BENJI'S BROIFICATION

Bi guy reblogging and writing Male tf stories, hoping to unlock the inner himbo stoner in me. 18+ up only, DNI: If you are a minor 🔞.

[nyx-prince]

Brainwashing report

For today's session — looping one track for an hour, watching some gifs I made + writing a mantra for about one page (I should have included affirmations also but I don't have enough time🥲)

Main audio link:

I also listen to this on and off:

And the classic that I'm integrating as a white noise to sleep to:

Wash your brain regularly guys! Hygiene is key

[the-masculine-alpha]

[exsubliminal]

New Dumb Horny Himbo MindF*ck Hypno

[the-masculine-alpha]

Reblog IF You Agree 💯

[nyx-prince]

Brainwashing report

For today's session — looping one track for an hour, watching some gifs I made + writing a mantra for about one page (I should have included affirmations also but I don't have enough time🥲)

Main audio link:

I also listen to this on and off:

And the classic that I'm integrating as a white noise to sleep to:

Wash your brain regularly guys! Hygiene is key

[occamstfs]

Five Ways Home

Mystery car trouble incites Claude to figure out his way home. He can think of five options. No matter which option he chooses, the resulting changes are sure dull his mind into a younger man he'd dread to have in his lectures.

Five more short TFs, each following one man's rough ride home! All include some degree of musk, muscle, and a regression back to his own college days with far less brain weighing him down Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Claude was barely able to steer his car off into the shoulder as it started spewing smoke. Idling forward into a nearby parking lot to try and figure out his next steps, the young professor is beyond pissed at his stroke of bad luck.

After taking his time to recover and go over his best options to get home he finds himself of five minds. Six if you count just steering it back into traffic without looking both ways, but he’s not actually humoring that. Leaving him with this peanut galley of ideas:

He’s got a tool kit, he can give it a go. (Latino Twunk)

Get it towed to a shop and drive a rental. (Brainless Influencer)

He’s got the money for it, might as well uber. (OF Jock)

He does get free bus fare. (Football Bro)

Fuck it he can walk. (Horny Slob)

Fix It:

“God damnit!” After burning his hand for a third time Claude was ready to reconsider this whole approach. Just before throwing in the towel the young professor notices the dilemma. Holding his phone’s flashlight into the labyrinth of pipes under his engine he sees the glimmer of leaking oil.

‘Oh? Well that’s not too bad right?’ He thinks to himself squinting to find the origin of the sprung leak. He’s immediately distracted from his hunt as from across the parking lot a younger man shouts, sounding about the age of one of his students

“‘Ey Hermano! Nece- Need a hand?”

Yeah he’ll take whatever he can get, “S’yeah, please!” scowling at the pipes he tacks on an, “Hermano to hermano yeah?” The sound of flip flops echoes under the car and he second guesses inviting the man over. Preparing to chide the too casual footwear he gasps as his own feet cramp.

Quickly looking down to check his shoes he frowns as he feels his own sandals hug his wider feet tighter, Claude’s mouth falls open as something feels off. Didn’t he hate open toed shoes. Ademas- er also, are his feet darker? 

“So bro! ¿Qué pasa? What do you need?”

Mouth still open, the fumes from his car must be making him lightheaded. His arms feel heavier as the sleeves constrict and shrink into a jersey. Buttons dissolve into the same shiny lycra material of the rest of his shirt as it hugs a torso hardening as it grows to fill the clingy top.

“Can you get me el eh- the epoxi” His words are increasingly accented as his rougher palm awaits the sealant from his little bro. You shortens as if he’s more familiar with some other word for it? Words begin to swim through his head before they’re replaced with ones that feel more correct. More him.

His dress pants suction to his bulking thighs as they rapidly shorten into tight athletic shorts. With every lost inch they brighten into his fútbol team’s trademarked verde. So too do his atrophied legs darken and grow into meaty legs far more at home on the field than in the stands.

His companion shifts to speak entirely in Spanish. “Ves la fuga, Claudio?” (See the leak?)

Firmer arm lengthening to throw on the most temporary of seals, Claudio smirks as he feels some oil trickle down his arm.  It’ll just make him look more like a man, getting cockier he begins to smell his own heady musk even more prominently than the motor oil staining his sweaty arm.

And there’s nothing those twinks down at college want more than a real man. Dreamy look in his eyes he starts to get worked up as his sweat begins to suction lycra even tighter to his tight bronze skin. Well he can think of one thing they like more. 

“Ay guey! Don’t you have shorts that actually fit!?”

Dumb smile on his face, Claudio reaches down to bounce the still growing package only highlighted by his tight shorts. Mustache and goatee knitting itself across his face, his voice cracks lower as he claws out from under the car. “Es para sus, eh, classmates, si? Ellos love mi Claudito, mano!”

Scoffing Claudio’s little brother hops in the passenger seat as he waits for his older brother to drive him to class. “Rapidamenta Claudio!” Doing his best not to watch as his once role model waddles to put a tool-kit in the trunk before hopping in the driver’s seat and blaring reggaeton,  Claudio’s brother wonders if he just should have taken the bus…

Rental:

By the time he figured out how to unlock the rental that AAA dropped off for him, their tow truck had already made off with his own pitiful ride. Sighing as he sees a trickle of oil left in its wake Claudio takes a deep breath before sidling into the driver’s seat with a grunt. 

Good thing he did so before getting in as the scent of the car he’s now set up to drive is in not so many words abhorrent. Covering his nose with his hands, Claude’s lungs struggle against the air of a cabin that seems to have primarily stored some frequently used gym clothing. The pitiful attempt to cover it up with body spray did nothing but highlight the unmistakable odor.

As soon as he smells the musk, Claude begins to feel the heat that would surely cause it. Stodgy suit jacket still on he hurls it to the back seat before pinching the bridge of his nose at the humiliating state of his temporary accommodation. Feeling sweat trickle down his cheeks, he reaches up to wipe it with a sleeve only to be surprised at the lack of friction against his beard.

Right, his beard? Usually it’s way more annoying when he’s sweating but now the hair on his head seems to be holding way more sweat. Still almost panting in the humid air of the car, Claude reaches to turn on the air which does a great job circulating the b.o. if nothing else.

Scratching his cheek to find it sweaty and smooth, the adjunct, or T.A., whatever he is, shakes his head like a dog to try and find lucidity. The only thing this tactic produces is flinging globules of sweat as his straight previously-thinning hair lengthens into messy, sweat-filled curls.

Mouth dry despite the atmosphere of sweat, he clears his throat a few times and speaks to check his vocal chords like a mic. “Ugh I need- woah…” Grasping at his throat he can’t believe his ears as his tone sounds lighter, unburdened by a decade of lecturing and office hours. Beyond that it sounds well past the line of unintelligence “Fuck bro I feel weird. Like, good killer but weird…” 

Where his sweaty hair sent stains cascading into his made for a lectern slightly dressy suit, the fabric begins to cheapen and stain with even more salt as it reshapes into his cheap gym fit. Scratching at his chest as his thin, barely present pecs begin to pulse and fill his forming tank, Claude pulls down the mirror to look at his reflection.

This half moment of stunned silence drives him up a wall and he begins to fill every waking moment with his droning commentary. “Shit I look so good? Like I’m 22 again, erm. Wait I am twenty two right uhh, right chat? Wait uh, no who’s chat?”

Averting his eyes from his reflection as what’s left of his facial hair reforms into a mustache so blonde and sparse that it may as well not even hide on his upper lip, Claude turns to find his cellphone in a stand on his passenger seat. 

“Awh shit I was gonna stream after the gym wasn’t I?” Thoughtless eyes stare at his phone as his arms weary from a pump send a few tears through his sleeves before it entirely reshapes into a tank. “Well they won’t mind, they’ll eat up whatever they can get.”

Acting nonchalant as he starts the timer he waits as long as he can before speaking up, which ends up being one second as his body finishes readjusting. “What? You guys pissed? Trust, trust if you could smell my post-gym bro stank you’d be grateful I’m streaming at all steada just pumpin’ one out. LMAOOOO Chat- Chat C’mon heheh!” 

Turning his car into drive as he hears donations and messages pour into his inbox, the antithesis to a professional streamer hits the road. Left and on the wheel his watch reforms from a luxury timepiece to a cracked e-watch. 

“Shit might have to end early bros…” Taking a deep breath of his car he hears the water bottle crinkle against his crotch as he feels a post-gym nut calling to him. Side-eying the chat to see if anyone notices, keeping up the mindless charade of content creation until it is no longer a charade but who he is.

Uber:

“Hey thanks for the ride!”

“No problem no problem? Spose that smokin’ hunk of junk right there is yours?”

Slightly annoyed at the slight, Claude frowns as he gets into the rear seat. Given it is indeed immobile in a parking lot he lets it slide. “Yeah right on the money, I guess. Sir.”

“Hooah, wouldn’t expect someone like you to be callin’ me sir! I’m tellin ya, everyone’s always sayin kids yer age got no respect well I’ll tell em there’s good kids like youse out there!”

Having already assumed the driver was just complimenting him for being polite to someone below his station, when he suggests Claude is generationally younger than himself, the prof feels something isn’t adding up.

“Right. Kids my age.” Already feeling less charitable to the man, Claude yanks out his phone and inspects himself to see why this dumbass thinks he’s apparently some fuckin’ runt. Talking about respect like he’s not- Scowling at his reflection the anger rests heavy on his mind and brow before he realizes how aggro he was all of a sudden.

Claude brushes some hair drooping slightly lower out of his eyes before it stiffens and sticks up into some bushy crew cut before reaching to scratch his itchy cheeks. Surprised at his stubble being slightly thicker, really almost a beard, he does his best to raise his eyebrows out of a glare but they seem to just be resting lower on his face. Probably thanks to listening to that asshole in the driver’s seat yammering. 

God he’s itchy. Why’d he even wear this jacket!? Struggling to get it off he undoes his seatbelt which the driver would surely make a reasonably big deal about if he didn’t gasp in shock to find his car suddenly filled with Claude’s pridefully maintained musk.

Adjusting his mirror to look at his increasingly crude customer, the driver can hardly believe what has become of the polite young man he thought he was driving. In the process of raising a cheap sweat-stained gym tank to take a selfie, he scratches at wiry and thick hair racing to cover his slight muscled chest and tight waist.

Tongue drifting across his teeth, veins bulge out of his arms as his nipples puff out to a degree begging for a piercing. Stainless steel encircles every more usual site, piercing his ears as more than a few fingers feel cold metal tighten on his knuckles. 

“Hey kid, yer uh kinda in my… car…” Still half-watching his passenger as they drive down an empty straightaway, the driver sees a ringed hand reach down to pull at his pants. His newly formed treasure trail widens as it stretches tantalizingly close to a dick fermenting in its own sweat.

Pubes trimmed neater than the bushy stubble on his face, his thin fingers keep his free-balling cock just out of sight. After snapping a pic Claude’s eyes shift from a warm brown to a stormy blue as mysterious as the storm cloud surrounding them. They then make direct contact with his driver’s in the rearview mirror.

“Yo bitch, eyes on the road. This shit ain’t free.” 

Immediately gripping the steering wheel enough to cramp, the driver focuses on the road as much as he’s able with his nose still being assailed by his passenger’s post-gym aura. Hearing the man scratch at some bushy body hair, desperate to know which patch, the driver barely finds it within him to obey the man’s command. But he does. He’s a good- uh…

“Tell ya what bitch. You’re drivin’ me to a meeting with a ‘coworker’ right now. Gotta feeling I won’t be completely satisfied by the time we’re done working. You sit outside and wait for me and maybe I’ll find it within myself to give you somethin’ I know you want.”

Struggling to not pant, the driver can’t believe he’s being talked down to like this. Some small shred of his lucid mind swears he wasn’t even into men like this. Into men at all!?

“Yo. I asked you a question, answer.”

Stumbling over himself the driver nods, “Y- Sir yes sir. I’ll be right here.”

Sneering as he kicks open the door, he laughs as he wanders over to some other content creator’s house. “‘Sides it’s the only tip you’re gonna get from me so you better get ready, heh. Be out when I’m done.”

Bus:

It’s only right he uses the bus. He’s always telling his students to use more public transit. It would be hypocritical of him not to take advantage of the very same resource at this juncture. Finding it mostly empty, Claude’s prepared for a nice quiet ride home.

It is not to come as at the very next stop some less than considerate man sits directly next to him and begins humming along to something in his headphones. Immediately the young professor yearns for the bubble of personal space that a car allows. Quickly digging through his bag to find some headphones, Claude yearns to at least pretend like he’s alone.

Finding his go-to wireless earbuds dead, Claude sighs and prepares to simply raw dog this bus ride, as his students would say. Then miraculously at the bottom of the bag he finds some long neglected wired headphones in a tangled mess. Throwing one earbud in, he does his best to get the wire straightened out while listening to a podcast. 

Frustration comes quickly. Usually adept at untangling and cleaning up wires, something about Claude’s hands just feels clumsier today. Struggling to get his fingers to undo the simplest of knots is only making more of a mess. Beyond that his trusty NPR radio host is increasingly grating to him.

If he wanted to be talked down to he’d be back at school with uh, with Coach. What? No, with his dean or supervisor, he means. Obviously. Tabbing over to a playlist he doesn’t remember making, the sound of Drake is like a balm to his nerves.

Tension drips away from his shoulders as he rolls them back. Focussed intently on undoing the knot as he mouths along to a song he’d never be caught dead listening to. With each pumping beat of blasting bass and every slurred bar, Claude’s stick-thin arms begin to twitch larger. 

Slowly bopping along to the music his arms bloat to a size that would require daily trips to the gym to earn. Sinking slightly paler as they put on mass and strain his once baggy button-up, his dulling mind doesn’t even notice the inky patterns staining his rapidly developing forearms and biceps.

When he’s so intently focused on a particularly annoying kink in the cord, he raises his left hand to thoughtlessly start chewing on his nails. Realizing what he’s doing only when he finds the already chewed-up fingernails scratching at his teeth, he shifts to instead throw the wire straight in his mouth. Finding progress far more pleasant with the cord in his mouth, Claude smiles vaguely and redoubles his effort.

Arms absolutely tear his long sleeves to tatters as his wider chest pops off the top few buttons of his short before it reforms into a presentable gym tee. Needs to look good for the program. Oral fixation notwithstanding. Feeling a small cowlick on his forehead tickle his brow as it curls into a pouf of curls, Claude throws his hand into a much lighter backpack to retrieve a ball cap.

Tossing it on backwards, duh, the king of his team’s locker room smirks as he at last gets it undone. Immediately throwing up a celebratory flex that strains his just reformed sleeves, the team captain bumps into some nobody pencil-pusher who scoffs at him.

Not taking that sitting down the alpha just stares at him until he apologizes and gets back to whatever lameshit he’s doing on his ipad. Probably some jerkoff prof taking the public bus to set a good example, lmao. Claude wouldn’t be on this shit right now if his coach didn’t pay him to set a good example. Whatever that fuckin’ means. 

Whatever coach wants, coach gets. 

Fuck It I'll Walk:

“Fuck it, hehhuh… I’ll just ugh- walk he says…” Panting as his undone tie and suit jacket are already tossed into his bag, Claude is finding the spring day unseasonably warm. Dress shoes do their best to give him blisters more with every step as his slacks and starched cotton dress shirt continue to chafe.

Stomping up a hill, Claude moans that he’d rather be wearing any other shoe in the world right now aside from these expensive loafers he picked out exclusively to teach in. It just so happens after his next stumble his wish is granted. 

Looking down past his untucked top dripping with sweat, Claud can hardly believe his eyes as his leathery shoes burst off his feet to reform into significantly larger tennis shoes. Somehow not affecting his gait, Claude sees his feet balloon in size before they’re covered in tennis shoes that- well, let’s just say they’re not to his taste. 

Frowning down at them, as he continues barrelling forward, Claude watches as in real time they get even worse. Initially they’re at least clean, if not gaudy. With every dragged step onward they grow more scuffed and worn. Despite being a fair few sizes larger than his feet the man would swear he can see his toes and foot strain against the sides every so often.

Scoffing at the paltry sneakers, Claude finds a stoop to sit on and inspect them closer. Plopped down he yanks off the right shoe and is aghast at the intense scent that spills out. Exploding forth like he removed the cork from a bottle of wine, Claude finds far more sweaty stink within than this quick trip should ever be able to produce. 

So intense his eyes begin to water and something burns in the back of his mind, he forces his shoe to abate the stink at any cost. The professor(?) takes some time to make sense of the impossibilities now hanging at the end of his legs. Wiping the hands that touched those wretched shoes thoughtlessly on his pants, he takes a short breather. Not short enough however. As he sits there reposed, Claude begins to feel his shirt strain in the front. 

Looking down, no longer surprised at his rank choice of shoes, he is instead surprised to find a small stomach suddenly sitting larger on his waist. Reaching up to feel the gut slowly filling his button up, he feels an urgent urge to burp. One he simply can’t ignore. 

“BUURRRRPPP” 

Aghast at the break in decorum, Claude starts to reprimand himself when he feels his stomach bloat decidedly larger in response to the belch. When he feels a second, even more pressing burp rise from his growing stomach he bolts to his feet and begins sprinting homeward.

As the wind presses his shirt into his thickening torso it begins to tear into tatters. Exposed to the open air, his slightly thicker waist feels a new garden of curls drag through the soaring wind. Out of breath, he feels trickling sweat pulling his stubble into a messy beard as his usually neat crop thickens into a look more like to be found at one of his student’s wild parties.

In desperate need of water, Claude stumbles into a park for a fountain. Seeing a line formed he instead sprints straight into the public bathroom and forces his head under the sink’s faucet. Gulping down acrid metallic water he turns to inspect his reflection to find what has become of him. Shirt more akin to prisoner’s rags hanging off his shoulders aside, Claude’s gotta admit he looks fucking good. 

Snapping a pic for his dating profile as he uses what’s left of his shirt to sop some sweat off his hairy chest before just tossing it to the floor. Claude wipes his hair back and prepares to begin running once more. Having drunk enough water that each sprinted step home causes his stomach to glug, there’s a dire need for him to clear some room down there. 

Barely stilling the rising urge to just piss in public, Claude lets his mind stew more on the still present desire to burp. There’s an omnipresent tightness in his neck that makes it clear just how easy it would be. More frequently with every few paces he allows the slightest hiccup to escape him which causes his thick thighs and ass to bloat ever so larger.

Lower body picking up size and steam, when he feels new tears lance down his inner thighs Claud looks down and blushes as he finds nothing but bare hairy skin exposed. Shocked that he’s not wearing underwear he desperately tries to recall putting some on this morning. He can hardly believe it! After all he’s a proff- uh? Profess? A professional? 

Wiping his sweaty brow with a sweatier arm, he doesn’t quite remember what he may or may not have been a professional at, but when he at last storms into his newly dingy apartment just in time for his pant’s button to burst off he releases a mighty sigh of relief. Forcing his head into his pits to take a deep breath he can’t believe how good it feels to be home. 

Sniffing them like an inhaler he pauses in front of a mirror poses his ass from a few different angles. “Shoooot, I needa get some pics of that, my little bitch’ll be all over that shit.” Imagining his twink of the week salivating at the dream of eating him out, Claude throws on some tight briefs and falls onto the couch.

‘Thinking of u <3’ “Uhhh what was his name again? Eh doesn’t matter…”

[transform4u]

Knock knock...

What a selection. As a 32-year old English lawyer, I can't help but be drawn to the dirty gym sweatpants or wrestling singlet. Wonder what they have in store for me...

You tell yourself you’re only browsing. That’s what a thirty-two-year-old Lawyer does on a Friday night when there’s nothing waiting at home — browse shops he should have outgrown. The Enigma Emporium smells of dust, candle wax, and something sour underneath, a musk that clings to the back of your throat.

You keep your coat buttoned, as though that might shield you from how ridiculous you feel. A grown man, gay but hardly glamorous, poking about among cheap vampire teeth and polyester cloaks. No boyfriend, no one to laugh at you or tell you it’s charming. Just you, your empty flat, your boring job, and now this odd little shop.

And then your eyes catch it. Not the neat racks of costumes, but the back corner, where the lighting dips and the clothes don’t look new. They look used, almost still warm — gym shorts gone threadbare, sweatpants stiffened with salt, singlets faded and darkened at the pits and groin. The sight of them makes your stomach twist. Disgust, curiosity, something harder to name.

“Something catch your eye?”

You jolt. Behind the counter, Grant R. B. Morrison is watching you. His smile is sly, not mocking, but knowing. His eyes gleam like he’s already seen the thought you’re too ashamed to admit.

You open your mouth to say no, to wave it off — but he slides something across the counter before you can. A brown paper package, scrawled with a black 13.

“This’ll do,” he says, voice low and certain.

Your throat goes dry. “What’s in it?”

“Exactly what you’ve been asking for,” he replies, “even if you don’t know it yet.”

Your hand moves before your mind decides. The package is warm against your palm.

Back in your flat, you don’t bother with a drink or the telly. You throw your coat aside, rip into the paper like a boy tearing into Christmas.

Red fabric spills out into your lap. Shiny, clinging. A wrestling singlet.

It reeks faintly, like sweat and old rubber mats. Your nose wrinkles, but your fingers can’t let go. The fabric’s elastic bite makes your skin prickle.

You strip clumsily, your pale, soft belly quivering as you peel your shirt away. For a moment you catch sight of yourself in the mirror: lawyer’s body, sagging a little at the chest, soft at the middle, hairy in unflattering patches. Pathetic. And now, you’re about to wedge yourself into fetish gear that looks like it’s been dragged straight out of some brutish locker room.

Still, you step in. One leg, then the other. Tug it up over your hips. The pouch presses your limp cock obscenely forward. You have to force the straps over your shoulders, digging into flesh that isn’t built for them.

You stare at your reflection, flushed and embarrassed. A flabby, boring man in a bright red singlet. A joke.

Then your skin begins to burn.

At first it’s a prickling, like pins and needles. Then heat floods outward from your chest, spreading under the straps. You gasp, clutching yourself. Beneath your palm, your pecs twitch. They swell, twitch again, then surge outward, flesh hardening into thick, ridged meat.

Your belly sucks inward, convulsing as if something is wringing the fat from you. A line carves down the middle. Then another. Each pulse forces a new ridge, until your torso is nothing but stone-hard bricks of muscle, glistening with sweat.

You stagger, hands braced on the dresser, eyes locked on the mirror. Your arms writhe as veins snake up them, biceps knotting into thick bulges that throb when you flex without meaning to. Fingers crack, callouses blooming across your knuckles. You can almost feel phantom blows, years of grinding on rough mats pressed into your hands.

Your thighs balloon, fabric straining. The seams groan. Calves twist into hard knots, feet thickening, toes spreading wide as though craving grip on a wrestling mat.

Your jaw aches. It grinds forward, bones shifting until the mirror shows a stranger — square, brutish, stubbled in a matter of seconds. Sweat leaks down into the stubble, dripping off your chin. Your lips part, tongue wetting them, and what spills out isn’t dignified at all.

“Fuhhhck…”

The voice is deeper. Raw.

And the smell — God, the smell. It pours off you, rank and masculine, like every locker room after a brutal match. Your singlet soaks dark with sweat, your pits sour, your cock swelling against the pouch until the fabric shows a shameful outline.

You want to scream, to deny it, but your chest heaves, pecs bouncing with each ragged breath.

Inside your skull, something else stirs. Thoughts that aren’t yours, jagged and crude.

“Gotta get back on the mat. Fuck books. Nerds are weak. Bro’s gotta lift. Bro’s gotta fuck.”

You slam your eyes shut. “No… no, I’m not— I’m not like this…”

But the reflection in the mirror smirks, flexes its arms, bounces its hairy pecs. The stink of it fills the room.

And you feel yourself slipping.

Your palms slam flat against the dresser, trying to steady yourself. Your breath heaves, chest rising and falling, pecs bouncing heavy with each gasp. But it isn’t just breath — it’s steam. You can smell it before you even notice it: thick, sour musk rolling off you in waves.

At first it’s like after the gym. Then it’s worse. Rank. Fermented. Locker room sweat, poured fresh onto your carpet. Your pits itch as damp curls of hair sprout, matting into wet clumps that darken the straps of your singlet. Your thighs grind together, fabric squealing, the crotch pouch soaking darker where your cock twitches violently against it.

You panic. Tug at the straps. “God, I— I can’t—”

Your own stink chokes you. But your reflection grins wider, nostrils flaring, like it loves the funk.

Your thoughts scatter. Where there should be legal arguments, case law, neat phrasing — crude junk barges in.

“Heh, fuck, I’d pin some pussy down so hard right now.” “Nerds better keep outta my way. Fuckin’ fags.” “Bench day tomorrow, bro. Bench and squats.”

You clutch your head, but the words echo louder, bouncing around inside your skull until they feel like your own.

And then… the accent.

You hear it in your own breath, in the muttered curse slipping out of your lips. Not clipped English vowels, not solicitor’s polish. No. Flat, brash, nasal. American.

“Fuuuuck, bro,” you groan, voice sliding further down into that crude Midwestern drawl. “This— this ain’t right, dude—”

The word dude slips out before you can stop it.

Images slam into your skull — banners, chants, flags. Stars and stripes snapping in the wind. Stadiums. Tailgates. Gun shows. You see yourself in bleachers, shirt off, waving a flag, chanting some dumb war cry you don’t even know the words to yet. Pride, raw and dumb, boiling in your gut.

Your chest heaves harder. “USA, baby,” you mutter under your breath, not knowing why.

Then the cock panic hits.

You look down, your eyes bulging as you watch your dick strain in the singlet’s pouch. It’s not massive — it never was — but now it feels… wrong. Pathetically average. Not enough. Not compared to the brutal meat your body’s carrying everywhere else.

“Fuck—fuck, bro, no way, can’t—this ain’t big ‘nuff, bro,” you mutter, pawing at your crotch. You squeeze, tug, desperate for it to grow, but it just juts out dumbly, hard and leaking, no bigger than before.

The smell down there is horrific — sour, animal, heavy with precum — but instead of disgust, a crude hunger stirs in your gut.

You stare back into the mirror. The man looking back isn’t you. Not anymore. Hair slick with sweat, brutish jaw, chest heaving, pits stinking, cock outlined in red fabric. His lips curl into a smirk.

And the voice in your skull is louder now.

“Fuck law. Fuck London. Bro’s in college. Wrestling team. Frat life. Beer, guns, God, pussy. Fuck libs. USA forever.”

Your hands clutch your skull, but your own voice slips out in a hoarse laugh, soaked in that new accent:

“Heh— heh— bro, I’m gonna fuckin’ wreck some pussy…”

The mirror fogs with your sweat-stink breath, but the brute staring back is clear. Veins rope across arms swollen thick as oak branches, your chest barreled wide, a heavy sheen of hair crawling across pecs that flex on their own. Your pits belch musk so strong you gag — and grin at it.

That grin seals the first crack.

You try to think of law — of courtrooms, of crisp English suits, of your quiet flat in London. Nothing comes. Instead, you see a broad-shouldered figure in camo shorts, barefoot in the dirt outside a Southern church, arm slung around a blonde wife, kids running in the grass. The hymn echoes in your head: “Onward, Christian soldiers…”

Your cock twitches — that pathetic stubby thing you once panicked over. Now it feels right, dangling stupid between thighs like thick tree trunks. Your balls drip sweat, stinking up the room, and you chuckle. “Heh. Fuckin’ real man’s package, bro.”

The voice isn’t yours anymore. It’s deeper, harsh, sticky with a Southern drawl, vowels drawn out, consonants crunched to dust. Every word carries lazy arrogance, like you’ve never read a book in your life.

The second crack seals.

Your thoughts follow, faster now, slamming into place like bricks in a wall you didn’t choose to build “Queers ruined the country.” “Ain’t no man worth a shit unless he loves God ‘n’ America.” “Liberals? Weak-ass pussies, bro.”

Each belief etches itself in your skull, burning out the old ones. You can’t stop it. You don’t want to.

Your sweat drips down into your eyes, blinding you for a moment. When you blink it away, you don’t see a mirror anymore. You see a barroom full of bros, clapping you on the back, shoving beers in your hand. You see yourself flexing for them, loud, cruel laughter rolling out of your throat.

The third crack seals.

And with it, your name goes. The English syllables dissolve like spit in a gutter. A new one swells up in your chest, raw, dumb, perfect.

“Name’s… Chad.” The word rumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it, and it sticks. It’s who you are. Who you always were.

Your past is gone. No law school. No London. No bookstore evenings. No quiet, clever Englishman.

Only Chad: American, Southern, straight, dumb, stinking, cruel, homophobic, patriotic, religious. A bro forever.

The seal snaps shut like a trap.

You grin at your reflection one last time — and you don’t even recognize it as someone new.

[mrhexumtfs]

Monotony wasn't something you were bothered by. On the contrary, a life consisting mostly of repetition felt rather comfortable and safe. But, as it tends to happen, such environments do produce some longing to discover what the big wide somewhere could offer.

You had just arrived home after a busy day. Classes, internship, and office work. Even if your body wasn't exhausted, your brain certainly begged for some kind of rest. It had gotten to the extreme of seeing Excel columns and formulas any time you closed your eyes.

Some relaxation was in order, pronto.

Yet, not always we get what we want. Relaxation seemed to leave as soon as you entered. Since you had barely gotten inside when you saw them.

Brownies. On your kitchen counter. With a note next to it saying from which store it was: Mr. Hexum's pastry shop. And while you had ordered from said store, you didn't remember receiving the brownies themselves. So exactly why were they there, unpacked? You certainly hadn't done this. And there wasn't anyone else that could.

Right?

Getting closer you inspected the brownies. They smelled like chocolate. And something else, of which you couldn't really be precise about. Something so appealing, so mouth watering, you caught yourself drooling. Embarrassed, you cleaned the saliva with the back of your hand. Normally you weren't like this. You were disciplined! This was completely out of character.

Yet, this momentary setback hadn't diminished in any way your temptation. At all. You had already forgotten you were supposed to be wary of the brownies. If they were this appealing, obviously they couldn't be bad... Hopefully.

You took one. Eating it wouldn't hurt, right? There was nothing to be afraid of...

Never had you been so relaxed as when you tasted it. Sweet just in the perfect measure, with the slight hint of bitterness that balanced and enhanced the sweetness. And, there was something herbal about the aftertaste. Nothing invasive, it was so subtle missing it would be easy. But you had noticed it. It was the best part. It made everything feel even better, somehow.

Still, you couldn't figure why your brownies would have such an aftertaste, however. Alas! It was pleasant, so incredibly pleasant. You not only didn't mind it, but you enjoyed it quite a lot. Could it be your new favorite taste? Most likely, you thought.

"Maybe I should rest my eyes a bit," you said with a yawn, after finishing the first brownie. Four remained untouched.

Yet moving proved a lot of effort suddenly. So, slowly, laughing at nothing, staring at the distance as if there was something there worth anyone's attention, you basically floated until reaching your own bed.

You didn't remember falling asleep.

No alarm woke you up. On the contrary, you felt the sun all over your face. With a groan, you turned around, seeking the shade to continue sleeping. But then horror struck. The sun? No alarm? What had happened?

Your phone was on the nightstand. Missed alarms. Missed calls. It was 1 PM. Somehow you had slept through it all. You had missed all morning classes, and you barely had enough time to get to your internship. And that was if you got lucky on the drive there.

Running like a madman, while trying to convince yourself that missing a day of class wasn't the end of the world, you tried to get ready. Quickest shower you ever took; shaving in record time, somehow evading to cut yourself in the process; and then taking one of the suits you had prepared during the weekend.

Only that it didn't fit.

That was odd. You had stopped growing a while ago, and definitely you hadn't gain any significant weight lately. So how was this possible? Whatever the answer was, you took the suit off and tried another one. The same thing happened. You tried again, only to experience the same outcome.

With a deep breath, and with plenty of annoyance, you took off the third suit and tried to put on the same clothes as yesterday... And they didn't fit either.

Going to the full length mirror in your room, you realized why nothing was fitting. Over night, you had changed. Not much, not really that noticeable at first glance—explaining why you hadn't noticed until now —. But it was there.

You were taller. A few inches. Your shoulders were just slightly broader, your posture a few degrees straighter and cockier. The slim physique you were used to looked just a bit more filled out with muscle.

"What the...?" you asked, touching your face as you leaned towards your reflection.

Even your face was different. A bit more structured, broader. As if someone had injected you charisma overnight. It was like looking at an edited photo of yourself but in real time.

Then a text. You took your phone, still confused by all this weird changes you had no explanation for. The office where you did the internship gave you the day free. You didn't continue reading to see why.

Well... That's handy, isn't it? You thought, trembling as you sat in your bed. It didn't feel right, specially when you has missed your classes. Suddenly the world was upside down, and you didn't know what to do.

It seemed ridiculous to think you had ruined your life but... Why did it feel like that was the case? You just... Would have never done something like this. You didn't feel like yourself at all.

On the other hand... Maybe this wasn't so bad. You were pretty tired from doing so much work, barely stopping unless you had no choice but to. Wouldn't it be nice to just... Rest? Chill for today? It wasn't like you were going to throw your future to the trash because you had one free day to do nothing... Even if it felt that way.

Putting on something more comfortable—some exercising clothes that were too big for you yesterday, but now fit perfectly, that you had gotten on a unlucky online purchase—, you went to the kitchen. After your stomach rumbled, you took another brownie and ate it.

Somehow it tasted even better than yesterday. Probably because the herbal taste was even more intense. It was just so good. Made you feel so free and relaxed...

While this would have been a perfect opportunity to study, or try to help yourself with improving at work, there was an itch in you to do something entirely different. And so, you soon found yourself at the nearest gym. Something called you to it.

Before today you really hadn't worked out much. There was little need for it, and your time was already accounted for more important things. Studying, talking with teachers, your internship, networking... In a way, this was you reclaiming the freedom your had lost to your obligations. It wouldn't hurt to go to the gym, would it? It was healthy and all... Just a place to disconnect your brain and let your body do everything it needed to do...

A rest for the brain and a workout for the body. The opposite of your usual day, where you sat all day and used your mind endlessly.

It was already sunset when you remembered to check the time. You had worked out all afternoon. Completely covered in sweat, and somehow barely tired. It didn't make sense, you had used every machine the gym offered. For a novice you should be begging to go to bed. Yet, you felt you could continue going for hours.

Shaking your head, you decided to go to the showers. You took off your tank top, feeling the need to stupidly putting it over your head. Was it funny? Normally you would say no, yet now you couldn't help but chuckle... You never were this ridiculous. Always too self conscious. This was what freedom was all about, bro!

Something made you stop dead. Your reflection... It wasn't you. Well, it was, but it had changed so much compared to who you were yesterday...

Taller, hairier, more handsome. With clear muscle mass you certainly shouldn't have been able to produce on a singular day. There was still some essence of who you used to be, but it was barely there. Even you had trouble recognizing yourself.

I look good, damn... Despite knowing this was bad, that you should be panicking, your mind was as serene as a still lake. It was hard to be mad about this involuntary transformation when you were turning out so hot. Literally getting all the benefits of working out without the need of putting so much of the effort...

Why did you need to be so disciplined at everything? Why couldn't just relax a bit? Be free... Be free of all responsibilities? Be free of thinking all the time?

That wasn't right. You decided to stop marveling at your new reflection, and quickly ran to the showers. The stink from your sweaty body was intense, almost making you nauseous. How could you be so stinky? You never were before. This new body felt so different from your usual clean cut self...

Once naked, you wondered if you really needed to shower... Wouldn't it be nice to just go home like this? But you ignored the call of laziness, and got inside. Plus, wasn't this a great opportunity to explore this new physique?

You began looking down, while water fell over your head. Feet were bigger, wider. Enough to wonder why they weren't hurting while using your sneakers. Had they changed as well? It didn't really matter at the moment. You just hoped they would fit when you put them back on... Way more interesting were your calves. They were so well built. Clearly, you weren't missing leg day... Or whatever magic that was responsible for this wasn't missing it.

Being precise about the subject made your head ache. Whatever was causing this was way too complicated to understand it. It was better to ignore it and just accept it was happening. Logic wasn't there to help you, just make you put unnecessary effort you didn't want to make.

Your thighs were so beautifully thick. Mostly muscle. Quads rubbing each other any moment you moved your legs. It was strangely erotic. As if each thigh had became a lover's hand obsessed with the most intimate of caresses.

This new body felt so much more sexual. Like it was made to be fucked in a way your original self had never been...

Butt cheeks were also better than before, like your calves. They were ubbly, with enough fat to bounce, and with enough muscle to keep a firm shape. You now owned the type of ass that you had always adored on other men. An ass that you now got to worship any time you wanted... To grab any time you were alone. Maybe with a mirror behind you...

Sadly, your cock had remained the same, for the most part. Was it perhaps a little thicker? Or was it just wishful thinking? Truth was, you couldn't say for certain.

Eventually you left the gym. It was dark outside.

Back home you decided to eat another brownie. You knew you shouldn't, but they were so good... So relaxing... You hadn't eaten a proper meal all day. And brownies weren't a good way of maintaining your new muscles.

Now there was only two brownies left.

But cooking... That felt like too much work. So, as you ate the brownie, you ordered some take out. Booting up a game on your otherwise work only laptop while you waited. It was your free day! And you hadn't played in so long...

Pizza aarrived later. After paying you immediately got to eat, your hands all greasy as you continued playing the game. You weren't good at it. Both from a lack of practice and skill. Your brain felt slower than usual, and you got distracted so easily... It didn't matter, however. This wasn't about being good, it was about having fun. Using your free time as you wanted to.

Waking up was confusing the next day. For one, you didn't remember when you went to sleep, in the same way you hadn't yesterday. But something else was weird too. You weren't laying on the same bed you always had. Instead, you were on a mattress laying directly over the floor.

It didn't smell good.

Looking around you saw you weren't at your room. But rather, at a familiar basement. Your parents' basement, to be precise. How was that possible? You had moved away years ago already. And even if you had visited them overnight, without remembering you did so, why wouldn't you stay in your childhood bedroom?

It wasn't adding up... And yet, you didn't care. You were fine, so... Did it even matter how you got here?

You didn't want to leave the bed. Somehow you felt it was way too early to do so. Lazily, you rolled towards your charging phone. It was about 2 PM. You had missed class again. And you were definitely late for your internship.

"Ugh, they'll understand... It's not like I have to go every day..." you said, yawning. How late had you been gaming? Truly, you couldn't tell. You deserved the rest, anyhow.

Your losing streak definitely needed some recovery time. Having greasy meaty fingers and a slower brain didn't make an E-sports player. Of that you were sure.

Going upstairs you were met with a cold breakfast. Your parents had left for work, but clearly loved you enough to make something for you. There were still some brownies available too. Seemingly, your parents hadn't tried any of them. Weird... They're delicious... They don't know what they're missing...

You heated up whatever needed to be warm, while eating another brownie. You needed the calories, alright? Besides, you had to finish them eventually. Now there were only one left.

As you finished eating the chocolate pastry, you began to giggle. You didn't know what was so funny. And thinking felt so much slower... Even more than before... How had you gotten so far in life? College took so much effort... And an internship? So boring, so hard... Why did you even bother?

"Gotta work out, bro," you said, grinning. No one but you was there. There was no need to announce it. No one but you cared.

Soon you were back at the gym. Well, a different one. Close to your parents house instead of the place you used to live at but yesterday.

It was only when you were hours into your workout you remembered that you hadn't warned the office you wouldn't go today. Not like you had a real excuse for your absence. Sure, somehow you had moved back your parents' house overnight without realizing it, but like that didn't have to affect work, right? People moved all the time.

And you were farther from the office. But like, not terribly so...

Realistically, you knew you should probably be a bit more responsible. You should have at least sent a message, even if to lie. But since you hadn't... Well, then you should at least keep what you were doing a secret, no? There wasn't a better way of losing your internship than to get caught actively missing work.

But... You wanted to record and shoot photos of yourself. You were so hot! And it was easy... Easy money too, you hoped... With a body like yours, you could get any guy to spend a few bucks on you, right?

Using the chance that this new gym had a sauna, you decided take at least some few pics there. Cropped to the exact millimeter to be acceptable online.

After all, you were all sweaty... Your hair was a mess. Even though these were photos, you could tell you stank. Which you did. You so did. It was the smell of a real man... Of a real guy who knew how to use his body... Not like a boring guy wanting to work on an office and who couldn't even pop his pecs... Or flex his biceps... Or lift weights...

Despite your stench and the glimmering sweat over your skin, you didn't consider showering this time. It was too much of an effort, really. And besides, you only remembered you could shower when you had already left the gym.

Plus, your manly smell was like a reward. Not something to get rid off. Perhaps when you got successful enough you could sell bottles with your sweat...

Back home, you felt so horny. Maybe it was the manly musk from your own body. Or perhaps it was that you hadn't jerked off in a while. The reason didn't matter, not really. You just wanted to get into bed and goon.

Only one brownie was left. Still on the kitchen counter. Still as appealing as the day it just arrived. Fuck, it made you hungry. You were hungry and horny, and that needed to be resolved at once.

You took the brownie with you down to the basement you now called home.

Undressing, you threw yourself in bed with a satisfied sound. Looking for a porn video to watch on your phone, while the other held the yet to be eaten brownie. Once you found the video, pressing play with high anticipation, your left the phone at a side. Your now free hand going for your already hard pecker.

Stroking yourself, listening more than watching the video, you also began eating the last brownie. It may be messy, leaving crumbs all over the mattress, but it was the dream. The dream, bro! You were finally free to indulge on these slobby whims of yours. Without thinking about anything else but your worldly pleasures.

But things weren't as simple as you had hoped for.

As your hand went up and down, your cock... Well, didn't seem to remain the same. It wasn't going soft, of that you were sure. You'd never felt this horny before. But the tip of your cock didn't reach the same heights anymore...

Was it shrinking?

The thought almost made you stop. But you realized you didn't really care. It's way less effort to jerk off with a smaller cock anyway. And it made your muscles look even bigger! Perhaps it was even a good thing.

It wasn't like hot guys like yourself need big cocks. You had muscles, and that's was way better. Or was it backwards? Who cares, bro?

Soon you were ignoring the video. Instead watching as your cock retracted into itself without losing its rigidity. Your foreskin was growing back, covering the head more and more with each stroke.

Eventually your hand was too big. Your fist completely eclipsing your dick. You should have been terrified. Or upset. But it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to you. Another bite of the brownie, and your cock grew even shorter.

About to cum, you opened your fist. Your cock was now so small your palm was simply too big to use it to stroke yourself. Your dick threatened to slip out from your grip, and your mini strokes weren't helping much with relieving yourself. Mad comfy, though.

So you finally used just your index and thumb, at the same time you ate the last bit of the brownie. One final stroke, and you came.

It changed everything. Even more than anything that came before.

Ropes of cum shot upwards as you began to drool. As if your seed carried your intelligence alongside it. Your thoughts were slowing down. They were so slow, so spaced out. It was hard to believe you had put some much effort into academics just a few days before. Your brain wouldn't be able to handle such things anymore. You took pride on that. It was way better to be a dumb gym rat, right?

Your room grew messier. Stinkier. Sporty clothes everywhere. Unwashed, wrinkled, at least one on every surface. Your bed was undone, with brownie crumbs over the messy sheets. Workout equipment appeared on the room. For when you were too lazy to leave the house.

Notifications came from your phone. Your social media was now more important than before. Not that it was successful. Barely over 50 followers. Most of them older or overweight men who loved your content showing yourself be a sweaty gym rat.

One of them, however, was different.

An older man, yes, but wealthy. One who could spare giving you enough money to not work a single day in your life. One who was quite content with being a voyeur, of simply watching you waste your life.

He was your best follower. More of a client now, rather than a fan. He was the one who paid for everything you owned, almost.

What did he want from you? Videos. Photos. Private streams were you just did stuff for him to watch: touching yourself; working out: eating food you shouldn't be eating yet somehow had not affected your definition. Anything that showed your superficiality and slobby laziness.

And tonight? Tonight he was going to visit you, at last.

You hadn't cleaned. He wouldn't have liked it, and you couldn't be bothered anyway. Your parents had apparently left for a work trip. Or so you remembered now. The house was for yourself tonight. For yourself and this guy. Gene was his name.

A knock. You went to the front door, and opened it. He was there. Tall, well dressed. A successful and clean cut man. Outwardly the kind of successful individual you wanted to be... Before you became this muscle slob. Wasn't he...? Damn! He was the guy who owned the office you worked at!

How did you not remember him being this hot?

"You haven't showered, huh?" he said, smiling. Cupping your face with a possessiveness and condescension that made you hard instead of mad. "You could be so much more, but you don't want to. You won't put the effort in. You just want to be free, don't you? Free of thinking, free of responsibilities, free of being someone. You just want to exist like the dumb muscle slut that you are."

A nod. Dumb smile on your face. Gene closed the door behind himself. His eyes going all over you. Noticing you hadn't even bothered to dress. To clean yourself. Cum was all over your chest. And you stank so much.

"Is like there's nothing going in there," he said, looking at your eyes. "Completely empty. I always loved dumb men. But dear, you take the cake. Don't worry, I'll take care of you. You'll be free forever. You'll never worry about anything anymore. Just never change. Be mine. Be my little dirty boy, my slobby muscle slut..."

He then took a box from his pocket. Joints. Gene had weed. Damn, you wanted it. I need to chill... Need a joint, bro... You had never smoked weed. But now, it felt like a need.

Only then you realized the obvious. The brownies. The herbal taste... It was weed. Not normal weed, perhaps. But it was weed. You had been tricked! This wasn't you! It was a plot all along! Maybe there's still time to...

"Shhh," Gene said, passing a joint under your nose. It was enough to distract you. "Calm down, my dirty boy. I'll give you all the weed you want, if you behave. No need to get so agitated. Doesn't suit you, dear."

You nodded. Smiling again. Was there anything you ever needed to worry about? Gene had more brains that you ever would. He could just decide things for you. He was giving you money. And now he's giving you weed!

This man was a saint. A sex saint. One who thought you were hot and was going to give you the world to keep you dumb and high.

In other words, Gene wanted you to live the dream!

"Now open that mouth wide, dirty boy. Show me how dumb you actually are. Drool, and show me that mouth. If you're good you get to suck my cock, and I'll give you all these weed too. Isn't that a wonderful deal for you? It's literally a win win. You get everything in this deal. Is like the best deal in your life, is it not?"

It was, it so was.

And you were happy to obey:

---

Weeks later, by mere chance, you looked at your emails. A few of them caught your attention. One saying you were failing all your classes, due to absences and never doing any of the assignments and required tests. The other one saying you got kicked out of your internship, because not only had your grades gone down, you also hadn't showed up for way too long. Especially after discovering your thirst trap TikTok account.

You weren't professional anymore. And they didn't want you tarnishing the company name.

Old you would have been devastated. But new you? He only laughed stupidly. You didn't care about this stuff anymore.

"Good riddance, I ain't a thinker anyway," you said, deleting the emails. You lighted up a joint, laying in bed. "Gene thinks for me, and gets me weed. So, like, who needs a job? Not me, that's for sure."

You had finally received the freedom you longed for. To the world you were a dumb stoner who only worked on his body and nothing else. A guy with a tiny brain and even smaller cock that knew nothing but how to waste his life with weed and porn.

A man who loved to serve other men, because there was nothing else he was good for. You were lucky Gene let you suck his dick. He was such a generous soul. He didn't ask anything of you, and he gave you everything you wanted. How glad you were of being a dirty gym rat and stoner just for him!

Whoever you used to be was gone. Perhaps forever. But hey, at least you were free now. Free to continue wasting your life on mundane pleasures, never amounting to anything of substance. Free of the responsabilities and discipline that had once given your life meaning.

You were just a stoner, a slobby muscle slut. And somehow you were happy being just that. After all, you've never been more free... Or that's how you saw things now. Whether it was true or not, you weren't able to tell.

[devinpink]

Straight Stoner Bro

Mike has no idea his buddies are giving him pussy kush, a strain that turns you into an arrogant, douchey straight bro who's obsessed with pussy. Mike's already feeling the urge to flex and gloat about how "swole" he is, so it won't be long before he's starving for pussy. Pussy kush is also highly addictive. Mike's gay days are over, and that fact has his buddies beaming from ear to ear. Mike's going to be one of them now, a straight stoner bro for life!

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Coke

“Sigh- another day another dollar right? Hey, you catch the game last night. Man, I knew I shouldn’t have put that bitch Carter on my parlay. Ah sweet, fridge restock. Let’s seeee… duh duh duh… ah ha. Crack a cold one, right? Share a Coke with your Bro? Huhuhu, that’s funny. Hey, newbie, catch.”

Clunk.

'Crap, I wish they would stop tossing things they know I’m not going to catch. Just because he’s the CEO’s son doesn’t mean he owns the place. At least it didn’t explode all over my cubicle. Still, these idiots need to be a bit more careful. Last thing I need is to fry my machine and lose progress on my branch. I really need to keep my head down today and grind this out before the weekend. Unlike some people in this office, I actually have work to do. I wish that I could just screw around all day like those guys.'

click-Crack

Shoot, it’s foaming everywhere. Let me wipe this up and get back to work.

As I began wiping down my desk, I was just grateful that this whole experience was almost over. In the last 6 months that I had been working for the Spiral Inc., I never felt like I fit in with the culture. Heck, I don't even know what products they sold. As I settled back down, I took an absentminded swig of the Coke they tossed at me. Over the next half hour or so, I finished some unit testing and downed about half the can.

'Boy, I don't drink caffeine much, but just a few sips and I could feel it buzzing in my system,'

-uuurp

“Excuse ya bro.”

“So-sorry!” Ugggh, god, what do they put in these things?

It's almost painful the pressure and the buzzing. I feel like I could run a mile I'm so- so twitchy. My stomach was not taking the drink well. It felt tight and- what the?

I reached down to ease my stomach, but instead of the usual baby fat I found that my stomach was oddly firm and flat. I glanced around my cubical to make sure no one caught me as I gently rolled up my shirt. My body hair could not hide that my usual pudgy body was far leaner than an hour ago. I watched entranced as I was able to flex and relax the muscles. Flex, relax, flex, relax. Each contraction seemed to pull the muscles more taut against my frame. It wasn’t just my now visible abs though. I noticed as seemingly my whole body was slowly toning itself. My arms felt heavy in their joints as new muscle began peaking through my sleeves. Legs were stiff and aching, cramps rolling down them as each painful pulse burned fat and built muscle. A warmth spread through my body. Perspiration clung to my now loose shirt, as beads of sweat gathered in my now otter-like pelt. Even my waistline was constricting, loosening my pants and allowing access to the one part of me truly swelling during this ride. The sensation was euphoric as my member stood ridged at attention, peaking out of its sweaty musky bush and reaching out into the cool office air. I carefully reached down, slipping between my waistband, and began tracing the edge of its form. It was slick with sweat. Slowly, but deliberately, I reached down into the swamp in my pants and began to tug at my-

“Hey bro, could you- uhhh. You need a minute?”

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I jolted up in my chair. I tried to squeak out some excuse, stammering as I crossed my leg to hide my obvious boner,

“SORRY. It was- uh, I think I may be coming down with something. Yeah, yeah, of course. What, ugh,

coughs

What can I do for- for you?” My throat was dry and scratchy, making my voice sound deeper than it should.

He stared back with a cruel smirk, as he moved into my cubicle. I felt flush all over again. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. I could feel him eyeing me as my body continued to convulse beneath my now baggy shirt and drooping pants. He was taking up almost every free square inch of air, making it instantly feel even warmer in my tight office space. His chest was at eye level, bulbous pecs pressed tight against his black button down shirt. Those nips were hard as steel against the fabric, almost piercing through the thin material. I could almost reach out and squeeze their perfect shape, suck on the tips of his-

“I— uh, I need to go to the bathroom.”

I sprinted down the hall, disregarding my clumsy stride and my member bobbing in front of me. I avoided eye contact with the other guys in the office as they catcalled me in my distressed state:

“Looking good bean pole…”

“Always told ya to grow a pair…”

“Look, the geek can exercise…”

Out of breath, I slammed the door to the bathroom shut behind me and turned on the lights. Clawing my shirt open, all I could do was stare in disbelief.

I was entranced by the man in the mirror. His sleek form was a far cry from my more cubby stature, less giving up in his 30’s and embracing his early 20’s. The sleek otter moved in unison with me as I stroked his short cropped wavy hair, massaged his cute beginner beard, and glided down his silky pelt that dusted his tight, muscular body. Each touch was like magic, heat contrasting the cool bathroom air prickled across my skin. The feeling was raw, animalistic. My cock throbbing, I slowly gyrated my hips against the sink in front of me. I gently licked my forefinger and slid it into my already damp briefs. As I ran my finger gently over my bulbous tip, something within me clicked. My whole body felt centered on that tender slit as slowly the first drop oozed from it’s overflowing sac and lubricated my whole he-

knock-knock-knock

“Hey, you done bro? Gotta take a leak”

God damn it. Why was it so hard to stay focused?

“Yeah, one sec!”

I flushed for deniability, and tucked myself between my waistband. God, any more growth and it would practically be peaking out of my pants. My needy tip exposed for the whole world to-

No. Have to stay focused. I buttoned up my shirt, washed my hands, and splashed some water on my face. It must be something those idiots did to me. They had slipped me a pill or, or did something with the air conditioning, or something! There was only one way to get help. I strode out of the bathroom with a confidence I did not feel as I rushed over to the elevator. This was going straight to the top. I was shaking as I pressed the button for floor 10. My clothes were feeling more foreign by the minute as my body continued to morph beneath them. Muscles and joints fought over the urge to swell or contract as waves of sweat rolled down me. I was almost dripping with the effort it took to just stay upright. As soon as the doors opened I dashed past his secretary and closed the door behind me. I caught my breath as I heard the slow click of a phone receiver. Slowly, I turned to face Mr. Whittaker.

He takes one long look at me with curiousity and fury.

“Mr. Whittaker I am so sorry for barging in like this. I would never want to violate our client relationship. However-”

He raises a hand to silence me. Wordlessly he gestures towards the chair in front of his desk, and presses a button on his desk,

“Braden?”

“Yes boss?”

“Would you get Jacob up here? I believe I need to have a word with my son.”

I tried to relax in my seat, though my lingering sweat and smell made it difficult. As I started to dry a bit, a an aura of BO and musk radiated off of me. This was so embarrassing in front of a client like this, but I could hardly focus on the shame. As the gleaming sweat dried to a matte layer of salt, I felt unclean and wild. The office was starting to feel tight and constricted. I wanted to pace like a wild animal and break free. How easy would it be to take out my rage on the man in front of me? Break his defenses, pin him to the ground, and make him worship this tight bod-

Jacob bursts through the office doors. “Sorry it took so long boss. I was joking with Pete about this babe in-”

A flash of the hand and the room is silent again, “Jacob, sit.” The man slinks to the chair beside mine, bracing for the dressing down to come, “You idiot. First, I told you to stay away from him. The product launches at the end of this quarter, we don’t have much long term availability at the moment, and it can be nice to have good connections outside of the office.

“sorry boss…” he quietly repeated. Any confusion I had about the conversation’s content was eclipsed by the sudden sheepishness of my coworker. It was strange to see this business bro brought into line so quickly by this frail old man, even if he was his father.

“I will deal with you later. Second, you know the rules. If you are going to demo a product, you need to ensure the whole can is consumed.” Here, he turned to his desk and flipped a switch. In an instant, metal clamps extended, anchoring me to the chair. I struggled to no avail. I was trapped. Mr. Whittaker turned and stared back at me, assessing me like a prized animal.

“Did you at least retrieve the remaining drink?”

“Yes boss. Here,” he handed a can of cola over, the same one that had been on my desk. As he stepped behind me I could feel his enormous presence. My boss now loomed over me, watch in one hand, drink in the other.

“My, this is taking far longer than it should. With only partial consumption though timing can be…unpredictable. Best to correct this situation-” He weighed the can in his hand and gave it a hesitant sniff, “Jacob, did you by chance make an… addition to this formula we hadn’t discussed?”

He gave an empty chuckle, “Yeah boss, he was looking a little scruffy. Figured a dose of me would get some good results.” I was suddenly aware of a heat and smell emanating from the crotch behind my head. It was so comforting and relaxing. If I could somehow get that release for myself-

Sigh.

“Damn it! You aren’t even going to give his brain a chance if breaking through. Another fucking idiot to add to the office,” the old man stooped down to address me, “You’re in for a bumpy ride I’m afraid. So, is this going to be done the easy way or the hard way? I can be quite… persuasive you know.” My coworker’s knuckles cracked behind me, comically overemphasizing the point.

My heart pounded in my chest. I whispered, “Please, I don’t know what’s going on. I will just go home an- and we can just forget this ever happened.”

“Well, forgetting this ever happened was a given,” he walked over to his desk, “Braden, is the camera rolling? May as well get the money shot for the investors.”

A voice crackled over the intercom, “Of course Boss. Started rolling the moment he walked in.”

“At least someone is competent at their job. I’m afraid, son, that a new position has just opened up for you as a product tester and developer. Drink up, bro.”

He tilted the can to my lips as the sweet and now salty liquid flowed down my throat. I nearly gagged as the liquid had taken on a new viscosity. It felt thick as it cling to my insides and tickled my throat.

“That’s it, drink it up. Every last drop counts.”

He didn’t need to prompt me. One sip and I was hooked. The sweet and salty combination was magic. Each slurp from the can felt like a godsend. The mixture churned in my stomach as the heat flowed through my body again. Each gulp was another pulsing muscle, another dulling headache, another throb in my tightly stretched pants. My fat tongue was flopping out of my mouth, licking at the lip of the can. I couldn’t keep it in. I needed more. More muscle. More power. More seed for my growth. Fuck yeah, just another bro. Heh. Hahah. Huuuhuuhuhuuuu.

“Uhh, boss, why isn’t he slowing down?”

“It may be too late for him, son. Too much time passed. Not enough momentum.”

“So what does that mean?” Heheh, he was dumb like me. Or was I dumb like him? No think, brain too hurt.

“That means nothing for me, son. I never leave a project half finished. For you, however, your insubordination has you facing your consequences.”

“That means what Boss?”

I wanted more. I needed more. God I just needed a-

“Coke… need a- a Co- a co.. cock. Need a cock.”

“Well, you heard him son.”

“Ew, hell no. That’s pretty- ”

“Gay? Son, I have been the leader of this company for over 40 years and your father for 25. You aren’t the first closeted man in this company and certainly not the last. He is a valuable asset to this company you have ruined. Look at him”

Hehe my face is putty.

“I want at least salvage on his head. Your fuck up, your problem. Fix. It. Now.” With that he stormed out of the room, “And don’t you dare stop rolling, Braden. Let this be a lesson to every idiot in this firm.”

“Yes Boss!”

“Thank you. At least someone listens.”

What did he mean, salvation? Salved? Salvage! The word rung in my empty head. Did that mean I got to get some more-

Slap

Hehehe. That hurt.

“Open up idiot. You better make this quick. You want a taste of Jacob? Fucking taste it. No homo bro”

My mouth wrapped around something new. Something warm and thick. A new can to suck dry. I needed it. I needed this. Thank you boss! It wasn’t long before a steady stream was flowing down my throat again.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck. Bro, you’re fucking magic. Ohhh shit.”

His language was infectious. My voca- my vocabru- my words were being replaced with his. Each swell of his can filled space in me I didn’t have. My body was swelling to be just like his. Just like my bro.

“Shit bro. You’re like… becoming me. Oh fuck, that’s why you’re so good. I’m so fucking good bro. I’m so fucking hot. Uggggh… god you’re absorbing me bro. Fuck. Drink me bro. Drink me.”

Gulp

Slurp

Moan

Suck

Share a Coke with your bro. Share some coke with your bro. Drink some coke from your bro. Drink coke bro. Drink cock bro. Drink Coke. Drink Coke. Drink Coke.

“Fuck I’m gonna- uhhgggg… Fuck me bro…”

The new marketing guy fit right in at the firm. No one knew when he started. It was like he had been there the whole time. And thank God he was. After a rough product launch, he really was making up the difference with his unconventional strategies. Gone were the slick commercials and glossy ads. His tactics were guerrilla. Visceral. Highly successful. And people loved it. People were addicted to it. Highly successful with difficult male demographics. He was even kind enough to star in his own work.

And bros couldn’t stop sharing their Cokes with each other.

[ericks-male-tf-stories-deactiva]

One sip, and his pecs jutted out from his chest a little bit more. A second sip, his biceps ballooned out, pushing up and stretching out his shirt sleeves. Third sip, he flipped his hat around without even realizing it. It was on the fourth sip that he got that dumb look on his face. Fifth sip, and he was all mine.

“Flex for me, bro,” I told him.

He put his big arms above his head and put a cocky look on his face.

“Yeah, bro,” I complimented him, “Nice arms.”

He let out a dumb chuckle and continued flexing for himself. He was completely oblivious of his instant muscle growth. All he knew was that he was fuckin’ big now, and he wanted to show it off.

“Fuck yeah,” he said. Damn, his voice had gotten so deep and dumb-sounding.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight, though,” I said. I raised an eyebrow and looked at the bottle that he had continued sipping from. With each sip he took, he was becoming more and more simple-minded. If he kept it up at this pace, I doubted he’d even be able to string a sentence together by the end of the night. 

“This shit is fuckin’ lit, bro,” he slurred, “What the fuck is in this shit?”

“Just a special little serum I invented to help turn you into a dumb, muscular frat bro,” I smiled.

“Huh?” What I had just told him had clearly gone over his head. “Whatever, bro. That sounds like some fuckin’ stupid science shit or somethin’.”

[misctf]

Could you do a tf similar to the frat haunting story but where a gay stoner bro changes a reserved college student into a pierced up like stoner slob anything to do with socks shoes or clothing furthering the tf is awesome too and I don't get too see much of that

Alec always loved Halloween night with his frat bros. Always loved their sacred tradition. He remembered his first time as a new pledge. The first Halloween they brought him down to that dingy basement, where one of the older members summoned the ghosts of their predecessors. Sure, Alec had been scared at first, not really knowing what to expect. But very quickly, he felt that cold chill pass through him and found himself in the driver's seat of his own body.

"Oh shit, this feels nice." He had heard his own voice slur, "Thanks for the bod, bro."

Whoever this ghost had been certainly enjoyed the night. Alec found himself watching as his body took up space in a corner of the room, lighting a joint and getting high. And it felt good. Just vibing, smoking weed, and managing the munchies with the greasiest food available. For Alec, a star athlete and golden boy, it felt like a nice quick vacation from his usual life. And the next morning- all was back to normal. Alec woke up half-naked on the couch, joint lazily wedged between his fingers, and went back to his usual day-to-day. He had done it. He was now fully one of the bros.

---------------

Two years had passed since Alec's freshman Halloween party experience. And in those years, Alec worked hard. He hit the gym, practiced on the field daily, tanned in the sun, went to parties, and excelled academically. Confident, popular, and ready to face whatever challenges came his way.

On Halloween night, he stood in the dingy basement watching as another group of new frat bros prepared for the ritual. All was going just as it should. The lights flickered, the cold air settled throughout the room, and the spirits made their appearance. And as Alec laughed alongside his buddies, he felt something. A cold chill pass through him. His laughter stopped.

"Alec, you okay man?"

"Yeah... Yeah..." He frowned, "Did you, uh feel that?" His bros shook their heads, "Must be imagining things." He laughed halfheartedly.

Despite the lingering feeling something was off, Alec went back to welcoming the old frat bros back to the land of the living.

---------------

"Did you have fun at your little occult party?" She ran her fingers across Alec's muscular chest.

"Best party of the year." He smirked, pulling her close, "But I think... what's wrong?"

A look of disgust crossed her face, "That smell..." She frowned, "I didn't know you smoked weed."

Alec raised an eyebrow. Yeah, he'd smoked before. But not recently. And he'd certainly change if his clothes stunk of it. He hated the smell, and clearly his date did too. But as he took a whiff of his shirt, the smell of weed filled his nostrils. And it wasn't subtle. It was strong. Obnoxious. It wouldn't be possible to not notice it.

"Fuck... I don't know how..."

"Let's reschedule." She said quickly, "And next time, maybe don't pick me up smelling like that."

---------------

"Dude, Brit is telling everyone about..."

"I don't get it. So what? I smelled like weed." Alec frowned, shoving a handful of Cheetos in his mouth, "Probably washed my clothes with Derek's or John's by accident."

"Yeah, but like, how didn't you notice?" One of the other guys laughed, "Really blew your chance there. And doubt any chick from that sorority will give you the time of day."

"Whatever." Alec grumbled, chewing on another mouthful of Cheetos.

---------------

Alec woke up groggy, his head pounding from Saturday night's festivities. But he had a routine, hangovers be damned. He stumbled to his closet, reaching for his workout gear. But as he rifled through the hangers, he found nothing but a collection of faded, torn jeans and unwashed, sweat-stained t-shirts. But it was the stench of stale weed that made Alec's stomach churn. It clung to every piece of clothing and spread through his room like wildfire.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." With a sigh, he grudgingly slipped into the dirty attire, "Which one of those fuckers took my clothes?"

He left the room, initially planning to confront his bros. But with each step and each breath of the stale sweat and weed, Alec's thoughts became less focused. By the time he made it to the living room, the clothes felt like they had always been his.

---------------

"Hey, Alec," one of his frat brothers walked into the common area, "haven't seen you at the gym in weeks. Everything cool?"

Alec shrugged, lighting up a joint he'd scored from a buddy.

"Nah, just been busy." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, feeling the familiar buzz wash over him. Suddenly, a thought struck him, "Hey, you think it's possible for a spirit to possess someone more than once?"

His brother raised an eyebrow. "I dunno, man. Why?"

Alec took another drag, not really caring about the answer anymore, "Just curious." He muttered, already forgetting why he asked in the first place.

As he sat there, Alec couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed. This content. The weed, the grubby clothes, the lack of responsibilities - it all blended together perfectly. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, realizing he hadn't shaved in days. Maybe weeks. Didn't matter though.

---------------

Alec stared blankly at the failing grade scrawled across the crumpled exam paper. His stomach churned with disappointment, but the sensation was distant, muffled. He should care more, shouldn't he? This was supposed to matter.

Instead, he found himself more interested in the joint burning down to a nub between his fingers. He took a long drag, inhaling deeply as he leaned back in his chair. The thick, pungent smoke filled his lungs, calming his nerves. He nearly jumped at the icy cold sensation that tore through his body.

"What the fuck?" But the feeling dissipated quickly.

Alec sighed, absently scratching at the patchy chest hair sprouting from his softer, less defined pecs. His once sculpted physique had slowly dissipated over the past months. Not that he minded much these days. Comfortable was better than ripped anyway.

---------------

Alec leaned back against his bed, feet propped up on the mattress. Coach's words echoed in his mind, but they felt detached, irrelevant. Kicked off the team. That should hurt, right? He should be devastated.

Yet, all Alec could focus on was the comforting musk emanating from the holes in his socks. He'd discovered this damp, stained pair of socks festering in a heap of his dirty clothes a few days prior and had been wearing them ever since. The earthy scent, the slightly sticky texture – it was strangely soothing. But something moved in the corner of his eye, prompting him to spin in that direction.

"I could've sworn..." He frowned. What was that? It almost looked like a...

He absentmindedly scratched his stomach, recoiling for the briefest moment at the unfamiliar pudge that had settled on his midsection.

Under different circumstances, this would've sent him into a panic. But today, all he could muster was a fleeting thought of, "Should probably go jog or something," before dismissing the idea entirely.

---------------

Alec trudged through campus, ignoring the whispers from the other students. The stares, the snickers, the pitying glances. He should care, right? Because this wasn't him. He wasn't… A sudden, sharp ache shot through his earlobes. They felt…empty. Hollow. Alec's steps quickened, propelled by an urgent need he couldn't quite understand. And suddenly, he was standing inside a shop he never knew existed.

"Afternoon. What can I do for ya?" The body piercer said.

Without hesitation, Alec blurted out, "Ears. Both sides. Something big."

---------------

Weeks blurred together in a haze of smoke and the sound of the tattoo needle. They buzzed against Alec's skin, etching dark designs onto his chest, arms, neck, and face. Piercing guns punctured his ears, lips, nose, eyebrows. With each new addition, a flicker of terror sparking within him, his reflection was almost unrecognizable now. He had fallen so far. Had become someone else entirely.

"Why is this happening?" Alec whispered, staring in the mirror and feeling the gauges in his stretched earlobes, "Why am I doing this?"

He stood outside the tattoo parlor and shuddered at the icy cold sensation that coursed through him. His resistance crumbled as he caught a whiff of the comforting musk of his filthy clothes and heard the buzzing of the tattoo needle.

---------------

Alec sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes dull and half-lidded. The room reeked of stale smoke, body odor, and the faint hint of rotting food. His buddies avoided him, professors gave up on him, and for the first time Alec felt lost. He felt further from himself than ever before.

"I need to turn it around." He ran a hand through his greasy hair.

He sighed and took a long drag from his joint, blinking as he noticed a ghostly figure materializing before him. It solidified into the form of a man he vaguely recognized. The frat bro the night of his first ritual. The one who first possessed him.

"It's you." Alec slurred, "You... No, no, get away from me." The ghost floated closer, its eyes locking onto Alec's. "You ruined my life," Alec murmured, a flicker of clarity piercing through the fog in his brain. "Please… go away. Leave me alone!"

The spirit grinned lazily and surged forward. Right into Alec. The young man grunted as the spirit filled him. And in those moments, Alec realized something. Realized how weakened and disconnected he was with his true self. Realized how there wasn't much of him left in this slovenly, tatted, pierced form. Alec cried out, as the lines between Alec's original consciousness and the spirit blurred, until they disappeared entirely. He was Alec in name only, but his life... his very fate, were forever tied to the spirit's.

"Woah, that was intense." Alec slurred, "What a fuckin' trip."

Any semblance of Alec's former self, any hope for redemption or return to his previous life, vanished without a trace. There would be no questioning, no yearning for something more. The possession was absolute, and Alec was unaware of the extent of his loss. Forever trapped in a life he would've never wanted. Forevermore just another stoner slob.

[coachs-kit-bag]

I love your advice about dressing in the right gear to get oneself in the mindset to transform into a jock this year.

Any suggestions on a ‘starter pack’ of things that one might need to go down that path?

With your ambition to transform yourself this year, you may have gotten a boost from this recent post on the same topic. Creating a starter pack is an intriguing thought exercise as there are many different routes that one could go down. Happy to help!

1. Jockstrap

I have mentioned on this blog several times that committing to wearing a good jockstrap as daily wear is one of the strongest adaptations an aspiring jock can make. Classic styles (such as the original Bike brand) or increasingly the black Nike model are widely available and good to experiment with.

2. Sports Socks

Secondly, and easily overlooked by many, choosing the right pairs of Socks will keep you grounded in your path. Anything from a basic 5-pack of white Adidas socks will suffice, but, in my experience, you can make sports socks fit with any attire. I often wear knee-length Rugby socks underneath my suits in the workplace or a pair of Nike Elites with casual trainers (graciously gifted by a follower of this blog).

Whatever choice you make, commit yourself and your wardrobe entirely and trust the process.

3. Spandex/Lycra

It will be no surprise for a regular viewer of this blog that I advocate for skintight spandex/lycra within this list. You can even see this as your new 'jock uniform' for a good workout. Under Armour, Nike Pro and Skins Compression are all solid brands, but anything skintight is right by me. At first, you may feel that you need to wear a looser pair of running shorts, but within time you will quickly realise that the more you wear, the more correct it feels to wear alone.

Short-sleeved shirts with shorts, especially in matching or complimentary sets, demonstrate pride in your appearance. In addition, a pair of full-length tights should be in every jock’s wardrobe as standard practice. Once you start collecting, you might find it hard to stop buying, and even resist wearing anything else.

4. Vest

For those moments when you need a loose-fitting, casual look, a vest and short shorts come in handy. Showing the right amount of skin is paramount - you never know when you’ll be called to perform a good flex for the camera. Show off those gains!

5. Cap & Headphones

Lastly, as you requested a real “starter pack” to assimilate yourself fully as a jock - a good cap and pair of headphones will be vital to help you connect to the right frequency, zone out of the mundane and lock in to your goals.

This might seem like a lot at first, but before long you’ll realise just how important your new wardrobe will be!

For more ideas, you can always check the posted tagged “jock” for more inspiration.

For those lured in and wishing to purchase kits for others rather than for themselves, my Ko-Fi is always open and for TF posts you can visit @coachs-locker-room

I would be open to do another one of these starter packs focusing on a specific items, or other sports. Let me know if that interests you or leave a comment if there is something you would recommend.

[tidetfs]

"Ugh, bro, pleeeeease?"

Max looked at me with those dopey blue eyes of his, staring dully through me and appearing to lack any kind of intelligence or perception.

"I told you, I have a very important club interview," I replied. "This could determine if I can network into a good job after college!" stressing the importance of a job, something my stoner roommate never seemed to understand.

"Just one hit, man, come on! You gotta stop worrying about that stuff and just chill out!" he replied, stretching his muscular arms over his head of greasy (probably unwashed) brown hair and closing his eyes, as if musing about something important. "You gotta try this weed bro, I just, I-" he stuttered as he took another hit. "I don't fuckin' know man, I think you just need this."

Exasperated, I dropped my heavy bag on the floor and strode over to his side of the room, switching to mouth breathing to avoid inhaling too much foot funk from his "clean pile" of clothes, as Max called it. Even three air fresheners weren't enough to keep the pungent smells of weed and sweat at bay.

"What the hell, dude, when's the last time you even washed those?!"

"Oh, I dunno, a couple weeks ago, maybe?" Max replied, shrugging.

I could see some of the dried crust still clinging to the fabric. I couldn't help but be amazed at the sheer size of his stash. The pile was easily four feet across, and it was clear Max was still working to roll his way through the rest. I couldn't even imagine where he got it all.

"Look, just let me finish my meeting, then I'll smoke with you, okay?"

Max's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, for real?" he replied, excited. "You promise? Pinky swear?"

Max stuck his hand out, his pinky raised and his arm shaking slightly. He looked like an overgrown child. I was so tired, I didn't even hesitate. I wrapped my pinky around his, then turned to walk out of the room. As soon as I let go, I felt a sudden, powerful wave of euphoria wash over me. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I couldn't even think straight, the sensation was so intense.

I collapsed against the doorway, unable to move. I could barely even think. The only thought that went through my mind was that I'd never felt this good in my life. Every inch of my skin tingled and buzzed, like a pleasant static that sent ripples of bliss through my muscles. I couldn't even control the way my body twitched and shivered.

"Duuuude," I heard Max say. "You feel that, man? I told you it's the good stuff."

I didn't know what was happening to me. My heart was racing and I couldn't breathe, and the feeling was getting more and more intense. "What..." I struggled to even sound out words. "I didn't even...take a hit..."

"Well, no, not technically," Max said, laughing. "But, uh, that's not what it was, actually. See, I sorta dosed your pinky."

I looked up at him, confused. My vision was blurry and I could barely see him, but he was grinning widely, and I could see the outline of his meaty, calloused hands rubbing the front of his jeans.

"See, it's like this, man. That wasn't weed. That was just, you know, a little something to get you to loosen up a bit. And, uh, well, there's this other thing, too. That shit I sprayed on your hand. It's not, uh, not exactly what you think."

The euphoria was fading, but it was still intense, and it was making my brain spin. "You sprayed my...hand?" I mumbled, barely able to understand what he was saying.

"Yeah, bro, I sorta had to, man. You kept getting me down with all your stress." He flexed his big biceps and gave one a kiss. "Now you're gonna be just like me!" He grinned wide, his perfect teeth glinting in the low light.

I couldn't respond. The sensations were still washing over me, but the euphoria was fading. As my brain began to work again, I suddenly realized that there was something wrong with me. There was a new, alien weight between my legs.

"Wha-what did you do?" I stammered, still dazed and confused. "What...what did you..."

I looked down, and froze. There was a huge, heavy bulge straining against the crotch of my jeans, stretching the thick material taut. It was huge. Like, absolutely massive. It was easily the size of my fist, maybe even bigger. It was so big and round, I could even see the outline of the individual balls.

"Duuuuude, bro, look at that fucking thing!" Max exclaimed, pointing and laughing. "It's totally fucking huge! Holy shit, man, it's the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life!"

I tried to speak, but I was still so confused, I couldn't get my mouth to form words.

"I didn't know they could get that big, man! Wow, bro, you're really packing a fucking cannon, you know that? Holy shit, it's so fucking hot." Max was practically drooling as he ogled the enormous bulge in my pants.

I could feel the heat radiating off of it, and I could tell it was pulsing and throbbing with each beat of my heart. The sensation was incredibly intense.

"It's...it's not possible..." I stammered, my voice cracking. "What...what did you spray?"

"Bro, I'm telling you, it's totally normal!" Max said, trying his best to sound reassuring. "My friend from home, he said, well, it's just that..." Max stammered again, his usually peaceful face betraying some shyness. "I've always thought you were cute, even without that package. You just needed to loosen up a little. And, I mean, I just wanted you to be, like, comfortable with me. It was just a little bit, man, and it was totally safe. Like, I swear, it's totally normal, dude." He grinned and shot me a wink. "Soon you're going to be just like me."

Max was still staring at the massive bulge, and I could see the outline of his huge dick stretching the crotch of his jeans.

"Dude, bro, I-" my hand shot to my mouth. I had never used those words in the same sentence before! "I...I didn't mean that!"

"Oh, yeah, dude," Max replied, not even noticing. "It's totally normal, bro. You're just a little high is all."

"High?!" I shouted, exasperated. "This isn't...I'm not...this isn't how people talk!"

Max just shrugged. "Bro, you've always been a nerd, and it's cool, man, I totally get it. But this is a big step forward. You're gonna love this. I swear."

I couldn't believe this was happening. I was still trying to process everything that was happening to me, when I heard Max's voice.

"Duuuuuude, check it out, bro," he said, gesturing to the bulge in his jeans. "We're, like, totally packing!"

"I can't..."

"Oh, shit, right. Dude, you gotta feel this."

Max quickly reached down and grabbed the bulge in my pants. As soon as he made contact, I felt a powerful surge of pleasure ripple through me. My body immediately responded to his touch, and I could feel my new cock throb and twitch. I groaned, unable to hold back the sounds.

"Dude, holy shit, bro, it's like, really sensitive or something," Max said, his eyes wide. "Like, really, really fucking sensitive, bro."

"No, it's...not..." I moaned, but I could tell it was a lie. It felt like Max's hand was squeezing my balls, and the pleasure was incredible.

"Fuck, bro, it's, like, really fucking sensitive, dude. Like, fucking, crazy fucking sensitive." Max was practically drooling, and his eyes were glazed over. He was clearly enjoying this a lot.

"Please, stop..."

"Fuck, bro, you're so fucking hard," Max groaned. He started to rub my bulge, and his other hand went to the front of his own jeans. "...and, you're so pretty too. I just don't want to lose you to all those meetings, bro. I want you to be with me."

"Wait, no, what are you doing?"

"I can't hold back anymore, dude, I gotta see your big dick," Max replied, unzipping my jeans and reaching in. He slowly pulled down, and my eyes widened as he revealed the huge, throbbing bulge in my underwear. It was so big, the fabric was stretched tight, and it was already soaked in pre-cum.

"Holy shit, dude, that thing is huge!" Max exclaimed, his voice cracking. He was staring at my huge bulge with a lustful expression, and his long tongue darted out to lick his lips. "It's, like, fucking, massive."

I looked down and was shocked by what I saw. It was easily twice as big as it had been just a few minutes ago. It was still growing, and it was stretching the fabric of my boxer-briefs to the limit. Max began to move closer, scrambling to take off his busted old t-shirt, meaty pecs and perfect washboard abs busting out as he did. He leaned forward, and his massive bicep brushed against my new rock-hard dick.

"Oh, shit, bro, fuck," Max moaned as he leaned in closer. At this point I could almost feel the waves of sweat and weed rolling off his huge body, and my cock was throbbing and leaking, straining against the tight fabric of my underwear.

"You're so hot, dude," Max said, reaching out to grab my huge bulge, wrapping his meaty hand around it. His hand was warm and rough, and his grip was strong, squeezing my bulge and causing a fresh burst of pleasure. "You're, like, fucking sexy as hell, man."

"What the hell, bro, no, that's not...that's not right!" I stammered, but Max's words sent a thrill through me. I could feel my cheeks burning, and I could feel the heat radiating from my skin. "That's not, I'm not a fag!"

"You sure about that, bro?" he asked, giving it a tug and sending a bolt of pleasure through my body. I felt the euphoria return. This time, it was a hundred times more intense.

"Fuuuuck," I groaned, leaning my head back. "Bro, it feels so fucking good."

"I know, right? And it's going to feel even better when you're a stoner like me, dude." Max replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Fuck, bro, I can't take it, I gotta get naked," Max moaned, frantically undoing his belt and shucking his pants. "I'm so fucking hard, bro, I can't wait to fuck you."

I looked down, and for the first time, got a good look at my new equipment. It was absolutely massive. It was huge and thick, easily the biggest cock I'd ever seen, and it was still growing. It was 10 inches long, and thicker than a beer can. My balls were huge, too, hanging heavy and swollen between my legs. I'd never felt anything like it.

The sensation continued to wash over me, slowly becoming heat as I began to sweat. It felt amazing. I couldn't control myself, I was already starting to moan and groan, and the euphoria was starting to mix with my arousal. My new cock was so sensitive, and the slightest touch made it throb and pulse.

"It's starting!" Max shouted, looking at my side of the room as my clean and organized things started to transform. My desk became cluttered with bongs and pipes, and posters of the periodic table were suddenly replaced by scantily clad men. My clothes started to change, too. My formerly neat shirts were suddenly full of holes and stained with various substances. My shoes were replaced with flip flops and Crocs.

"I can't take it, man, I'm too horny, I need to kiss you, right now," Max moaned, his voice shaking with desperation. "I've been waiting for this day, dude, and I can't hold back any longer."

Before I could protest, Max leaned in and kissed me, his big, thick tongue probing my mouth. The heat was overwhelming, and his kisses were passionate and hungry. His big, rough hands began to explore my body, rubbing and stroking and caressing every inch of me. He broke away from the kiss and buried his face in my neck, licking and nibbling and kissing. He was so close, I could feel the heat from his body, and I could smell the overpowering funk of stale sweat and reeking weed. It was so powerful I almost didn't notice my feet begin to ache and the pain in my lower back.

"What's...what's happening to me, bro?" I asked, my voice breaking. "I feel...I feel like...fuck, bro, it hurts!"

"You're changing, dude," Max replied, grinning. "It's the weed. You're finally becoming one with the bud."

"Fuck, bro, I can't hold back anymore," Max moaned. He reached down and began to stroke his giant cock, pre-cum pouring from the tip. It was easily 9 inches, and his massive balls were swollen and heavy with greasy, unwashed hair.

My feet continued to ache and burn as they stretched out, becoming bigger and broader. I could feel my bones shifting and rearranging, long tufts of sweaty hair sprouting out of my feet as they morphed into giant, hairy stumps. I couldn't believe it. The changes were getting more and more intense, and it was driving me wild. I felt like I was going to explode.

"I can't take it anymore," Max groaned, his voice a husky growl. " I have to make you mine."

Without hesitation, Max grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, pushing me face-first into my mattress. His hands were rough and strong, and he easily manhandled me.

"Holy fuck, dude, your ass, it's..." Max moaned, his voice filled with lust. "It's so fucking huge."

My ass was getting bigger and rounder, and it was stretching the seat of my boxer-briefs to the limits, and I felt a sharp, sudden pain as the fabric gave way and tore, leaving my huge, jiggly, fat, bubble butt exposed.

"I'm so horny, bro" Max moaned, his voice shaky and breathy, as my ass filled with greasy, oily stink, the air thick with the musk of unwashed flesh and reeking, unwashed funk.

"You're so hot, dude. It's so hot that you're getting stoned."

"What? Bro, that's not...wait!"

"Don't worry, dude, you'll get used to it. It's just the weed talking."

"No, wait, bro, you can't..." I moaned again as my legs began to push me taller, my thighs and calves widening and thickening. My feet swelled even more, filling to a size 13, and a sudden rush of heat swept over my body.

"Fuck, dude, you're so fucking hot, man," Max groaned, his voice thick with lust, rubbing my new, tick legs as dark, swirly hair began to sprout, quickly becoming matted with the sweat of hours upon hours of mindless smoking.

"Please, bro, stop," I moaned, as my body began to shake. "I can't take it, I'm gonna...I'm gonna cum."

"Dude, that's the whole point, bro," Max replied, his voice trembling. "Just relax, and let it happen. It's gonna feel so fucking good."

"It's too much," I moaned, my cock throbbing and pulsing. "It's too intense."

"I know, dude, it's just the weed, bro. It'll feel better after you get used to it. Trust me."

I could feel the hair begin to creep onto my stomach and chest, quickly spreading and covering me in a layer of greasy, foul-smelling, sweaty body hair.

"Dude, are you seriously not feeling this, too?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Bro, I can't take it, please, just stop, it's too much."

"Dude, chill, you're fine," Max replied, flipping me back over and rubbing his hand over my new abs and thickening pecs. "Just enjoy the ride."

"Wait, no, I'm not...fuuuuck!"

The sensation was so intense, it was driving me wild. I could barely even think. My pecs were growing larger and heavier, and my nipples were swelling and darkening, the areolae growing thicker and hairier.

"Fuuuuuck, dude, you're so fucking sexy," Max groaned, grabbing a fistful of hair and giving it a sharp tug, making me moan with pleasure.

My cock was throbbing and leaking pre-cum, and I could feel the heat coming from it. My balls were swollen and heavy, and they were aching for release.

"Fuck, dude, I can't take it," Max moaned, his voice filled with desperation, shoving his face into my pit as they began to grow and deepen, quickly filling with rank, musky body odor. As he licked, my arms grew longer and wider, my biceps and triceps growing thicker and bulkier. My forearms became thicker and more defined, and my hands and fingers were getting bigger and beefier.

"Bro, it's so fucking good." Max's voice was muffled by my armpit, and I could feel his tongue lapping up the stale sweat and musk.

My arms were now completely covered in thick, greasy, matted hair, and the same was happening to my back, the swirly pattern spreading like a wildfire. My shoulders were growing larger and rounder, and I could feel the muscles shifting and rearranging.

"Please, dude, don't...I can't..."

"I can't stop, bro, you're so hot," Max moaned, his face buried in my pit. I could smell our odors mixing together as our muscular bodies writhed against each other, slick with sweat and the stinking smell of weed.

I was so turned on.

"You're so hot, bro," Max moaned, his pre-cum leaking all over the place.

"No, bro, what?" I moaned, my voice trembling. "I'm not a faggot."

"That's just the weed, dude," Max replied, his voice low and husky. "You're gonna love it."

"Please, no," I moaned, but I knew he was right. I was so turned on, and the weed was driving me wild as my neck and jaw began to fill out and widen, my Adam's apple growing into a large, meaty knob.

I moaned as my voice deepened, the vibrations reverberating through me, causing me to shiver, my speech becoming permanently relaxed, just like my roommate's.

"Fuck," Max groaned, going in for a slobbery, wet kiss, our body heat generating enough stink to make me gag.

My body was now covered in matted, swirly body hair, and it was growing thicker and greasier, the same thing happening to my chest. I could feel my pecs bulging even more as my face was being smothered in kisses and licks, my nose cracking into a previously-broken shape and the skin becoming rough and scarred.

"Oh, fuck, dude, you're so fucking hot," Max moaned, burying his face in my thick neck, his voice muffled by the hair.

"No, please, bro," I moaned, my voice cracking. "I can't take it, it's too much."

"You can do it, bro, just hold on a little longer," Max replied, his voice shaky.

My tongue grew thicker and longer, and it started to loll out of my mouth, my face cracking into model-level handsomeness. I was so turned on, and I couldn't take it anymore. My balls were throbbing and pulsing, and my cock was throbbing and pulsing.

"I'm gonna cum," I moaned, my voice deep and slow.

"Do it, bro," Max moaned, his voice trembling. "Do it, cum all over me, bro."

I felt his fingers run across my short hair, sending a shiver down my spine. My body was wracked with pleasure as I felt ropes of rancid, stinking cum shoot from my cock, splattering his chest and stomach. I couldn't control myself, I was moaning and groaning, the intense orgasm rocking my body, my new, masculine frame shaking and quivering.

With each rope, my bright green eyes became dimmer and dimmer, coloring grayer and grayer as all of my worries and stress flowed out of me, and I fell into a state of bliss, my cock still twitching and throbbing as the last change began. My hair grew longer and thicker, until it was a long, shaggy, dirty mess, and a fresh wave of fresh musk rose off me.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I moaned, my voice deep and slow, my tongue lolling out of my mouth.

"Fuck, dude, you're so fucking sexy," Max moaned, his voice cracking. "I can't believe it, dude. You're, like, totally a stoner now, bro."

"Haha, yeah man...wait bro, haven't I always been?" I looked at myself in the dingy dorm mirror, and realized I looked like a dumb, stoned idiot. My voice was deeper, and my accent was different. My hair was messy and unwashed, and my skin was tanned. My pecs were massive and my abs were rock hard. My cock was huge and throbbing. My feet were hairy and stinky. I had a huge, round, bubble butt.

I laughed a deep, airy chuckle.

"That's right" Max said, staring into my dull eyes. He seemed like the hottest man I had ever laid eyes on until I realized.

"I love you, dude." Max giggled.

"Yeah man, I love you, too" I slurred, leaning in for a sloppy kiss, my tongue probing his mouth, the taste of weed and sweat overwhelming. He returned the favor, and soon, we were a mess of sloppy, stoner kisses, our thick, stubbly chins rubbing together, the sound of slurping and licking filling the room.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I groaned, the kiss ending, both of us breathing heavy and panting, a mixture of spit dripping from our chins. "That was, like, totally amazing, dude."

"Fuck, yeah, bro, it was fucking awesome," Max groaned, his voice trembling. "I've been waiting for this for, like, ever, bro. It's fucking crazy."

"Yeah, dude, totally," I replied, staring at his gorgeous, masculine features. His big, thick arms, his perfect washboard abs, his massive pecs, and his perfect, handsome face. He was fucking hot, and he was all mine.

[tj-transformation]

Freak For All: Barrett

Barrett walked around the circus trying to find someone to ask for help but he was shocked at how vacant the place was. Every tent and stall he passed was ready for service. But there was no one there. He heard the sound of buzzing and he rounded a corner and saw a signed that said “Big Top Barbers” in colourful lettering. He could see the shadow of someone inside of the shop. A breeze swept through the carnival, chilling Barrett to the bone. Even thought had his letterman jacket on it was as if he was wearing nothing. The barren carnival was starting to concern Barrett and wanting to get out of the chilly night he stepped inside the shop.

Once inside, he saw a line of three chairs along side the left hand side of the room where they faced mirrors. In the back he could see a man with a meticulously shaped moustache sharpening a razor on a leather strap. Barrett walked towards the man, letting the door shut behind him, dinging a bell for the mans attention. He wore white clothes but a red stripped apron. “Come take a seat boy. I can trim you in no time at all!”

Barrett wasn’t interested. “I don’t need a trim. Or a shave. I just need help with a bus”. The man looked at him and frowned. He went back to sharpening the Razor. “My dear boy, everyone could use a touch up. I’m actually offended as I’m a world class barber!” He motioned towards a wall that was lined with trophies and awards. He looked back at Barrett and turned a chair to him. “Tell you what, sit down for a trim and I’ll make sure you get help for that…” The man trailed off and Barrett finished the sentence by saying, “Bus?” He walked toward the man, weary of what was going on. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. His ankles started itching as if being bitten by something in the shop. He itched his ankle with his other foot and decided to take a seat.

As Barrett sat down in the chair he felt like a little kid again. “Everybody can use a trim,” the man said as he chuckled, flashing his yellow teeth at Barrett. The man started to work, trimming his hair. Really making him look sharp and well groomed. Barrett was mesmerized as he saw the man go to work. When he was done he looked fantastic! “Wow this is great man!” Barrett said smiling. “Why thank you I told you I’m a world class star…. now if only would let me get those pesky hairs there!“ The man said pointing to the nape of Barrett’s collar where the shirt was covering his back.

“What are you talking about? There is shouldn’t be anything there!” The man just chucked and said, “well if that’s the case you won’t mind of I…” before finishing his sentence, he reached forward and snatched the hair that was showing. Barrett yelped with pain and immediately turned around, looking at the man who was holding three long black hairs in his hand. “You’re quite furry aren’t you?”

Barrett was embarrassed. He thought he’d shaved those? Barrett was quite a hairy man but you couldn’t tell he made sure to shave every day. He didn’t want to be what his genetics were determine to make him. He even had an appointment the following week to get laser treatment. The man just laughed at him, “You’ve even got some there…” He said pointing to the small tuft of exposed chest hair at his collar. Barrett jumped up and looked in the mirror. “No no no! I need a razor!” To which the man happily provided to him.

Barrett took the razor and the man took a few steps back and sat in the neighbouring chair. Barrett took his jacket and shirt off. There wasn’t much there. But you could see the small tuft of hairs on his otherwise clean shaven chest. If he didn’t shave every day, this man would have a bit of hair on him. Barrett used some of the shaving cream on the counter and with a brush, began to brush it across his tight muscular torso. When he was done he began to shave. It wasn’t long before Barrett was done and looking to the man and asking for help. “I need help with my back.” The man laughed at him and Barrett begged, “Please don’t! It’s bad enough I’m doing this in front of you but I need help! Please!”

Before the man put the cream onto his hands to rub on Barrett’s back, he put on black latex gloves. “Come on man, whyre you putting in gloves?” Barrett asked growing impatient. “Oh I don’t want it on my skin my dear boy. It can make you a bit… itchy!” He said as he started lathering the shaving cream on Barrett’s back. As the man started shaving off the few small bristly hairs, Barrett felt and itching starts to creep up his back. Oh god it felt so bad. He went to scratch and had his hand swatted away. The man was taking his time, shaving very slowly making the itching worse for Barrett, it got to the point his eyes started watering. Then his chest started itching again. He looked down and where it was only just clean shaven, small bits of stubble were growing out. It looked like he’d left it for a day. The itch got to the point where it was unbearable and he broke away from the man. He scratched and scratched but he couldn’t reach no matter what position he tried. That’s when he saw that where the man had just shaven, hair was starting to grow again, just like it had on his chest.

“Give me that razor, there’s something not right! It has to be dull!” Barrett swiped the razor form the mans hands and placed it to his finer. It was very sharp. It drew blood. He didn’t have long to register this when the itching got the best of him. He was scratching the best he could. His legs were itching like crazy now and he was soon taking off his pants. “I need more cream! That dull razor is making me itch!”

He looked down and his legs were looking slightly hairier than usual. He normally didn’t bother shaving them but the hair was definitely looking denser. Barrett started lathering himself in the shaving cream and every surface it touched made the itching increase. As soon as he shaved an area he was horrified to see the hair starting to grow back almost instantly. He was so horrified at the hair on his body that he didn’t even notice the hair growing on the backs of his hands! When there was no more cream, Barrett thought he had defeated the hair. He couldn’t see any across his tanned skin but he was covered in razor bumps now. In the mirror he looked on in shock as hair started to cover his whole body. He now sported a thick beard which connected with the now shaggier hair on his head. His beard crept up close to his eyes and his brow looked overgrown and started meeting in the middle. Then he looked down at his feet, there was hair. He didn’t even think to shave there!! He had never had hair there before!! That’s when he saw a black dot jumping. And it was more than just one. And then he saw right before his eyes, hair growing across his legs. Across his torso. Across everything! It mangled in the rest of the growing hair that was covered in the black jumping dots. They were fleas!

The man stood up and walked towards Barrett. Barrett was dumb struck. What was going on? As the man came to his side all Barrett could hear was, “Well my little fluff ball. You really are quite fuzzy aren’t you!” As he felt a hand petting his back like he was an animal. Barrett turned to the man only to see a spiral and he was consumed instantly in the circular pattern. His mouth fell open and all thought was lost as drool started to fall onto his hairy chest. The only thing that entered his mind was the voice of the man who was telling him. “Now Barrett my boy, we both know a man has hair on his chest but this is another lever! Can you even see your nipples under that fur?” Barrett’s hair continued to grow, getting thicker by the second as it covered his nipples. His nipples were now covered completely. “Speaking of fur, can you even see any skin under that rug of hair on your body? Have you ever been able to catch a tan?” Hair began to grow so thick. Covering every inch of skin as Barrett seemed to be devolving right before his eyes. Covering him in a black pelt of hair. “No matter how much you shave it’ll always grow back. You got fed up of breaking and buying new razors. So you haven’t shaved in years have you?” The memory of learning to shave in the mirror with his dad was quickly erased from Barrett’s memory. As well as shaving every day before he left the house. He didn’t even know how to hold a razor, never mind use one! “And those fleas, you know what carries fleas my boy? Animals!” As that mention of animal Barrett lower jaw shifted forward. His brow bone thickened and Lowerrd and some fangs formed on his lower lip. His feet grew in size until they were size 13s and covered in hair as his hands got longer. His spine curved slightly so he could always be hunched. Hair was always going to be the first thing you saw on Barrett. And now with his further adjustments he would be seen as an animal. Barrett went to speak but all that came out was an ook! Ook! He tried to speak but his vocal cords seemed to be stuck in a primitive state. He was so angry! “Now an animal doesn’t have a name like Barrett. That would be silly. You look more like a monkey than a man. No, your name will be Beans! Perfect for a dumb hairy monkey like you!” Barrett, no, Beans could no longer remember his name. He tried to think hard crunching up his face into a dumb look. But no matter how hard he tried, Beans was the only name he recognised.

“Here catch this banana, if you look like a monkey you might as well eat like one, that hair above your ass is so thick it might as well be a tail! Ahahah…” Instantly the hair grew long and thick at the bar of his spine forming a hair tail. Hair behind his ears grew out further and pressed them forward, making them stick out. The bannana that was thrown at him he caught with his foot that had morphed even further in monkey paws. “Now then Beans, we have to get ready for your show. Poor dumb monkey, do you even understand what I’m saying?” Beans just looked at him like the dumb animal he now was. He squatted and clinched onto the leg of the man, not wanting to let go of the one familiar face he now knew.

The man slowed his speech and said loudly and slowly, “OKAY BEANS, LET THE NICE MEN HELP YOU PUT ON YOUR NEW OUTFIT, AND LETS TAKE AWAY THAT SILLY JACKET. ANIMALS DON’T PLAY SPORTS DUMB DUMB!” The man motions for the carnies to come in and take Beans away as he’s nothing but a helpless hairy animal now. Ooking the whole time. Beans was presented with a fez hat that was place onto his head. Beans began to play with the golden tassel mindlessly. The man gave Beans one last look as the carnies striped the remaining clothes off Beans. He smiled as his yellow teeth grinned under his moustache, watching Beans scratching his armpits like a dumb monkey, picking out fleas and putting them in his mouth. The carnies took his hairy hand and started leading him out the back of the shop, Beans started dancing to the carnival music like a dumb animal. After all, every carnival needs a dancing monkey.

This series is a collaboration with the incredibly talented @jock-man-spence-redux

[sdonovan91-deactivated20240907]

“Uhh,” Cade groaned, his formerly timorous voice a riot of bass, “this isn’t what I meant when I said the situation was hairy!” His previously fey and fair body, a magnum opus of twinkish delight, perfectly manicured and scented, was gone. The wall of muscle before him was matted with thick, musky hair. Every movement ignited a cloud of odor, every step a squelching cacophony of fur. He was a beast.

“The smell … Uhh. I smell.” He said simply, atavistically. “It’s intox…. Intox… Heady or something,” Cade offered to no one in particular.

One thing was certain: Nobody would ever mistake the simple-minded, muscular fur monster as a twink again.

[musclelover4826]

Not sure if you've done something like it before already, but how about some devolution including details on IQ dropping, the more it drops, the more muscles, hair and other changes grow... like making someone go from tidy nerd to dirty caveman.

Great job on all the stories up until now, and good luck with work!

Thomas Buckley was a prodigy. He was reading at a 8th grade level by 1st grade. He spoke 4 different languages. He could play 3 instruments. His parents, at the schools advice, bumped him up to the gifted program and soon when that was no longer a challenge sent him to an advanced program at a private school. It was important to them that he not just be sent to high school at 9. They wanted him to be in a challenging program without sacrificing socialization. The program at the private school had students his age from around the country. At his intellectual level as well. The result was a remarkably well rounded young man who earned his bachelor’s by 18. Thomas was still socially awkward around most his age due to his vast intelligence but he was far less awkward than a typical prodigy. He earned his degree in programming and soon found himself at a programer position in a video game company. They were working on advanced virtual reality and augmented reality software and hardware. After a few months at the company Thomas was asked by his boss if he wanted to be a beta tester for their program. He wasn’t all that interested in actually playing the content but he didn’t want to upset the boss so he said yes. The game was a survival open world. In some says similar to the minecraft formula of survival and crafting. Set in a prehistoric setting. This beta was single player but the final version would have multiplayer servers as well. The game played fine, dinosuar and ice age type beasts attack. Their AI compatant, the motion controls were good too. Overall any issues were with his skill at games more than the design of the game.

He was jolted out of the immersion by a sudden shock through his body and the headset going blank. He pulled the gear off, no marks, no lasting sting, nothing was wrong with him but that was undoubtedly a shock. Something wrong with the hardware. He made a mental note to report that before going back to work. However at his desk he found himself having to do quick Google searches or flipping through some coding books on his desk as he seemed to have forgotten the meaning of some things on his screen. It was only a few things and quick referesher and he understood so it wasn’t of any concern to Thomas. He did also notice a slightly annoying itch on his arms and chest that seemed to come up after each forgetful moment butvhe chalked it up to stress. The day soon ended and he went home had dinner and got ready for bed. When he fell asleep he had strange dreams. It was of a much simplier life. It was similar to the vr game, running through the forest. Finding food, surviving, climbing trees. The dream was way more vivid than a normal dream however. He could feel the dirt and grass between his bare feet. Feel the wind rushing around his topless form. He was stronger, more muscular and hairy. Though a bit shorter. And he knew all the skills needed for survival, running, climbing, hiding, hunting. What he couldn’t remember in his dream was the useless info. Computer code, how to drive a car, mannars, social norms. And he didn’t feel stupid or upset. There was something nice about the simplicity of it all.

He woke up drenched in sweat, the t shirt and boxers he wore to bed feeling like too many clothes. He could barely remember the dream but felt envious of the freeing feeling he remembered from it. He undressed and got in the shower noticing that his arms and legs felt a bit sore as he got up from bed. They looked a bit swollen as well. As though he had worked out the day before. And while soaping himself up he noticed some small dark hairs had worked their way down his arms, legs, and chest. Thomas was naturally a fairly hairless guy. As he got out of the shower he also saw the hair on his head was longer and a bit messy and he had some stubble of facial hair as well.

He did his best to tidy his hair and shave his stubble, deciding for now his work clothes would hide his newfound body hair. He got dressed and struggled a bit with his tie, having difficulty remembering how to tie it. His mind felt slower and groggy today as he looked down at his shoes and got that same feeling. Not only did they look small and uncomfortable but he found himself unable to remember to tie them. The info felt…useless. He stared for a while digging for the info even as the itching and pain in his chest and arms returned and threatened to distract him further. He finally worked both out and even though the tie felt like some vine or snake that threatened to suffocate him and even though his shoes felt far too tight and uncomfortable he put up with both because thats what work expected of him.

As he got on his car there was another moment of confusion. Put the seat belt on. Yet another vine threatening to choke him. Turn on the ignition. The car roars to life like a saber tooth stalking him from behind dense foliage. The sound the only indiction its there so how odd he finds himself willingly inside such a beast and not running from it or turning to control it. Fight or flight. But no he’s inside it. So maybe add, fight or flight, or ride. Its the part that comes next in driving that he was trouble remembering. There are two pedals, which does which again? One goes and one stops but…which? The wheel is used for directions but its proper use aludes him. He feels the itching intensify around his legs and crotch. His muscles swell again making his dress clothes uncomfortable. His shoes feel at least 2 sizes too small. When he realized he couldn’t remember what some of the driving laws and standards were he decided it was in everyones best interest, and frankly their safety, that he not drive to work today. He calls his boss and lies saying that he’s having some car problems and will have to walk to work so he well be late.

“Are you alright Buckley? You sound like you have a cold” his boss said as Thomas coughed noticing his deeper voice.

“Yeah chief…boss. I’m fine” he lied. As his boss seemed to be satisfied with that. He started walking towards work, then running as he felt like he had a lot of energy to burn all of a sudden. He didn’t even care as his swelling feet burst through the dress shoes and socks. He just grunted and pulled them off annoyed.  He didn’t care that he was barefoot since the pavement only really bothered him for a few seconds until the soles started to thicken and harden. He dudjt care that as he ran the sweat was staining his dress clothes, getting caught up in all his body hair to produce a potent musk. The smell and the rush were enough to confuse him as he stopped, unable to remember even where he was going. The empty space in his mind that he kept making excuses for was growing as he forgot a huge chunk about his life and what he should be doing. His muscles grew, the dress shirt stretched across his expanding just and that damn itching returned. He scratched his chest, his arms, under his atmpits oblivious or maybe just uncaring about the stares and odd looks he got. He ripped at the shirt as he got it off, struggling with the tie as he had to wade through his slow mind to figure out how to undo it. The button of his dress pants shot off as his ass expanded. Hipes shifting a bit too as Tom grunted, happy his legs vould breathe as he pulled the annoying things off, now in just his underwear, so strained it did nothing to hide his manhood that had expanded. The underwear so tight it honestly made him look more lewd than had he just been naked. He gets down on his knuckles as that feels better soon running off in the opposite direction towards Central Park. Something about the nature calling him and to his much more simplified mind. This life felt so much better.