew shouldn't be there.
"Dere is no way..." He whispered, "It's so..." He moaned as he grew another inch, cock now pressing against Nico's tight entrance.
"Please... I need it." Nico begged, "It's all I need tonight."
Adam gasped suddenly as his pecs filled with muscle. And as they did, his new chest hairs suddenly curled longer and darkened toward black against his heavier muscle.
“Fuck…” Claire used to fall asleep with her head against his lean chest. But these heavier pecs were damp with sweat and dark curling hair now, nothing like the body she loved. “Ya Allah… look at dis… it just keeps gettin’ thicker…”
“Mmm…” Nico moaned, glancing back at him.
“Oh fuck… what’s dat smell?” Adam grimaced.
“That's… you big guy."
“Mustaheel…” Adam muttered, lifting an arm and grimacing at the thick musk clinging to his sweat-soaked, matted pit hair, “Y-you like dis…?”
"Fuck… yeah. Smell like a real man… mmm, so fucking hot…" Nico whimpered.
Adam shuddered hard at the words. Claire used to steal his hoodies because they smelled clean and comforting. She would’ve recoiled from this heavy masculine musk pouring off him now.
"You're perfect..." Nico groaned, pressing his ass against Adam's erection, "Just... fuck me already."
“Wallah…” Adam nearly obliged, but Claire’s smile flashed suddenly through his mind, "What de fuck is wrong wit me?”
He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, catching on something unfamiliar along his cheek. He touched his jaw again instinctively and recoiled. Stubble. Thick, perfect stubble. He'd always joke about never being able to grow a real beard. Claire always told him she loved his clean-shaven look.
"How de fuck....?" He watched as dark hair thickened across swelling forearms and olive blotches crept slowly over pale skin, "Wallah?"
The mirror caught him briefly and he froze. Damp blond hair darkened toward black while brown swallowed the blue in his eyes. Those eyes Claire adored. The hair she loved threading through her fingers.
"I... I want you inside me..." Nico moaned, "J-just..."
Adam looked down and back to the mirror. The man staring back at him still carried traces of Adam in places, but not enough. Not enough for his friends or best man to recognize him. Barely enough for Claire. Even his own mother would hesitate… And panic rose in his chest. He just wanted to go back downstairs, back to his friends, back to the man Claire loved, back to being Adam again. Because right now, Adam didn’t feel like Adam anymore.
He grunted suddenly before he could even process that thought. His cock leaked as a low groan vibrated deep through his chest before he could stop it.
“Ya Allah…” His rough hands spread Nico’s ass cheeks. “You’re gonna take all dis for me, yeah?” The words hadn’t felt chosen. Neither had the smug grin slowly pulling across his face while his heavier body settled more naturally over Nico.
“Mmm… there you are...” Nico whispered softly, sounding relieved.
He couldn't hold back any longer. With a guttural growl, he buried his cock deep into Nico's ass. The twink let out a choked cry, back arching sharply as he was impaled.
Thrust.
Dense muscle any gym bro would be proud of settled over him in all the right places. Stronger hands pinned Nico down instinctively while his pace roughened.
“Fuck… ya Allah…” He stared down at himself breathlessly. “Bro… look at dese… fuck… Havin’ a body like dis feels so fuckin' good…”
“Mmm… trust me...” Nico whimpered. “Feels even better underneath you.”
Thrust.
Warm olive swallowed the last pale traces across his skin while heavy musk and cheap cologne clung permanently to his body.
“Mmm… such a slut... for my scent.” He grunted.
“Fuck…” Nico whimpered. “I wanna bury my face in your pits so bad…”
Thrust.
The last traces of his old facial features disappeared forever behind the thick beard, dark brown eyes, and a permanent cocky grin devoid of his usual warmth.
“Mmm… dat’s right,” He smirked when Nico stared up at him breathlessly. “Keep lookin’ at me like dat while I fuck you…”
Thrust.
“Wh-what’s your name, big guy…?”
“Kareem,” he answered immediately.
“Mhmm… that name...is... always popular…”
“Den scream it for me."
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
Kareem slapped Nico's jiggling ass, “Mmm… dat’s right, habibi… take it,” he groaned smugly, "Fuck... Dis hole was... made for my... fat Arab cock... wasn't it?"
Thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust...
Kareem grunted, pace quickening. The engagement ring felt uncomfortable around his swollen finger, so he instinctively pulled it off and tossed it somewhere in the room.
“Mmm… fuckin' slut…” Kareem groaned, "Ya Allah… look at dis… all dis fuckin’ muscle… you fuckin' love it.” He slowed down, "You want me to finish?" He teased, "Want Kareem to fill you?"
"Pl-please..." Nico moaned into the mattress, "Kareem... oh fuck!"
"Ya Allah… you needed dis dick so bad.” Hands squeezing Nico’s hip harder. “Slut gets one real Arab guy smellin’ like dis on top of him and forgets his own name…”
Kareem buried himself deep inside Nico's ass, followed by a guttural roar as his cock erupted, flooding Nico's insides with thick, hot seed.
"Take it all, bitch... fuckin' take it!" he growled, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.
As the last pulses subsided, Kareem collapsed forward, his sweaty chest pressing against Nico. His softening cock still inside Nico. And Kareem's eyes closed.
-------------------
He woke slowly beneath tangled sheets, groaning as dense muscle shifted across his chest and arms. He scratched at the dark hair on his chest, his nose twitching at the scent of sweat, cologne... of him. For a few moments, he stared at his body, processing the sight.
“Ya Allah…” Kareem smirked to himself, “Dat twink ain’t ever recoverin’ from me…”
“Oh, you’re awake.” Nico glanced up from his phone. “Yeah... you're one of my best works yet...”
“What da fuck does dat mean?”
“Nothing.” Nico shrugged casually. “Anyway, you should leave... like now.” The words landed and the larger man froze.
Kareem blinked, sitting up slowly. “W-wait…” Uncertainty cracked faintly through the swagger for the first time. “Where do I go? What should I...?”
“Always the same questions.” Nico smirked, unable to recall the number of times he'd heard them, “I dunno. There’s a gym down the street? Download Grindr? Yeah... You’re hot. Someone’ll take you in.”
“Dat’s it?”
“I don’t really care.”
------------
Kareem stared in the mirror of a public restroom, wresting with the sense that he was supposed to be somewhere else doing something important. But without a phone, wallet, or anything else, he was lost.
But then he caught him. Some twink washing his hands, staring at him. And Kareem knew that look. The lust... A cocky grin spread across Kareem’s face.
“Mmm… you keep lookin’ at me like dat, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’.”
The guy flushed immediately. “S-sorry, I just…”
Kareem smiled lazily. Cute. Nervous. Kareem would have him wrapped around his finger easily.
“Mmm… yeah. You’ll do just fine for now, habibi. You got a place nearby or what?”
