Hey, I am a scrawny white guy stuck in the middle of Midwest America. It is really cold right now. What I wouldn't trade to be somewhere warm and sunny. Maybe be another ethnicity
Shivering as you slid deeper underneath the covers, you let out a soft sigh as you felt the cold air nip at your toes. While you were used to cold, frosty winters, this season seemed particularly brutal. Even with the heaters turned on, you could only toss and turn underneath the covers in some desperate attempt to warm yourself enough so you could fall asleep. But sleep didn’t seem like it was coming for you any time soon, and you weren’t exactly eager to pass the time counting sheep.
Reaching over towards your nightstand, you picked up the VR headset your friend lent you for the weekend. He was originally planning to return it to the manufacturer, citing a weird electrical problem and glitchiness that was messing up his gaming experience. But since you didn’t have your own VR set, he offered to let you play with his for the weekend. Your friend had been raving about this new RPG where you could customize your own avatar and build up a fictional person for yourself. The game boasted of being a fully immersive experience, to the point that users could control themselves without even moving in real life. It was the perfect thing for you to play while you huddled under your blankets to stay warm. According to your friend, there was a weird glitch making the game “unplayable,” but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the device itself.
As you slipped on the virtual headset, you selected the game to load up. The icon art seemed really simple and silly, showcasing a crudely drawn picture of a sunny day, a palm beach, and some ocean waves. The game was listed as Spring Break! A Vacation Getaway, with a tagline that promised to “whisk you away to paradise!” Snorting a bit to yourself at the basic premise, you tapped through to set up an avatar. Unfortunately, it seemed as though there was no option to customize your own avatar, as each character was uniquely linked to a device. The option for a new game or a new character was greyed out, and there was no other option but the avatar your friend had already built for themselves.
You sighed as you selected the premade option, letting the game load in. The pitch-black loading screen was quickly replaced by a blindingly bright light, to the point where you had to squint your own eyes to shut out the glaringly white visuals. As your eyes adjusted to the sudden change, you found yourself staring at a completely different image from your normal, scrawny self. The avatar in the bathroom was far bulkier and broader than you, and its tanned skin indicated hours spent basking in the warm sun. You gaped at the model your friend made, bringing a hand up to rub and squeeze at one of the pecs jutting out underneath your shirt. Just the mere act of brushing up against the fabric felt so real, to the point where you could almost feel a mountain of muscle underneath your massive paws, even if this was all fake.
It was certainly stimulating enough for your own cock to twitch a little in excitement, and you began to flex and pose with your friend’s avatar in the mirror. If you couldn’t make up something for yourself, this was certainly the next best option. You couldn’t help but marvel at how immersive the experience really was, and you didn’t even have to leave the warm comforts of your bed to enjoy this beefy body. Of course, there was a rather devious thought that slipped into your head as you marveled at the man’s muscles. With games like this, they often censor the most private and explicit parts. But since it was only you in the privacy of your own room, there were plenty of questions that you simply had to answer for yourself.
Peeling back the tight clothing off your beefy body, you grunted as you took in the view of your new frame. Even without fully undressing, you could feel the absolute weight and heft that was with your new body. You cheekily brought up one hand to grope and squeeze at your pecs, and the extra sensitivity from your new body made you inadvertently moan. You had to take in all the aspects of your new body, and you unzipped the slacks to see what else you were working with.
You savored the sight of the rather hefty and sizeable bulge that was causing your underwear to hang low from your body. Even without a full arousal, you could practically see the outline of your extra thick cock pressed up against the cloth. The girthier size made you naturally reach down in excitement, and your fingers also cupped the heavy balls tucked into the undergarments. Fondling your new family jewels only informed you of all that extra potent and virile seed that was practically begging for a release. Your friend must have made this avatar’s libido high, if that was even a customizable option, given how much this body seemed to ache for release.
Fishing out your virtual cock, you eagerly began to touch and stroke yourself. Even the mere sensation of your fingers touching it felt so real, and you shuddered in anticipation of what the climactic finish would look like. Soft grunts slipped out of your lips as waves of pleasure reverberated out from the headset towards your own body. You found yourself mimicking the avatar’s actions, palming your own arousal to the same rhythm. You had no idea how this game was causing you to feel such stimulations, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to care. It was simply too addicting, watching the beefy, naked man in the mirror rub one out. Droplets of precum began to drip from the swinging pole between those meaty thighs, and you made the avatar use it as lube to stimulate its own erection.
Suddenly, your immersion was quickly interrupted by a pixelated message window popping up in front of your view. While you were still able to see through the translucent virtual message, you growled in mild annoyance at the message blocking your moment of personal desires. It didn’t stop you from continuing to tug and stroke away at your virtual self, though, but the message was quite unclear in what it was suggesting.
Upload incomplete. Halted progress at 62%. Stimulation resuming the upload…
This must have been the glitch that your friend mentioned, which was clearly obstructing the best parts of the virtual experience. Whatever was going on with the loading bar was certainly progressing with each passing moment as you drew closer to a climax. At this point, you didn’t even care what was going on. You were far too invested in savoring every last bit of this beefy, muscular hunk of an avatar. The whole body was practically thrumming with sensitivity, and your hips bucked upwards into your hands as you found yourself nearing an orgasmic bliss. Both you and the avatar seemed to sync up in movements now, although you weren’t exactly focused on the game’s unique and clever technical design. Instead, your pants began to grow louder as you watched the beast of a man begin to unravel in the mirror. Staring down at your juicy body in the game, you watched as the heaving pecs bounced and jiggled with each stroke. The thick, veiny biceps bulged as you flexed while stroking that swinging baton of a cock.
And suddenly, you found your hips bucking upwards as thick ropes of cum spurted out from your cock. The avatar’s load seemed to be far more in volume than yours, but no less explosive. You shuddered as both bodies jolted and twitched with each spurt out of you. It was satisfying in a way that was simply too hard to explain, and your eyes could only roll back from the immense pleasure. But at the peak of the climax, a sparking electric shock zapped your temple, and a flash of pain caused your vision to go completely white. You had a fleeting thought, almost wondering if you had gone and truly broken your friend’s game. But suddenly, some text began to focus into view as the white light faded away.
Upload completed. Progress at 100%. Loading into a new reality.
As you slowly came down from that orgasmic high, you couldn’t help but groan a bit in mild embarrassment at your rather lewd and sexual exploration of this avatar. The clarity was starting to hit your head, and you couldn’t help but chuckle lowly at your actions. However, the deep, rumbling bass in your voice caused you to furrow your brows in confusion. You didn’t always have such a dominant-sounding voice, did you? Bringing up one of your thick hands to rub at your Adam’s apple, your eyes began to widen in surprise as you found the avatar’s body mimicking every action that you were doing. Of course, you had been guiding and controlling it before, but something felt far too real now.
Shuddering at the almost uncanny feeling you were getting, you raised your meaty hands up to pull off the virtual headset device. However, your fingers only brushed at the sides of your face, and you stared back at your body in the mirror. There wasn’t anything there to take off. In fact, with the headset on, the bathroom you were in felt very real. You could feel the warm, tropical air rubbing against your skin, the cool breeze of the air conditioner blowing on your broad back, and the cold sensation of the tile under your bare feet. Stumbling away from the mirror, you quickly moved out of the room, flinging the door open to reveal a rather lavish and extravagant master bedroom.
A quick stumble about the place quickly revealed that you were standing in what appeared to be the top of a penthouse. Your confusion was only coupled by how real everything felt to the touch: the doors, the windows, the view. If this game was still boasting of an immersive experience, they had really gone all out. But there was a sinking feeling behind your heaving pecs as you jogged about the place, as you began to realize that there wasn’t a clear indication on how to quit out of the game if you couldn’t pull off the headset. And in the slight moment of realization as you ambled back into the bathroom, a new virtual message popped into view.
Biophysical assets loaded in. Uploading cognitive assets…
Before you even had the chance to read through the text on the loading bar, there was a sharp and searing pain in your head. Your temple throbbed with a heavy, beating pulse, as if you could hear your own pounding heartbeat. Even in such a strong and muscular body, you couldn’t help but stumble forward, clasping onto the countertop with a loud grunt. Your eyes squeezed shut from the needling sensation, as though something was burrowing into your skull. Through your teary eyes, you could just make out a new loading bar beginning to fill with progress.
And with a rather audible pop and crackle inside your head, a flood of new memories began to rush in. It was like a torrent of information, with a force so strong that it began to wash away whatever information you had about yourself. Memories of yourself growing up in the American Midwest were replaced by memories of your hometown in Vietnam. In fact, as far as you could remember, you had never been to America as a kid. It wasn’t until you started pursuing your career in mixed martial arts that you began competing over there. It had always been a goal of yours to make a name for yourself, and with all this growing fame and popularity going to your head, it made sense that you had such a large and lavish penthouse all to yourself to call home.
You grunted as your confused and pained expression began to shift into something more cocky and hot-headed. Your hairy eyebrows knit together as you gave a rather loud and audible growl, bringing your arms up to flex your muscles. There was some part of you that had this weird idea that you were some skimpy, scrawny white nerd. But there was no way people would mistake “The Beast” for skimpy and scrawny. You shook your grizzled head, bringing a hand up to rub at your scruff. You were probably thinking of some fan of yours who had flown out from America to watch one of your fights. With all those eager twinks lining themselves up for you in the locker room after you bested your opponents, it was hard to keep track of their faces. None of them ever seemed to complain anyway; you always made sure they left with quivering legs and holes filled to the brim with your potent seed.
Smirking at yourself in the mirror once more as you caught a whiff of your musk, you could feel your head begin to clear up that mental fog. You flexed your back and rolled out your shoulders, only reaching back to squeeze and rub at some of your sore muscles. Perhaps you just went a little too hard with your morning workout. It was easy for a jock like you to get lost in the sauce when you lifted weights. Everything came so easily for you there. Outside of that, you let your managers handle the rest of the logistics in your life. There wasn’t any other room in your head to think of complicated shit; you were built to fuck and fight.
The soft ping of the loading bar completing its upload made you blink in confusion. You didn’t get why there was some weird floating text before your eyes. Blinking your eyes seemed to do the trick, though, and the virtual bar disappeared in a shimmer of pixels. All you could remember was the final line of text.
Enjoy your spring break paradise!
You shrugged your broad shoulders as you picked up your phone, seeing a few texts from your coaches asking if they were gonna see you later. Tapping your fat thumbs along the screen, you managed to work out a semi-coherent reply. There was no way they’d think you’d miss a gym session. It seemed like both you and the bros didn’t get enough sleep last night with all the weird shit that was going on. You figured you could swing by the massage parlor before you had your second lifting session of the day. It was practically a ritual for you at this point, since you had practically done this your whole life.
Think I got the turn on tape, or rather, when I got in, hitting him with the syringe and dragging him out of frame. I didn't even notice gis phone running until I came back changed... to change again...
Let’s see, last second fit check. Hello sexy, who let you out on Halloween? Boys better look out tonight, because I could use some arm candy to get me through cuffing season.
*ding*
Meeting at the Edge. You ready yet?
Speaking of arm candy…
Yeah, omw rn
Seriously, no costume?
What? I’m a bear. Bottoms love that shit. See, I’ve got a little tail and everything
Whatever, just get over here. And no candy on your way. I’m not dealing with you when you’re sugared up
I just rolled my eyes as I locked my door. It was one time in college and he never let me live it down. When was he going to let it go.
The bar was packed as expected, the music was hot, and the guests were hotter. Guys were basically drooling over my biceps all night. I was up at the bar grabbing a vodka cran for this blonde himbo wearing nothing but mesh when I noticed the obligatory bowl of candy. I had been good on my diet this month, but candy was a weakness. Surely one wouldn’t hurt. I popped a Skittle in my mouth and savored the chew…
The next thing I know, a stream of light is blasting my face from my apartment window. Ah fuck, instant headache. I feel bloated and sore as I slowly wobble out of bed. Shit, I don’t even remember drinking more than a vodka soda last night. A churn in my stomach turns my gaze to the floor. A shiny plastic and shredded paper dot the floor. God, there goes macros for the week. I stumble to the bathroom, flick on the light, and- what the fuck. Dude, I’m freaking massive. I’m not just bloated. I’m fifty pounds heavier. Screw cuffing season, it looks like I’ve been through bulking season twice. And the hair. I’ll never get smooth. What happened? A pack of candy couldn’t do this! I’m a fucking monster. Oh, but wait a sec. My arms look massive. Let me just…
Dude, why’s that kinda hot though. Like in a cute kind of way. The beard is working too. And my pecs are popping. It’s getting me kinda horny thinking about it. Oh shit, this isn’t just horny. Dude, I’m on fire. This new hammer is swinging. God, I’m so hot, even under all this lard. Fuck, who knew a bulk would look so good on me. The way it all moves and flexes and jiggles together is just magic.
I looked at the bathroom counter and saw a lone Twix bar resting beside my razor. Something about the two felt like a choice. Start fighting whatever this was or embracing it. My mouth watered at the thought. I greedily snatched the sweet from the counter and devoured it whole. My stomach lurched forward just a little, my beard grew thicker, and my muscles flexed underneath. If one piece of Halloween candy could do this, there were a whole lot more on sale today. I walked out into my bedroom to get changed.
I glanced at my phone, where a message from last night was showing:
Dude, I told you no sugar. You never fucking listen to me. When you crash, you better not come crying to me to help you put your life back together
My thick fingers tapped at the tiny screen, snapping a photo for my friend:
No way to crash if you never stop
No more time for chit chat. Papa Bear wants sugar. Papa Bear wants sugar now.
Having snagged a lucrative sponsored stream with an AI megacorp, bigtime influencer Caden travels to Aieyuh Valley to convince the locals the pros of a corporation bulldozing their town. After meeting his host Kirk, it'll be a wonder if he makes it to Friday unchanged.
Longer piece interweaving Circe's isle with a cowboy TF! Hope you enjoy AI-bro Caden's journey towards living off the land in in Kirk's employ! -Occam
Caden would be the first to admit it was dumb luck that he’s blown up as much as he has. One haphazard video posted five years ago and now he’s one of the largest streamers on Itch. But, as many of his cohort have fallen from the spotlight due to scandals and simply losing the interest of their fans, Caden has happily continued to grow.
Now a one man brand, Caden happily leaves the callous decision making of who or what to avoid, and more importantly what trends to pounce on, to a team of agents and managers. This leaves him free to not sweat the small stuff like waning ‘friends’ he leaves in the dust or worrying about anything but the next big growth spurt for his channel.
When this deal falls in front of him and his brand managers however, there is no hesitation before they enthusiastically accept. After all, having vacuous nothingness in lieu of a personality, Caden is an absolute fan of the great work that ChudGPT does.
Hearing the rest of their pitch, the streamer is less thrilled but with money signs in his eyes and a hardon for shilling whenever he can, Caden calls up a private jet to take him to the middle of nowhere USA. The company’s idea for his stream is that he takes to the streets in the small Texas town they’re to bulldoze over to build their newest data center. Just him going around, shaking hands, and smiling vacantly as he promises opportunity and excess to the locals while plugging ChudGPT to his audience as often as he can.
On the flight over to Lubbock, already a town too small for his taste, he learns he’ll still be an hours drive to the hamlet that he’s to convince be paved over. Aieyuh Valley, stupid name he thinks. Cursory research does little to explain the strange, seemingly nonsensical name, nor does the stub of a wikipedia article on the small town offer any useful details.
What it does tell him is the population. Just over four thousand souls live in the small farming community. He almost laughs at the pitifully small number. It’s unsurprising that he held no sympathies at all for the population about to be overrun by a corporation with too much money to burn, but when he really reflects on the size of Aieyuh he wonders why he needs to come at all.
Four thousand people. If his audience ever shrunk to be that small he’d be nothing. It’s embarrassing. Irritated at how much time he’s going to be wasting breathing the same air as these pastoral yokels, Caden starts a brief stream just to check in with his fans.
“Heyy crew, you know who it is! Flying on my jet to a tiny little slice of Texas for a special project I can’t WAIT to let you guys in on!” Taking a moment to pan his camera around the jet to show off the cabin he’s fashioned to look exactly as ostentatious and exciting as he wants to project.
Letting the camera hang on an entourage he’s brought along to just fill out the idea of his life, he lets hangers-on he’s not spoken to once since stepping on the plane greet his fans while he blankly smiles off-screen. The sponsors were more than clear in their instructions that this is to be a solo job, just Caden down in the pigshit. Grimacing, he reminds himself he’s done worse for far less.
Buzzing into a hidden earpiece, one of his managers cherrypicks one of the thousands of comments racing by to respond to, likely one of them hiding in the chat. ‘No wayyyy can you give us a sneak-peak :cpog:’
Forcing a sly smirk on his face, Caden plays coy as he unceremoniously turns the camera back upon himself. “You guys want a sneak peak huh? Well you know how contracts are, always tryna keep things hush hush til they think it’s go time. But let me just say, our friends at ChudGPT have a very exciting streaming coming up later next week after I make sure all the pieces have fallen into place.”
Watching as his audience goes apeshit at Caden mentioning the chatbot, his eyes flick over to the metrics and seeing them continue to climb he tabs over to an ad-copy he has ever ready for the AI brand, “Until then, why don’t you check out what ChudGPT 4.0 has to offer! I do it all the time, it can solve all my problems, answer all my questions, it’s there for me, and I’m sure it’s there for you.”
Shark-eyed smile on his face, he waits a beat before setting the camera in a tripod on his lackeys and dips out while they vamp until the plane lands. Not immune to ads himself, he quickly types Aieyuh Valley into the bot and sees a message he’s never gotten before. ‘No information found on Aieyuh Valley. Did you mean Aeaea?’
He knows that’s not true, he was literally just on their wikipedia page? Rolling his eyes, he closes it promptly and stows his phone. Spine bristling at something he only half-heartedly believes is all-knowing comes up blank, he crosses his arms. Whatever, he’s just here to profiteer off these bumpkins just like he does his audience.
And then the plane lands. Shooting his quick customary adieu to his fans, he hops in a Tesla awaiting him, already filled with his luggage. Stepping into the car alone, Caden realizes just how long it’s been since he’s properly been alone. Well, he still has a driver but he’s not about to start recognizing his serf’s personhood now.
Flat farms paint the horizon in every direction as they make the long drive to Aieyuh Valley. Watching as his service slowly gets worse he frowns and starts texting his managers wondering how he’s possibly going to stream in a town lacking the infrastructure he’s accustomed to.‘Sponsors say don’t worry about that yet, for now you just focus your pretty little head on making nice with the peasants’
“Peasants indeed,” Caden murmurs, sneering at a farmhouse half the size of his downtown penthouse. Slightly more irritated by each encroaching new complication to this shoot, Caden throws on headphones to zen out and thankfully sleeps through the rest of the drive. He eventually awakes to the sound of staticky flute in his headphones and his driver nervously stammering, “We’re uh uhm, here Caden, Sir… I uhm, might need to go find a charging station back towards civilization."
Parked next to a small grove of trees, quite out of place in the barren landscape, Caden exits into the bright Texan sun, wordlessly waiting for the driver to unload his luggage. From a patio nearby, someone who has been waiting for his arrival smirks and waits for their target to be left alone.
Still nervously apologizing as he unloads Caden’s possessions, the driver tells Caden he’s just a text, and an hour-thirty’s drive, away before speeding back past the sign that says “Welcome to Aieyuh Valley!” Looking at it from behind, Caden frowns as it says something in a language he doesn’t really recognize “επιστρέψτε σύντομα!”
Before he can go for his cellphone to translate it, he’s beset upon by the person now traipsing out of the grove. Turning as he hears them, Caden squints as he can’t make out the finer details of their form. He would’ve sworn it was some chick wearing a flowy dress, but after a blink it’s obviously a man. Quite the man at that. He’s not gay, but with each step the brawny Texan takes closer, the more Caden can begrudgingly see the appeal of the male form.
Ageless in appearance and indisputably masculine, his gleaming smile widens as he offers Caden a handshake. “You must be Caden then, pleasure t’meet ya!” Usually unhappy to impromptu shake anyone’s hand, the rugged mystique of the man before him goes a long way in lowering his guard. “Yeah yeah, of course you recognize me, and you are?”
His expression doesn’t change as his grip tightens on Caden’s hand, though there’s a glimmer behind his eyes that Caden reflexively ignores, “Call me Kirk. Aeaea don’t quite got a hotel so your company set up lodgings in my grove while you’re here.” Turning to his guest’s luggage, Kirk easily grabs the heavier bags and turns back to the cottage, expecting Caden to follow.
Not wanting to be left in the lurch, the streamer cautiously obeys. Shrewd despite all appearances, the young man is on edge for reasons he’s sure are deeper than just being off the grid. There’s something about the quality of the air that he can’t put his finger on, almost shimmering under the noon sun. Stepping into the grove of trees he’d swear it seems to thicken.
“Keep up there Cade! Don’t yew worry about the livestock none!” Returning his attention to his host, Caden is shocked he didn’t realize how big the circle of trees was from the outside, nor how chockablock full it was of animals. Pigs wander aimlessly chuffing about while some mules, bulls, and goats are penned off to the side.
Not wanting to interact with wildlife at the best of times, Caden was more than happy to obey Kirk’s suggestion. When one of the hogs approaches him curiously, Caden speeds up and quickly out paces Kirk as he rushes onto the patio. Shooting back a look to the pig, Caden notices what seems to be a brand on the pig’s shoulder, like a hexagon made of knotted rope. If he didn’t know better he’d swear that was the ChudGPT logo?
Before he could truly question it however, the streamer’s ushered into the cabin. “Hope the piggies didn’t trouble you too much there kid, here let me show you to your lodgings." Caden was having a hard time getting a read on his host apparent. Sure, usually he’s got a team to bounce ideas off with but surely his interpersonal abilities haven’t atrophied that much right?
Perhaps lucky for Caden, as Kirk watches him eye the quaint cabin with an unmistakable disdain, the Aeaean is ready to lay all cards onto the table. Depositing his guest’s luggage in a sideroom that doesn’t seem to fit within the layout of the house, he motions for Caden to join him and closes the door behind them both.
As he does the air crackles and thickens with an overwhelming scent oscillating between sickly-sweet herbs and a pungent musk Caden can’t make out as man or beast. Turning back to Kirk as he’s thrust to fight or flee, all options are forsaken as the being before him is uncrecognizable, not only as Kirk but as a person at all.
In the place where the almost stereotypical living by the land man once stood is but an outline, the suggestion of a body made of wafting violet smoke and the night sky. Shining eyes that Caden can’t see continue to stare through him as a voice blares from the center of being, “Your previous cohorts bored me. Lifetimes of showing men what beasts they truly are, and now they aren’t even loath to admit it. Pigs happy to eat at the trough regardless of their form. It takes the fun out of it you know…”
Believing himself to be to some degree blessed, Caden isn’t thrown by the appearance of something clearly otherworldly. His cold eyes look off to the distance as he remembers that pig. A fellow streamer? Some exec from ChudGPT? Someone he knew? He doesn’t care, he just needs to make sure that doesn’t happen to himself.
“When it comes down to it I think they just don’t mind the simplicity you know.” There’s a flare in the moon lit body as an arm that’s not an arm reaches up to point at the streamer, “But you, Caden dear, I think I’ve got something different in mind. Clearly you hate it here in Aeaea- forgive me Aieyuh Valley.”
Hearing the ephemeral voice shift to do a camp country accent, Caden would normally be caught by the absurdity, but hearing Kirk, or whatever it is, say Aeaea now juxtaposed with Aieyuh Valley his mind flickers back to his search on ChudGPT. His phone burns in his pocket as he more than anything wishes to return to the site and see what it has to say about whatever this place is, whoever Kirk must be.
Shocking that it took this long for the ever-online young man to reach for his phone, but as he does, eyes finally reveal themselves in the mist, right above a smile made of gleaming starlight. “Ooh excellent idea Caden! It shall be a two-prong curse then! I trust you’re amenable to anything that doesn’t leave you as livestock then, hm?”
Given the being already seems to have read his mind, Caden simply rolls his eyes and waits for it to go on. Waiting for the terms and conditions he’s annoyed that he doesn’t have his people here to read that for him. “Very well then! Caden Barclay, I charge you with two beyond simple tasks. You are to avoid modern convenience and repress your impudent attitude. Should you not obey you’ll find yourself more than entrenched in this- oh what did you call it, peasant community?”
Jaw clenched, Caden holds his tongue as he desires more than anything to say that’s not fair, that’s not possible. Though whether he’s referring to being removed from using his phone, which may as well be an organ on his body, or having to pretend to not be bothered by it is hard to say. Wordlessly accepting the terms, he blinks and is suddenly greeted by the smirking face of Kirk once more, his rough fingers cupping Caden’s chin before he pats him on the head.
“Better go on and get dinner started then? Yew take it easy now!” Leaving Caden to his own devices, Kirk may as well be giggling as he departs, a trail of that dank scent hangs in his wake. Never has Caden felt a more pressing need to pull out his phone and look something up, to consult the sum of human knowledge that the internet was made to be.
Left to his own devices, he begins to wonder how long he’s ever really gone without pulling out his phone. Deciding it’s probably best to even have it on him, he begins to chunk it onto the bed before a memory sparks once he holds it in his hand. Maybe he should keep it on him, right? He doesn’t want to give it the power?
Under his breath he whispers, “It’s a metaphor?” God. What is that stupid quote. You give the killing thing? Ugh. It’s from some movie he saw on a date back when it came out. His fingers twitch as he barely stops himself from unlocking the phone to look it up.
“Was it Perks..?” Already losing trust in his willpower, Caden tosses his phone onto the made bed. Deliberately not looking at it, he focuses on the rest of the room, scoping out his new digs and frowning that all the books seem to be in Greek. Try as he might though, Caden can’t help but obsess over not knowing that movie. It’s driving him crazy. Not knowing is something he simply never has to grapple with anymore.
If he has a question it’s answered, a problem it’s solved. His own countless ad reads echo through his head as the creeping need to know continues to burn hotter. With ChudGPT the unknown is conquered. Can’t believe I ever lived without it. It’s like magic!
Magic. Turning back to his phone he starts to convince himself it’s worth a go. Memory, and more than a few other choice mental faculties, not running at all cylinders from countless hours spent playing around with bots to do anything but think himself, Caden doesn’t remember his exact words. But from what he gathers, it’s surely not a one and done, right? Gotta be a little leeway, he’s sure witches, or whatever, get off on that stuff.
Denigrating his host in his inner monologue clearly isn’t enough to trigger the curse, surely there are other weak points. Caden just needs to outsmark his host, and how hard could that be? He smirks as he bet’s the hick doesn’t even know just how advanced phones are these days.
To this end he simply begins conspicuously speaking his curiosities out loud, “Hmmm? I wonder…” his eyes narrow as he surreptitiously addresses the bot by its given nickname, “Cade Jr, I wonder what movie came out, like, 2013-2014? About cancer I think, kinda- uhm?”
Before he can finish the thought the result of his foolish experiment is more than clear. Gasping, Caden accidentally inhales a deep breath of that thick glistening, musky air. Feeling it sink into his lungs he tries to cough it up which only leads the taste of it to linger on his tongue.
“Now there Cade. This ain’t a game y’know, we’re playing for keeps. Trust yew’ll take the curse to heart from here on out. Hope y’enjoy the first step to your new self.”
Squinting as he nervously tries to locate the source of Kirk’s voice, Caden can’t even hear his phone answer as that strange prickling that’s been on the air since he stepped out of his driver’s Tesla now coming from within. His lower stomach, his pits, his face. Hands rapidly shuffling between each new itch arising and intensifying.
Laughter echoes in the small room as for the first time, Caden feels the scratch of stubble on his face. Trimmed fingernails trail across his jaw with shock and that crickles of scratching hair fills his ears. Every muscle in his body tenses at the development, forcing his other hand under his shirt to confirm the rising treasure trail before reaching even further to find finger stuck in pit hair still getting thicker, Caden’s eye twitches as he rushes for the door.
Spilling onto the floor in his haste, he finds himself at the feet of Kirk smiling down, “Dinner’s ready youngin. See you had your first run-in, thought you’d make it longer,” turning away with a shrug Kirk doesn’t see how Caden’s brows thicken as he scowls at his back. Thin almost manicured arches widening as they hang ever lower across his dark eyes.
Crossing his arms as he stands, he swears he can feel his new patches of pit hair scratching under his arms. Constantly readjusting his shoulders to find some way to ignore the burgeoning curls he instead turns to a mirror to inspect his face. His heart skips a beat as he sees true facial hair grace his jaw. Memories of focus groups weighing in on his appearance trickle in as he pulls at his skin to inspect the damage.
Lips squirming he refuses to admit he likes it as a mustache thickens ever so slightly more across his upper lip. And then Kirk beckons, “Time for supper. It was Fault in our Stars also.” Ugh. Yeah it was, Caden hated that movie and he’s sure to have an even more sour spot for it now.
Wandering into a cozy dining room,Caden can’t ignore the wafts of musk that seem to be emanating from himself now. Any time he moves his arms it’s more clear that his new b.o. handedly overpowers his expensive cologne. Concerningly, he can’t tell whether that’s a problem or not.
Sparing no affection for the folksy decor, Cadem instead stares at the plate set in front of him and frowns, “Is this going to turn me into a horse or whatever?”
Kirk smiles blankly, “We got our arrangement Caden, though maybe I’m goin’ too easy on you. Must be gettin’ sentimental in my old age…” Side-eying his host, drama-hungy Caden pounces, “How old are you?” Feigning aghast, Kirk scoffs, “Now there youngin’ you can’t just ask a lad-” he looks down at himself, “Oh. Hm. Well, you start actin’ right, maybe I’ll spill.”
Picking at his plate petulantly, Caden puts aside his complaints about the dinner to instead keep his eyes on the prize. If he leaves this backwater hell hole having to do little more than nair his pits and pubes that’ll be a success. But already he knows there is no world in which he makes it a week.
Giving it his all to at least feign pleasantries, he forces a smile onto his newly bearded face and looks towards his host. “So, dude er- uh, Mr. Kirk. I’m sure you have your reasons for putting me to this test but just wondering if there’s anything we can do to expedite the whole thing?”
Pursing his lips the sorcerer tilts his head, “Yew ready to get on outta here so soon? Haven’t even gotten to the fun parta your changes yet!” Watching as his guest squirm at the idea, he wouldn;t mind speeding things up himself. And he does love a gamble, Especially when he’s sure to win.
“Y’know what Cade. Yew got yerself a deal, iffin my terms are acceptable, course. Yew make it through this dinner unchanged and yew can phone up your crew, fail and we just get on gettin’ on!” No inherent downside, Caden’s happy to acquiesce.
“Terrifc! Ain’t a dinner without a conversation tho is it? So, Cade, what is it about Aieyuh Valley that drives you up th’ wall?”
Sure that his captor has some strategy in mind to instead accelerate his changes through conversation, Caden realizes if he just keeps to himself and scarfs down his dinner he’ll be home free. Kirk just smiles and watches as he begins to tear into the dinner he had been clearly unhappy to eat moments ago. How quickly he seems to have forgotten about promising to be less impudent.
Lucky for the man as he hastily gets Kirk’s thoughtfully prepared dinner stuck in his new stubble, the upcoming changes quickly remind him. Pausing midbite, Caden grimaces as his designer shoes start to pinch his feet. Grunting, he pushes away from the table, causing it to shake as he looks down to see the tongues of his shoes bulging as his size 10’s struggle against his growing soles.
Bumping his head on the edge of the table as he leans down to tear off his shoes, Caden curses loudly and is just too late to yank them off before the sound of their expensive yet frail fabric tearing as long toes burst through the front of his shoes. Every seam on the shoes that cost more than some people make in a month yields to his feet as they inch even wider at his shouting.
Holes in the sock reveal curls atop his new bony feet as hair begins to creep upwards onto calves that begin to twitch with their own new growth. Looking back to Kirk he finds a look of bemused disappointment, “Remember to be respectful there Caden. Hate to see ya burst out of anything else tonight.”
Jaw clenched, Caden pulls his chair back to his plate. He can feel just how intensely his heart is beating as it races in his chest. Adrenaline pumping through him, as he lifts his feet he’s shocked at how heavy they feel dangling from his scrawny legs. But he knows he can’t think about that, he needs to focus up. This is a game, and he needs to just play along.
“I hope you don’t mind what I’m about to say, but I trust you want honesty. Places like this, places that are lucky to even show up on a map, I- Why would anyone want to waste their time in a place so disconnected from the rest of the world, from the future.” Kirk motions for him to go on. Happy to have done something that doesn’t exacerbate his transformation, Caden obeys, “It’s too slow. I don’t care for nature. And god the smell, just because there’s livestock doesn’t mean every square inch of this town needs to stink like a barn.”
Immediately worried he’s overstepped, Caden instead hears Kirk laugh, “So yew crave connection eh partner? Coulda fooled me, aren’t ya here to prey on the very same folks you’re claimin’ to connect with, disparagin’ livestock but sure seems like you’ve got a habit of lookin’ at them just like cattle yourself.”
Caden holds his tongue, opting to take a few bites of his dinner while he collects himself. He’s media trained, he should be better at keeping cool. Chewing he can’t help but frown as he blames the backwater air, Kirk doing his best to prod him as he smiles there, fingers basically steepled as he watches.
Feeling new hair prickling onto his calves, Caden tries to nip the changes in the bud and shrugs, “Sure, I could stand to think more about the personhood of my fans. Is that what you want me to say?” It takes everything within him to hold back a shout as his calves both cramp at once, muscle bulging onto them as sweaty new hairs struggle to grow against pants growing tighter. Squirming in his seat his hands clench the table as he tries to maintain a poker face.
Kirk simply continues, “Oh? Fans? I wasn’t aware you were popular?” He’s lying, Caden knows he’s lying. He knows who he is, how could he not. Distracted as growth creeps upward, thighs filling with muscle like a balloon being inflated, Caden lacks the wherewithal to prune his thoughts before they tinge self-righteous. He’s a celebrity, he could buy and sell this shitty little town.
The table begins to tilt as Caden’s thickening thighs begin to push against it. No choice but to stand, the streamer avoids punching the table in a rage as he stands taller and sneers at the man playing with his form as if he were putty. Opening his mouth to say something truly regrettable, his voice catches in his throat as the most distracting change yet begins.
Bolting upright, his hands fly to his pants as a tightness all too similar to that he felt in his shoes stings from his crotch. The sound of fabric straining accompanies the shaking of the table as Caden gasps and struggles to breathe from the intense sensations issuing from a cock now visibly straining his pants.
Fingers struggle to undo the zipper of his pants, even more pressing than the dick twitching and expanding down his leg are balls bloating to a size his underwear simply cannot handle. Falling to the floor as he tries to yank his growing package free, adrenaline is joined by a chorus of other increasing hormones as his balls pulse with need and pump him full of a cocktail of testosterone.
Every new patch of hair that newly graced his form expands and thickens as he twitches on the dining room floor. Veins trail up his arms as blonde barely visible fuzz on them thickens into a dark brown. Treasure trail widening, his cock tears free from his boxer-briefs and bobs above his strengthening core, dripping pre that immediately gets stuck in his jungle of belly hair.
Eyes crossing as he can barely focus enough to avoid masterbating in front of Kirk, the sorcerer walks over to inspect his captive’s changes. Widening shoulders send tears into his top, revealing the first strands of chest hair spreading unto his upper body. Dark sweaty patches in his armpits barely obscure the hairy troves beneath as fabric frays beneath his growing biceps.
Content to play with his food for a while longer, Kirk claps his hands and Caden immediately feels an overwhelming weariness accompany the impossible pleasure plaguing him. Hands so close to grasping his throbbing, girthier cock fall to rest on his furry stomach, leaving them to rest in a pool of still dripping pre.
Dream clearly overtaking him, the last thing he sees is the starry face of Kirk once more as that echoing voice fills his mind, “Let it never be said that I’m not merciful Caden Barclay. Pride led you to fail this test. I do not believe your new struggles with lust shall go any different, but that is for you to decide come morning. See you then, neighbor.”
Morning breaks and Caden finds himself tucked into the guest bed. Blankets stuck to his skin with heavy sweat, the streamer doesn’t remember what he dreamed but it must have been quite compelling given the morning wood visibly throbbing through multiple layers.
There’s a clear squelching sound as he sits up from his wider back pulling free from the sheets. Rubbing his eyes and moaning from the bizarre night’s sleep, he looks down at his body and frowns at the unbelievable changes from the day before.
Ready to get this morning over with, as soon as Caden tries to sit up his rigid cock pulls against the rough blanket and he falls back completely from the sensation. Every muscle tenses as he moans almost catatonic from the pleasure.
Taking far more care, Caden tears the blanket off his body to reveal his prodigious new dick, dripping with pre as thick curls seem to creep up his shaft. Mouth falling open, Caden needs a moment to recalibrate at seeing just how powerful his new cock is. Thoughts that Kirk’s ‘curse’ might not be so bad after all begin to creep in with a concerning frequency.
Still, not wanting to actively masturbate, he carefully removes himself from the bed. Back squelching as it peels free from the sheets, Caden stumbles to the ensuite, trying to quiet the pathetic gasps he can’t help with every bob of his pendulous dick. Obviously not running on all cylinders as his brain struggles to surmount waking up without an assistant standing by coffee in hand, were he more lucid he might realize now’s not the time to do a full body inspection given his reaction to his cock.
No matter, he’ll learn the hard way. As soon as Caden stumbles upon his full reflection he’s stunned at how unrecognizable he looks. Clearly whatever he dreamed had grave effects on the longing changes. Everything was simply more.
Scruff on his face thickening into a beard proper, his tight shirt strains to contain a new muscular chest and burlier stomach as it reveals his torso has sprouted taller. Rubbing his hairier stomach he might as well be drooling as he sees what a masculine presence he has become.
Balls tugging upward it’s a wonder he’s able to even keep standing as he fully appreciates Kirk’s work. Trying to say anything his mouth isn’t quite working right, lips form words ever-so-slightly incorrectly, as if he has an accent. “Well, I-“
Fingers race to his throat as his voice cracks deeper. Scratching against hair spreading down his neck, Caden feels such intense need that conscious thought rapidly falls to the wayside. Glancing over his shoulder he sees his phone perfectly catching the light gleaming in from the window. Set as if it were a trap.
Untenable need coursing through him, he sees the phone as a lifeline rather than the root of his end. Relief first, then he can focus on uh, whatever he was doing here. “Just needa grnh-” his heavy plodding steps echo through the house, having set the table for breakfast, Kirk checks his watch and sighs. Don’t know why he thought this would go any different.
Vision narrowing as if it were a spotlight onto his phone, Caden falls onto the already sweat stained bed and begins rutting into it. Grasping blindly towards his phone as the bed creaks under his still amassing weight, Caden barely snatches it and yanks it to unlock it with his face, hips humping into the mattress all along.
Despite the jaw cracking wider and once blue eyes sprinkling with an earthy brown, Caden’s phone shines as a brilliant threshold to sate his all-consuming desires. His fingers twitch and race to his usual sources, opening ChudGPT on muscle memory alone when he sees the ai-generated anime woman he’s wasted hours if not days crafting to be his perfect waifu he’s only met with disdain.
Losing momentum towards getting off, Caden frowns and looks down at his almost softening cock. Seeing his powerful hips thrusting though, he promptly gets riled up anew. New connections sparking in his brain, he instead starts to look for images of men as burly and masculine as himself, moans rumble in his dense chest as pleasure creeps into each and every bulging muscle. “What was I ever thinkin’”
Stumbling into the motherlode it’s not long at all before Caden’s outright masterbating to men in whom he sees himself. Something about seeing them on the screen begins to irritate him. Assuming it’s impeding his pleasure, Caden yet again tosses the phone away, instead reaching under the bed for a magazine he shouldn’t know is there.
Retrieving some cowboy-centric smut, Caden’s delight reaches new heights as he rubs his hairy chest in between thrusting into the air. Sharp jawlines hidden by dense, untrimmed beards. Heavy pecs grown by working on the land. Massive bulges barely hidden by tight jeans, perfect for alluring more men to his lifestyle.
His lifestyle? Drooling slightly as he starts blowing his load all over Kirk’s guest room, his psyche fractures. Memories from his life as a click-baiting streamer bursts into the nothingness it always was. Millions made shilling for every shitty company that reached out burst into flames as he instead lives by the land.
He grew up here, never left. Aieyuh Valley’s stout and sexy stud. Don’t quite remember too many fine details but he’s sure they’ll return in time.
When at last Caden’s apotheosis into Kirk’s newest tool against the all-consuming waste of capital finishes the first breaths and blown loads of his new life, Kirk rings a bell to summon him to breakfast. Traipsing into the dining room clad in cum-stained briefs and a bedraggled button up, Caden scratches his ass and sits down before immediately tearing into the spread.
Appraising him like livestock, Kirk can’t deny the success of his work. Perfect for menial labor, sure. That’s what he’s best at. But he’s pleased at how well Caden is to serve his ulterior purpose. It’s not long at all before the new rancher’s musk overpowers the deliberately fragrant smell of breakfast. No one will be able to resist him, even Kirk himself is vaguely affected by the heady pheromones.
Laughing, the sorcerer ruffles Caden’s hair. After choking down a massive bite he didn’t chew nearly enough, the brute looks up with glazed eyes, “You need somethin’ done boss?” Reaching down to cup his new plaything’s chin, Kirk shakes his head. “Soon young Cade, soon.”
Looking off into the distance, the Aeaean can almost feel the next wave of people coming to corrupt this fertile land to their unscrupulous ends. More influencers, corporate engineers, lawyers coming to serve him, it matters not. With Caden now in his toolbelt, no matter who they are they’re sure to fall like dominoes.
The PMV Virus is here and no port is safe, all it takes is a stray thought and contact with a man and you'll join him in the thoughtless new world. Here are a few vignettes of men's lives in this changing world.
Four shorter selections on a theme. If you're interested in another pec-centric pandemic check out PurgatoryTF's Sick bro! Anyway hope you enjoy these stories, don't get too riled up ;) -Occam
It was a real stress test of the post-COVID pandemic response, one that has proven how faulty these new systems are. To be fair, truly no one could have predicted just how totally the Pectoralis Mentia Virus would wreak havoc upon society at every level. No one would have even thought the disease possible.
First spotted in body building gyms and nightclubs, PMV-25 found its tinderbox with ease and rapidly blew beyond any hope of containment. The predominately female pathologists and virologists have yet to ascertain how the virus mutated into existence or spread with such absoluteness, but they have determined the trigger to its transformative side effects.
Surely rooted in some pheromonal or hormonal stimulation beyond man’s current understanding, when a man infected with PMV experiences biological attraction to another man- boom. His mind atrophies and his body grows into quite the top-heavy specimen. Some change in personality and form far more than others, but after the change all are adamant that they do not want to change back.
This makes research for a cure difficult. In lieu of continuing their research on the matter, many infected and transformed doctors and scientists are happy to offer their bodies up for further understanding of the contagion, but given the reluctance whenever the idea of a cure is presented researchers worry if they’re not angling to learn more of the virus themselves.
At any rate, to combat misinformation running rampant, here are a few stories of Pectoralis Mentia Virus victims.
Blaine and Ryan
In the early days of the virus most didn’t even believe such a thing was possible. Sounding as if it were straight out of pulp science fiction, when various influencers first got word they were more than happy to spread fuel onto the fire and discourage their audiences from listening to the experts.
It should be no surprise that an information-starved Blaine was more than happy to keep up his new gym routine. His new podcasting icon says not to worry and worry he shall not. After all, even if the media isn’t bullshitting he ain’t even gay so there should be no problem. If he sees anyone ogling him he’ll just dip.
Quite the opposite, when Ryan heard of the pandemic he couldn’t wait to confirm the reality. Mouth dry from need and already visibly turned on by the idea, looking down at his body Ryan was already happy to trade some of his higher processing power for pecs.
When wannabe gym bro and needy twink collide it’s almost a textbook example of how PMV propagates. Arriving to the gym at the same time, when Blaine sees Ryan he frowns and loads up some vaguely homophobic retort, surely parroted directly from his favorite streamer, but when he sees the look in the twink's eyes he realizes that perhaps his icon might not know it all.
Ryan on the other hand thinks nothing when he sees Blaine, for he’s no longer able to think. Mouth immediately falling open, the twink is drooling as he feels the euphoria of mind melting growth filling every inch of his body. Quickly his thin chest bulges with soft pecs already sending tears into the baggy sweater he stumbled to the gym in.
Making eye contact with Ryan’s blank stare, Blaine tries to back away but it’s already far too late. Glancing down at the smaller man’s expanding body, no matter how firmly straight he identifies he can’t deny that Ryan’s getting hotter by the second.
When his own barely present pecs begin to throb and twitch, every apparently repressed shred of need flies free as he reaches out for Ryan. Growth coursing through his biceps as they rapidly grow to fill the pump cover he’s never needed, Blaine blankly smiles as he indulges in delight he’s never known.
Standing at the entrance to the gym, there’s no time at all before the pair of growing men start making out. Grinding into each other as more mass packs on by the second, any gym goers that miraculously escaped inflection so far turn to see them as their moans rival the sound of their clothing tearing off their bulking bodies.
Anyone present lucky enough to have escaped the transformation thus far rapidly begin their own journeys with PMV. Men on benches drop their weights as benches underneath them creak under their bodies surging larger.
Deep, throaty moans echo from every corner of the gym as every mind drains free of every impulse save to enjoy themselves, to experience what it is like to feel their new hot sweaty body rubbing against their fellow titan. And this gym is one hot spot of many.
Standing at the entrance, at what may as well be their new posts, Ryan and Blaine while the hours away comparing their heavy chests and thick veiny arms. Not quite guarding the entrance so much as beckoning any men that happen past inside, alluring any unchanged men to give them a look.
Chase
While the pair standing outside a gym in between getting each other off on their own looks might have less than pure-hearted purpose for their posing and performative foreplay, Chase is on a whole other level. Their diminished intellect certainly had drastic effects on their personality, but Chase has truly become a new man outright.
Once a meek homebody, the quiet young man thought he could safely wait out a cure. Never much for going out, and already working from home, Chase is confident he can outlast the PMV lockdown. Sure they’ve got the top minds looking for a cure, he just kept his head down and waited for the day to come when all this is in the past.
And indeed, he never went stir crazy, unfortunately as time marched on this would be the least of his concerns. Months into the PMV pandemic he had ordered his weekly groceries to be delivered and forgetting himself for just a moment he goes to get the door as soon as they’re dropped off and comes face to face with a broad delivery man.
Gasping as the man filling out his uniform stares down and grunts out, “oh… thought you wanted me to leave them at the door…” Before he can slam the door shut and turn around it’s already too late. The brute's pecs were at perfect eye-level with his head.
He can feel his pulse rising as steadily as his cock as he starts breaking into a sweat. Ever deepening cries of no resound in his small apartment. Doing all he can to will his boner down, it’s clear his body is out of his control. Pins and needles fill his arms beginning to grow, already straining the button up he’s thrown on every day to find some sense of normalcy in this shut away world.
Racing to his computer to find any way to stop the hormones and burning blood coursing through him, Chase moans as the placet of his shirt is already straining from new pecs demanding he rub them. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, seeing his changing reflection makes him lose whatever sense of control remained within him.
Falling to the floor he tears off his pants as the new muscle still twitching into existence makes light work of his top. Hips thrusting into the air is nothing compared to the unwilled transformation etching itself under his skin, but with every thump back onto the cold floor, he realizes just how good he feels.
By the time he finally blows his load into the open air his hands are rubbing every throbbing sweaty muscle they can reach. Thickening fingers curl into his bouncy new pecs and he laughs at how foolish he was to ever want anything else. But it’s not enough for him alone to feel this, he needs to spread.
Five minutes after the hapless delivery man ushered Chase into the growing class of PMV changed men, Chase realized his true life’s work. Few men have been nearly as widespread a vector as Chase. The second he leaves his apartment for the first time he begins his hunt to find the uninitiated and ensure that they discover just how good it feels to be like him.
Luring men in with his heavy chest and brawny arms and sealing every deal with moves far more risque than a kiss, Chase’s activities in spreading PMV are untraceably large. He’s only stopped when he stumbles into a research center in search of some tail to bulk up.
Now kept under lock and key lest he be allowed to roam the streets infecting whatever few men have escaped PMV so far, he has offered himself up as the perfect specimen to study. Swearing even he doesn’t know how many men he’s changed, and longing for the chance to bring more men into the ecstasy change. Even the most puritanical scientists can’t deny how well he is suited to the task.
Sarvesh
In that very same lab was an unfortunate medical student who wanted more than anything to find some way to reverse the changes. His boyfriend had been at the club during the initial outbreak and more than anything Sarvesh wishes he can bring peace to the man he still loves. The man who does his best to convince Sarvesh that the world is easier if he were just to give in, the man who feels guilty that his lover is so burdened by his unchanged form.
But Sarvesh knows if he just keeps at it that he will somehow help find the cure. Champion of PPE, there is no world in which anyone would catch Sarvesh slipping before he’s able to deliver by hand a cure to the man who still messages him every night trying to convince him he’s better than well- Sarvesh certainly doesn’t mind the images attached. But every typo and mask off moment that proves his ex is thinking only with his dick makes it all the more clear he’s on the right path.
The only male med student left in the training hospital, Sarvesh makes sure to stay far from the ward in which Chase is kept. Working day and night on his residency and doing more than he’s allowed to help with research, Sarvesh is in the room when a senior microbiologist announces her groundbreaking discovery.
They might have a cure. Worried about the red tape and human trials, she knows how dedicated Sarvesh is to getting this to market and the pair hatch their own beta test. Eager to be the first man immune to PMV, and sure the experience will be invaluable towards ensuring every man on Earth will be able to follow suit. Sarvesh and the doctor scheme to get the miracle cure tried and tested as soon as possible.
Exercising care and trying to avoid any complicating variables they secure an OR and bottle up the scent of Chase, knowing the method should more than suffice in triggering the change. Sarvesh injects himself with the solution and gives one last look to the doctor staring down at him with hope in her eyes.
Contaminant in his hands, Sarvesh’s spine prickles knowing unsealing the bottle is the last thing in the world he should ever do. But this isn’t for him. Reaching for his phone, he pulls up a picture of his ex and uncaps the small bottle. Here goes nothing.
And indeed, to his notice, nothing happens.
Chase’s heavy musk fills his lungs, he’s staring at a picture sent to him with the sole purpose of getting him off and he’s barely hornier than usual. They’ve found a cure. Excited beyond measure he stares up at the doctor beaming only to find a grim expression on her face. Biting her lip she slams a button and the OR goes into lockdown.
The vial shatters on the floor and Sarvesh shouts up at the viewing platform, “What’s the problem!? It worked! It’s working!? It’s- uhn uh?” Only then does he look down to realize his cock is harder than he’s ever seen it. Gulping he realizes he still smells Chase’s musk. No, no that scent is coming from him.
Lightheaded, the med student stumbles backwards as the head doc rushes away from him. He doesn’t understand, it should have worked. It should have worked. Privy to the data as he is, Sarvesh goes down the list of symptoms affecting him like a checklist. Already woozy he looks down to his chest to see the most predominant transformation well on its way. Scrubs quickly strain with a new chest, throbbing with every heartbeat as clearly as the still growing cock in his pants.
Struggling to remove his white coat before it tears he remembers the ceremony where he got it. Distracted, Sarvesh’s eyes glaze over as he loses himself in thought. Shoulders press into his seams and his back widens, he was there. He’s been dating him since undergrad, and now Sarvesh can see him again.
Biceps send tears down the entire length of the sleeves. Clenching the table and doing his best to maintain his mind, Sarvesh sees his brown skin peaking through clinical white. Flexing his hands and struggling to not cup pecs so thick he can see the nipples pressing through cotton, Sarvesh wonders if there’s something to be said about the intensity of changes related to how long it is before you change.
But then he wonders no more. That’s not his problem. His boyfriend was right, he’s always been right. This is better. Rutting against the operating table, Sarvesh clenches it with growing hands. Sweat trails down corded, veiny arms thicker than footballs. Finally he can reunite with him.
Phone pinging with a ‘u up?’ text, there’s a smirk on Sarvesh’s face as he contaminates the room with his seed. Thick steamy loads splatter through his scrubs and onto the floor that very well may never be sterile again. Looking at his reflection as stubble sneaks onto his face and changes ebb to their conclusion, he grabs his phone and prepares to text his lover back. At least there are silver linings.
At Sarvesh’s request his fuck-buddy once moe was brought into observation alongside him. Reunited at last, the pair have all they could ask for in the operating theatre where Sarvesh’s hope for a cure ended and his new life began.
Scientists can hardly believe the tank of a man who’s lucky to say a three syllable word was once their pride pupil. But PMV makes brutes of us all. Now they just hope there’s some discovery to be gleaned from his bloodwork, though with each passing day it becomes clearer that there is no end in sight.
Jesse
It had been a year under the ever constant threat of PMV. Any man lucky enough to make it this far unchanged seems to be in it for the long haul, many kept explicitly safe by whatever powers that remain; their unchanged genetic information paramount to the pipe dream of a cure.
One such soul was Jesse. Eroded beyond measure by every friend he ever had being corrupted into some depraved monster of their former selves, the once playboy had settled into his new sheltered abstinent life a shell of who he once was.
Exercising just enough to not put on weight, the young man simply counts the days like a prisoner. Which by all accounts he is regardless of his cell being a remote penthouse where any needs are met. Looking out to the treeline he wonders how he’ll spend the day.
Mind flashing to the image of his best friend chatting at the bar with some chick. How he guffawed as he pawed at his neckline, chest distending into unwieldy pecs before he turned to the man sitting next to him. He remembers fleeing and not looking back.
Why him.
In a different life he’d throw himself into sex, into work, but such things lost all meaning. Now he lives the monastic life he does. Sunbeams shine into his quiet suite and he turns away from the window. He’s just about to close his blinds but then his eyes follow a single beam as it breaks through the clouds and lands upon his forearm.
Shading a vein ever so delicately, the thought trickles across his mind that his arm kinda looks like a dick. Laughable. Nothing. A stray thought, followed by another, equally meaningless. That’s kinda hot. And then his heart starts racing.
Before a second passes he jumps up and rushes to find his phone, panting Jesse looks down at his chest unable to tell if it’s pounding with his panting or throbbing larger as he fears the impossible is happening. When pecs finally bulge onto his chest big enough to feel the sensation of his cock rubbing against his underwear begins to grow distracting.
This shouldn’t be happening, he did everything right! He hasn’t seen another man in months. Even on a screen, and yet when he breaks and looks down he sees pecs casting a shadow unto abs slowly carving into his thin torso.
Having broken free from his stupor by the worst occurring, when Jesse’s arms dangle lower and heavier from his sockets, hopelessness begins to overwhelm him. But then he takes a deep breath, and everything feels warmer.
Feeling the waistband of his underwear strain from his bulking waist and bigger bulge, like every other man before him Jesse begins to wonder why he ever wanted anything else. Switching gears to instead feel his growing muscle with abandon he hasn’t allowed himself in unthinkable time he chastises himself for not following his best friends suit all those months ago.
Falling onto the bed, Jesse rolls in the blankets and feels sensations more pleasurable than he can believe. Pre dripping onto the bedding, swirling in with sweat in drool, Jesse can hardly stand how intensely good it feels for his pecs to scratch against the bed. How his thicker nipples fill him with so much pleasure.
As he loses that hole that’s been burning with him, as he gains the mindless delight he never knew he was missing. So too does the world lose another one of its increasingly scarce control subjects.
It’s not long after his transformation do they notice Jesse’s absence, always one to check in promptly when he ghosts it’s clear what has happened. What they don’t know however is who changed him.
Imagine their horror when they test some of the copious fluids left behind to find a mutated PMV, one that caused him to change himself. Having still made next to no progress on a cure, this is indisputable proof that the already unknowable virus is continuing to make leaps and bounds beyond their notice.
Driving back to the lab with Jesse’s samples, the few techs in the car feel more nervous than usual. On edge and antsy. If it has evolved to the point where it’s changing men with no further input, what if it’s finally able to spread to…
But no, that’s impossible. Driving the car, the field tech is sure that’s impossible. Checking the rearview though, she can’t ignore something suddenly darkening the head researcher's cheeks. Looks like her coat is straining on broader shoulders as well? Awfully preoccupied with something in the crotch region as well.
The driver’s voice cracks as she calls back, “Doc? You ALl- ugh, all good?” Something presses into her hand as she feels at her throat, hearing deepening moans filling the back of the van the tech starts to pull over before checking the rearview once more, this time checking her own appearance to find thicker eyebrows and sideburns etching their way down his- er her, no. His face.
Before he can think to do anything else he too is distracted by new sensations issuing forth from his crotch. Turning back to the doc he finds his superior climbing over the seats to do what they’ve seen countless men do before them. If this is how it’s all to end, at least they should get to have some fun out of it themselves.
Wanting a break from the world, four men start a book club. Distraction is unfortunately not so easy to escape as they and those closest to them find the allure of social media far too absorbing.
Six TFs for the price of one! Nerds to jocks, jock to twink, and Japanese and Latino TF’s to top it off. Had some fun with this one and hope you enjoy! -Occam
The crew was assembled in Nate’s living room, their little bookclub’s agreement had been the only thing keeping their little coterie from doomscrolling every day away. And even then, the task of reading the Portrait of Dorian Gray hasn’t kept all of them hooked. At present, Arjun and Michael were fresh into an argument that is perhaps the only thing stopping Tommy from checking out all together.
“I just thought it would be gayer?”
Well used to scrounging together queer subtext wherever he can find it, usually in manga, Arjun will not stand for this. “It’s from the fucking eighteen hund- He was sentenced to jail for- Are you just ragebaiting me?” Arjun crosses his arms while the uninvolved parties hide their grins as he stares daggers at Michael’s smirk. Hesitant to have a spat break out over the coffee table before his roommate returns, Nate tries to broker peace.
“Girls girls~ Clearly one of the most talented authors in all of Ireland knew what he was doing. He had to keep it as subtext so less- discerning, readers like Mike wouldn’t catch it.” Quite unable to help himself but toss a lob at Michael, the now-trio now have at it. Giggling as the other three half debate the book, half go for each other’s throats, Tommy gets a text and briefly checks his phone.
At least, he intended to just check but jeez it’s already out and all? Might as well scroll until the session’s back to the book right? Eyes flickering down to his phone he realizes he’s not on a social media app that he recognizes. Abandoning any pretext of sneaking a peak he raises it to the table to see if anyone recognizes it.
As soon as all eyes fall upon the screen it flashes and there's a high pitched droning buzz. Conversation immediately halts as all four men are absolutely rapt, staring at the spiraling colors and flashing lights that seem to take up their whole being despite only flaring out from a phone.
Returning home sweaty and panting from running up the few flights of stairs to their place, Jackson tries to not intrude on his roommate’s book club. Turning to find them silent and staring, seemingly absorbed by whatever’s on the screen, the bodybuilder strides closer to see what’s up.
“Yo, uhh Nate? Arjun? Y’all good?” Not sure if this is a joke or something serious he doesn’t understand, Jackson edges closer to the table. When his heavy footsteps seemingly break through Tommy’s trance, eyes still glazed over he turns the screen towards the approaching behemoth and ushers Nate’s roommate into the group’s stupor.
Doing so, propelled by some force outside of his own mind, Tommy in the process removes the screen from Nate’s line of sight who after a moment to recover now sees his hunk of a roommate half-drooling at Tommy’s phone. “J-Jackson?” Seeing the rest of his group slowly coming to as Jackson is drawn deeper in, the host takes initiative and bats at the phone, knocking it face down on the table.
Looking around in shock, Nate waits for someone else to break the silence. In the back of his head is a single impulse ‘try not to scroll’ at first he hears it as a challenge, but after another beat he can’t help but feel the words are warning of an inevitability. Tossing it over, trying to understand what happened, his already waylaid train of thought is derailed by Jackson.
“Uhh sorry for interrupting guys, how’s Dorian Gray going?”
Clearly all on some supernatural edge, the normalcy invited by happy-go-lucky Jackson is welcome. “Girl, you won’t believe the nonsense Mike’s bitching about today.” And just like that it’s business as usual. As if nothing untoward spewed from a cell phone directly into their minds. As if the very same phone wasn’t lying face down in between all of them.
“Same time next week?” All mumble their agreement, sheepishly looking as Tommy reaches to upturn his cell. Whatever happened has been decidedly memory-holed but the unpleasant psychic reverberations clearly left a bad taste in their frontal lobes. “And let’s try harder not to goon mid-book club, right Tom?”
Rolling his eyes, he can’t quite bring himself to act as tricksy as he usually likes. Everything just feels a little heavier, like some impossible load is weighing upon him, waiting for him to misstep. The same is true for all parties, the phones in their pockets far more distracting than usual. Nevertheless, for now they stay strong, Arvan and Michael head off to the bus stop while Tommy begins his brisk walk home.
Stepping back out from his room, Jackson shoots them all a see ya later before telling Nate he’s going to hit the shower. There’s a sense of dread within Nate as he watches his roommate grab his cell from a charging dock, but he pushes it down. He’s being irrational, he just needs to chill out. To this end he sits on the couch and throws some much needed distraction on the TV.
Michael’s bus is already here! Bidding farewell to Arjun whose nose is already buried in some manga he had apparently had all along, Mike hops on and stares out the fogged up windows. Worked up from squabbling about something he can’t quite remember, Michael bounces his leg anxiously enough that his phone falls from the pocket.
Watching it clatter to the sticky floor of the bus he frowns and stills his leg, “Fuck it.” It’s not like they’ve been banned from social media, it’s just a cleanse, a break, a do what you can. And after that heated session, Mike just needs some kind of distraction.
Opening Instagram though, he finds the strangest thing, he’s somehow already posted a story? Pit growing in his stomach, his twitchy finger reaches to tap and find out what it is. Somehow he already knows it isn’t some accidental black screen, and then he taps on it and finds a body like he’s never seen before.
Every bulging, bouncing pound of flesh demands his attention. From the hunk’s veiny arms, to his thick distended abs, to the bubble butt ass that’s both soft and firm at once. Already, having been pent up from avoiding porn for some time as part of the social media purge, Mike feels his cock struggling for room in his pants.
And then he looks down and realizes he’s not even wearing pants. He’s not on the bus. He’s in the bathroom wearing only a towel, looking in the mirror. And he is not nearly as big as he should be.
Slightly unkempt hair on his face starts to thicken into proper stubble as the few chest hairs that stretched above his neckline are joined by a rapidly amassing coat of trimmed curls. Turning to the side, Michael’s mouth is agog as he sees a built silhouette begin to carve itself into existence.
Veins usually hidden by his slightly pudgy arms start bulging out of his skin, throbbing as his arms fill with blood before expanding into biceps thicker than he can rightly handle. In between, underneath the still spreading jungle of chest hair, two ponderous pecs surge larger with every heaving beat of his heart.
The hairy mitts that his hands are becoming twitch and reach back to play with an ass that’s quickly straining the shoddy knot holding the towel up. Taking shaky breaths as some small part of him tries to resist, Michael feels abs push out from his diaphragm as the whole front of his body becomes this beyond powerful figure.
His eyes twitch as he stares into his reflection, and then his face drops into the placid stoic face of a man appreciating his form. He looks fucking good. No longer holding onto whoever he was, his fingers reach under his ass to bounce it for the perfect shot. Yeah, they’re gonna love this.
Michael sits on his toilet as needy twinks immediately begin pouring into his DMs in response. Another day, another post, another dozen holes to potentially fill. Time for him to find his favorite and have his way.
Elsewhere, in another bathroom, Jack’s drying off from his quick post-gym shower. Never personally a part of the book club’s little attempt at paring back their time online, the jock has no initial reservations as he reaches for his phone for a brief distraction as he towels himself off.
Cell in hand, there’s an itch in the back of his mind. A warning he barely caught that’s just as soon washed away by the rising impulse to scroll. To go next, to fill each and every waking moment with bright colors and sounds cultivated to keep him watching.
And what could he open it to find besides some waifish nude model. Usually he’d move on immediately, twinks aren’t his thing yeah? Jackson’s confident enough in his masculinity to just acknowledge the dude’s hot, sure if he was into men he’d tap that, probably. But then, why can’t he stop looking at his arched back and smooth ass.
Only at this point does he look to the man’s hat-covered cherubic curls to see that this soft-core smut was posted to his own account. Immediately he starts frantically scrolling to delete it, he hesitates, why shouldn’t he post this? He took it. He wants it, he wants himself to be seen.
Jackson’s towel drops. His perpetually overgrown eyebrows thin as he furrows them, struggling to understand. Recently pumped arms fall to his side as hairy biceps glisten before smoothing and growing lither. Bulky muscle he’s been packing on for years suddenly evaporates before his very eyes.
Pupils twitch as Jackson’s stare shifts to his heavy cock seemingly shrinking away. Watching as his bush trims into a perfectly alluring landing strip, memories of his skincare routine and the countless hours spent waxing, trimming, and lasering away any imperfections fills his mind.
Speaking up, “N-Nate?”, he hears his voice echo higher against the wet tile. He feels his muscular ass softening as his thunder thighs diminish, losing the strength he has long slaved to produce. He smells the bathroom air fill with rosy perfume and fruity exfoliants to replace his usual Axe 5-in-1.
His chest tightens as his usual wide, triangle figure shrinks into a body that’s instead built to be manhandled. Eying his reflection, the twink-to-be tilts his head and wonders what he was ever confused about? He’s only ever stepped into the gym to attain this pert, perfect body.
Lips effortlessly pout as he stares at his boyish face in the mirror, curls spilling from the out of place cowboy hat he didn’t remember throwing on. Must be a photo shoot or something. Dragging his fingers across his thin waist, seeing the soft, supple skin redden, Jack can’t quite remember what he was going to call his roommate about.
No matter. He’s perfectly content to lounge in the mirror for some time yet. Phone erupting with men more than eager to fill his whole, Jackson sees Mike slide into his DMs and grins. Who knows what else tonight might hold~
Trudging through the couple inches of snow towards home, Tommy is decidedly not on his phone. Clearly scared straight by being the one to cause whatever that bizarre derailment to bookclub was, his phone is completely off as he reflects.
Breath misting from his mouth, Tommy replays events in his head but any time the memories stretch past Mike and Arjun’s argument things get fuzzy and his head starts to hurt. “Girl, whatever…” he chides himself and shivers from the cold.
He just needs a break, to take it easy. His boyfriend Noah better not have anything big planned for tonight. Standing outside his door for a moment to collect himself, Tommy takes a deep breath and puts the strange morning behind him.
“Heyyy Noah, how’s it going babe~”
Lying on his back upside down, Noah turns with a smile “Hey sweetie~ Do you think this picture I just posted of us is hot?” Existential dread drills him as, before he can react, he sees his petite boyfriend raise the phone in hand for him to see.
Tommy stares mouth agog at his lover as Noah’s quilted sweater almost drips away off his thin arm. Spreading from the phone his skin underneath pales before the muscle underneath bulges thicker. Noah doesn’t react in the slightest as his forearm creaks longer, muscle throbbing thicker down its length.
Barely concealed by fraying threads, heavy biceps strain the fabric before tearing into the open air, causing him to grunt brusquely. Changes accelerate as they reach his shoulders before launching upward to give his pouty face the cocky stubbled sneer of a circuit gay, Noah tilts his head as his long hair curls shorter. “What’s the problem Tom? Look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Tommy backs into the door as he sees, opposite the man’s hardening face, his chest widening into two titanic pecs. Clawing at the entrance to their apartment, Tommy feels his heart beating wild in his own chest causing him to look down to find his own top beginning to strain.
“Nonononono! I didn- I didn’t even get onnnugh!” His voice cracks as he struggles to cry, not to cry. He doesn’t even know which. On the couch Noah’s face shifts stoic, placid, as if there’s not a single complex thought in his head.
“Did you not want me to post it?”
Eye twitching, Tommy tries to contain himself, to fight against memories overwriting everything he knows. As he raises an arm he feels the straining green sleeves give way to a meaty bicep, one sun kissed rather than naturally tan.
Jaw clenched from stress as he tries to remember what book they were reading, Tommy feels it burn as his face so smooth that it’s never had even peach fuzz bursts into a chinstrap beard, disconnected from the mustache clinging to his upper lip. Feeling his slicked-back hair flop forward into a middle part, Tommy knows he’s a perfect copy of the face on that screen.
As soon as the realization hits him, as soon as the perma-shaved treasure trail thrusts onto his torso, he wonders why that would ever not be the case? That is a pic of him and Noah at Splash Fest and all. And why would he not want it posted, how else are he and Noah supposed to show off their bodies.
For some reason his blood runs still cold at the idea, but looking down and seeing his pump he shakes off the unease. Feeling his underwear tighten into a jock-strap, he figures it must be because of the cold. It’s just chilly outside, that makes sense. With one last sigh to release tension any memories of their book club and social media cleanses drift away.
“Yeah, yeah. Looks tight baby. Speaking of tight tho..?”
Having paid no attention at all to Tommy as he came to terms by crook, Noah looks up from his phone. “Huh? Oh did you wanna fuck?” Knocking the phone from his hands, Tommy decides how the rest of the night is to go, only pausing once at the start to decide if they’re to film it or not.
Pouting on his couch, Nate is hung up on how he handled the tiff at his book club. But for some reason, every time he recollects it the scene changes? He swore there were four of them. He swore they were all fairly standard looking. But the image in his mind keeps changing.
First Mike bloats into a titan that one would be surprised to learn is literate. Then Tommy, who's usually kind if not inattentive, turns into some vain raver. This is all before the whole thing is interrupted by his roommate, who Nate swears to god should be built! Surely he’d remember if he lived with an OF twink, right?
Memory issues have done little to help him get less worked up about whatever shit was going on with Tommy’s phone. Growing more tense by the moment, the host bites his lip and turns off the TV. He needs to mainline distraction, surely he’s earned a little cheat. Just one hit, right?
He deserves some mind-numbing content like everyone else. And he knows just where to find it. Opening YouTube in search of his favorite vlogger, Nate immediately freezes as he sees a video he apparently uploaded himself?
Clicking on the thumbnail without a thought, Nate sees sandy beaches and sunny skies accompanied by un hombre- uh, a man so hot he can hardly take his eyes off him. Mind instantly absolved of stress, Nate sinks into the couch and lets the man’s narration wash over him.
It’s not long until buttons start popping off his shirt. After laughing about the first couple he takes it off and wonders why he ever put on something so, uh, tan peqeña. Tanning skin slowly spreading up from his tightening waistband, Nate’s fingers happily scratch at the widening treasure trail lancing upwards from his pubes.
“Es, uh? Deseo que… wish I could go there…” as the newly dark hair on his stomach races to connect with his few blonde chest curls, they spread further afield and begin encircling his larger nipples. The dumb smile on his stubbled face twitches as in no time at all his light beard darkens a strand at a time before the whole thing is as dark as the hair in his head.
Feeling his ginger locks thickening, Nate scratches at his head and realizes something is happening. His arm is heavier, his fingers fatter. Instantly turning on the front camera, he gasps as he sees two bulging pecs below a face he doesn’t recognize. At least, not as his own.
Massaging it to inspect every feature closely, every scratch and pull brings it all that much closer to the one from the video. It’s almost as if he’s deliberately noticing things that look less like the man he’s becoming.
“My nariz- ugh. Mi nose.” Leaning in close he sees it grow. “My uh, mis ojos?” Icy blue gives way to rings of dark brown as he blinks. Atop them his nigh invisible brows darken into two dense caterpillars. Rigorous inspection confirms more and more that all es bien. That he is who he always has been and that is El Rey.
Looking down towards his lips he notices how much thicker they are before he realizes they’re still moving. Not only that, they’ve been mouthing along with the video still playing on his phone. “¡Que cara- What the fuck?!” He shouts in now accented English.
Tossing the thing across the room to hopefully end whatever spell must be affecting him, Nate finds himself face to face with a standing mirror that Jackson must have bought some time or another for content. Seeing his body grow to its final form, his mind goes almost totally blank as he sees his strong stomach and even stronger arms.
“Ay! Soy sexy, aren’t I?”
Despite the video being far from his eyes, he and the little Nate in the video flex at the exact same time. Biceps bulging higher and revealing his far hairier pits, Nate laughs as he hears a muffled joke play from his dropped phone. He’s real good at this isn’t he?
Needs to take a trip with Jackson sooner rather than later, he’d hate to disappoint his fanaticos. After all, se merecen el mundo.
Despite it all, the last bastion of their book club remains distracted from his phone. Reading the latest translated volume of Jojo’s, Arjun is so content that he isn’t even thinking about his argument with Michael, or whoever it was even with.
That is, until he turns the last page and closes it. Done with the chapter, he so intensely wants to hit up Tumblr, or Reddit. Or literally anywhere he can find someone to yap with. Scrolling through his contacts to find anyone who’d humor him, he quickly sighs as he sees no one but his fellow book club members online.
Finger twitching towards Tumblr, he figures that if no one else is taking the social media break all that seriously, why should he. By the time he clicks he realizes he doesn’t even know what book club he’s thinking about. Happy to find he’s already logged in, Arjun sees that in fact, he has somehow already made a post.
Some brawny Japanese wrestler he couldn’t begin to name, and yet his manga rotted mind tries nonetheless, “Kare wa? Uh, looks kinda like Baki?” Perhaps Jojo’s being on the mind has him thinking like a weeb cause obviously the man’s no Baki in form, or style.
Pride starts to pump in his chest as the bookish Arjun realizes he knows more about wrestling than he thought he did. Obviously the guy’s a heel, and his body’s built for strength rather than mass-appeal. Shit though I- uh he looks killer though.
Drinking in every inch of exposed skin, Arjun shivers as his Desi tan starts to fade. Skin shifting into a nigh porcelain shade, the muscle just beneath it tightens into anything but. Arjun’s thin, hairy arms immediately send tears through his sleeves as they smooth and bulge into biceps that intense grappling demands.
Rolling his shoulders as traps struggle not to tear apart his shirt’s seams, Arjun grunts as he suddenly sees the world from a vantage an inch higher. Then another, then another. Nervously looking around to see if anyone’s hearing him grunting, he sighs thankful that no one seems to have.
And then, after a beat, he smirks and laughs as realizes he’d far rather the opposite. To show off, to dominate. Blush burning on his face as the cock tightly buried between his legs pushes against his spandex, Arjun shakes his head and wonders what he’s thinking. His promo thirst trap can’t have gotten him that riled up, right?
His uh, his thirst trap? Promo!?
Arjun’s thighs immediately burst into two massive meaty trunks that absolutely do not befit his reedy upper body. Seeing the beyond muscular legs of a wrestler stretching off his seat Arjun, Arj no, Ritsu wonders how they’re so out of place before laughing.
“Hah! Suruhitsuyōgāru-“ he clicks his tongue, he’s been meaning to work on his English more, American audiences need to hear his taunts and all. “I uhh, need to flex off the shirt, yes!” As his upper body is certainly something he’s put more than enough work into.
To point, Ritsu launches into a flex and tears his shoddy top to shreds. Strands of grey fabric fall to the floor as his thin brown chest gives way to the powerful weighty pecs of a Japanese wrestler.
Eyeliner shades his lashes as his nondescript haircut falls into perfectly stylized coifs, almost dripping with sweat. Ritsu goes to put his phone in his pocket before realizing there’s obviously no room in his trunks. Standing with a stretch, the sound of his bones popping and muscles expanding fills the bus before he turns to the driver and winks. “Tanoshin- eh? Hope you enjoy the show, driversan.”
Making no effort to hide the hard bulge in his uniform, Ritsu strides past the driver and into the cold winter air. Not too pleased to be strutting around in his match attire, Ritsu starts sprinting back towards his host’s. Pretty sure that twunk’ll have a change of clothes. If not, mind flickering in between Nate and Jackson, Ritsu’s got a pretty good idea how to burn some time.
And so, across town six phones flicker as their owners become who they always have been. None the wiser as to who they may have once been nor how they became the beyond alluring Adonises they are now, the six men now live to show off. To distract. To dominate. Going about living as if they were designed to catch eyes, the book club-no-more are all the happier to do just that. Catching eyes, amassing click, and convincing their ever growing audiences to keep scrolling.
Hey everyone! Putting together a winter weather series I think. Here is the second out of the three total I have planned. The first can be found here: The Snow Storm. Hope you enjoy!
"You for real, boy?"
Jake's smile faltered as his fiance's voice cut through the frigid winter air. There were a lot of things that Jake loved about Lindsey. There were a lot of things Jake loved about Lindsey's family. But her father? Greg? That was a whole other story. And Jake couldn't really understand it. Jake took care of his body, had a good job, went to church, and loved Lindsey with every ounce of his being. But Greg never warmed up to him, never seemed to like him all too much.
"What do you mean, Mr. Anderson?" Jake's smile returned as he tried his best to be polite.
"My daughter sends you over to help shovel and you're sittin' hear shiverin' like a little bitch." Greg scoffed.
"I run cold at baseline." Jake replied quickly, "And it's freezing out here."
"Aww, poor little Jakey is cold." Greg mocked, "This ain't nothin'."
Jake frowned. Despite the frigid temperature, his soon to be father-in-law was shirtless, kept warm by a thick pelt of manly chest hair. Despite his age, he was built- one of the only things Jake hoped he could emulate when he got to Greg's age. But that was about the only thing he wished to emulate about the man before him.
"Yeah, but..."
"Here, take this hat and shut up, boy." Greg smirked, shoving his warm winter hat into Jake's hands, "This'll do you better than whatever it is you've got on your head."
"Uh, th-thank you."
"But no more bitching, alright?"
Jake nodded and exchanged his hat for his soon to be father-in-law's. Mr. Anderson was right- he certainly felt warmer. Well at least his ears and head did. Jake smiled- Mr. Anderson was tough but maybe he was warming up to him. But as they continued to trek through the snowy landscape of Mr. Anderson's massive property, Jake was growing more concerned.
"Maybe we should head indoors" Jake said, trudging further behind the man, "The snow is starting to come down harder. We should wait..."
"Who raised you? Gotta shovel while it's comin' down." Greg replied, his voice sounding more distant, "Come on boy, try to keep up!"
Jake could barely see a few steps in front of him as the blizzard intensified, "Mr. Anderson, I can't... what the fuck?" Jake watched as the snow clung to his legs, accumulating rapidly, "Fuck... I can't move... Come on!" He tried desperately to move his legs, but the snow packed on at an alarming rate, "Mr. Anderson! Somethings wrong! We need to get inside!"
Greg's laughter echoed from somewhere ahead, distorted by the blizzard. "Quit your bellyachin', boy! You'll be nice and warm soon enough!"
Jake could barely see Mr. Anderson in front of him anymore. But that wasn't what worried him. It was the snow. He felt his arms grow heavy as it stuck to them, forcing him to drop his shovel as his arms fell to his side. Jake's movements grew sluggish as the weight of the snow hindered his limbs. Panic began to set in as he realized the severity of his predicament.
"Help! Mr. Anderson!" Jake managed to choke out, his words muffled as the snow covered his face, "Please..." But it was too late- he was covered entirely.
Inside the snowy cocoon, Jake's mind raced with fear and confusion. Why wasn't Mr. Anderson helping him? Where was he? Why did it feel like the snow was right against his skin and not the layers of clothing he had on?
Jake shivered violently within his icy prison, the cold seeping deep into his bones. His teeth chattered uncontrollably as he tried desperately to conserve body heat. Fractured thoughts flitted through his numbing mind:
"F-fuck, it's so c-cold…" Jake mumbled to himself, his speech slurred, "I-I can't feel my t-toes… or my fingers…"
He struggled against the snow enveloping him, but his efforts proved useless. The frigid white powder had totally encased him. Fear crept in as strange sensations tingled across his skin and muscles. Was this what hypothermia felt like?
"No no n-no, th-this can't be h-happening..."
And as the bitter cold consumed Jake, a fleeting thought crossed his mind. He imagined the comforting heat radiating off Mr. Anderson's muscular, hair-covered body.
"He's so warm..." Jake thought deliriously, "His big s-strong body… so much h-hair… I bet he'd k-keep me warm in th-those arms…" Jake recoiled mentally at the foreign desire, "Wh-what the fuck am I thinking?" Jake protested weakly, even as he longed for that masculine embrace, "Fuck, fuck, fuck... what's this cold doing to me?"
A sudden rush of warmth flooded Jake's body, causing the snow around him to begin melting rapidly. As the icy layer receded from his head, Jake gasped in shock. Bristly hairs tickled his cheeks and chin - a full, coarse beard now adorned his previously smooth face.
"What the hell?" Jake mumbled, not used to the tickling sensation from his newly sprouted facial hair.
Jake's arms burst free from their snowy confines next, revealing bulging muscles that made his jaw drop. Thick biceps and triceps rippled as he tensed his arms. His newly meaty forearms bore intricate, yet all too familiar, tattoos - the same ones he'd seen on Mr. Anderson countless times.
"Holy shit…" Jake breathed, running a calloused hand over the unfamiliar facial hair coating his cheeks and chin. He marveled at the texture, so different from his usual baby-smooth skin, "Oh my god what the fuck happened to me?" He nearly yelped when he ran his hand over his now completely bald head, "I'm bald?!" He recoiled at the sound of his more gravely voice, "No, no, no… this can't be real…"
But Jake's attention quickly turned to the melting snow along his torso. And as is melted away, Jake's eyes widened in shock. A thick, matted pelt of dark hair blanketed his broad chest and abdomen. Intricate tattoos swirled across his abdomen- now a hard, defined slab of muscle and fat, all blanketed in manly hairs.
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…" Jake chanted under his breath, his eyes wide with dawning horror as the terrifying realization crashed over him. "There's no way this is happening. There's no way I'm…"
He was cut off mid-sentence as the last of the snow melted away, exposing Jake's lower half. He looked down and nearly screamed. There, swinging heavily between his muscular thighs, was a massive, throbbing cock - an exact replica of Mr. Anderson's own impressive endowment. Jake's balls hung low and full, churning with unfamiliar heat.
"This can't be real... How is this even..." Jake cried out, tears of panic and revulsion streaming down his face. He tried to cover his cock with his large calloused hands, "This doesn't even make sense! I'm not…"
"Well well well, what do we have here?" Jake nearly jumped as Mr. Anderson clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering perhaps a moment too long, "Looks like the cold ain't botherin' you much anymore, eh boy?"
Jake shuddered at the touch and felt his massive cock twitch and start to swell as he gazed upon Mr. Anderson's naked upper body.
"I… I don't know what's happening to me," Jake said, his voice now a deep, resonant baritone, "I'm you... I'm..." He stared at Greg, drinking in the sight of the older man's physique, "I'm so warm..." A strange sense of admiration and self-absorption started to creep into his mind.
Mr. Anderson smirked, noticing Jake's wandering gaze and growing arousal, "Maybe we should take this inside." He leaned in closely, "And I can show you what this ol' body of mine can do."
Even as the last shreds of his former identity screamed in protest, Jake found himself nodding in agreement, his new cock throbbing almost painfully with desire.
"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot." Jake said, his voice dripping with newfound confidence and a hint of arrogance that was so distinctly Greg. He stepped closer, invading the older man's personal space, "The hat did this, right?"
Jake ran a hand down Greg's torso, marveling at the feeling of the coarse hair and firm muscle beneath his fingertips. He met Greg's gaze and in that moment Greg knew- all traces of Jake's shy, respectful demeanor gone, replaced by a raw, animalistic hunger.
"I suppose so." Greg's breath hitched as Jake's hand made it's way down his pants and around his own swelling cock, "Fuck... shoulda done this to you sooner, boy." He reached around and grabbed a handful of Jake's muscular ass.
"Gotta make up for lost time then." Jake moaned.
And as the two identical men entered the house, with Jake now fully embodying the essence of Greg Anderson, he knew one thing for certain - he never wanted to be anyone else again. The power, the masculinity, the raw sexual energy coursing through his new form was intoxicating. Any remaining flicker of his old self was snuffed out, consumed by the burning desire to revel in these feelings forever. With a wicked grin, he pulled Greg into a frenzied kiss, the two passionately sealing his fate and his new identity... forever.
Great stories mate! Id love to just slam a musky balaclava on your pretty head and turn you into one of my mindless muscle goons with thick russian accents.
Beau was halfway through his protein shake when he realized his charger was missing. Again.
“Yo, Danny!” he called, glancing around the cluttered living room. “You steal my charger again?”
No answer.
He sighed, walked down the hall in his loose gym shorts and sleeveless tee, sweat still drying on his neck from his post-class lift. Danny was probably gaming again, headphones on. But the guy’s door was open this time, which was weird. And the lights were on. A faint smell drifted out... fuck...like someone’s gym bag got microwaved.
Beau wrinkled his nose, stepped inside.
“Bro, seriously, I need it-”
The door slammed behind him.
He spun, heart jumping. “Danny? What the fuck?”
Too late.
Strong arms wrapped around his chest from behind, dragging him backward before he could react. Beau thrashed, but Danny had the upper hand,
“Dude what the fuck are you - get off me!” Beau snapped, twisting, kicking.
But Danny lifted him clean off the floor and slammed him down onto the bed. Beau grunted, dazed. Danny straddled his hips, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. The other held something. Shit
“What the hell is that bro!?”
Danny just grinned. “A gift.”
“Get the fuck off me!”
“I will” Danny said. “After I put this on you.”
He didn’t wait for permission. The balaclava came down fast, muffling Beau’s yell as the thick, wet interior sealed around his face. It was warm, and the taste of salt filled his mouth.
“Mmph! no, fuckin’ -get this thing...off...”
He bucked, fought, clawed, but Danny just held him down, letting him
breathe
it
in.
Letting the smell do its work.
“Just relax,” Danny whispered. “You’re doin’ great.”
Beau’s body trembled. His muscles tensed, then swelled, chest pumping outward like it was inflating. His arms bulged, veins snaking like rivers across his forearms. His thighs thickened between Danny’s knees, his shorts straining.
Beau gasped. “W-what the fuck...what are you doing to me?”
He couldn't speak...
Think
Danny chuckled. “Making you better.”
Beau tried to scream again, but the words came out wrong. Slurred. Slow.
“I… I don’… feel right…”
Danny leaned in close. “You sound perfect.”
Beau blinked, head foggy. “Why I talk like… fuckin’... dumb?”
His own voice was low and thick.
“I no… I not talk like zis…”
He'd heard people who sounded like this before....
His voice was low and thick, his mind fell quiet, his thrashing stalled...
why was he fighting again?
Danny ran a hand over Beau’s bulging chest, now heaving under the fabric. “Just fixing up your mind man, youre better for me this way."
“I...n-no. I not… not Russian…”
“Sure you are, good boy!” Danny kissed the side of the mask.
"your whoever I want you to be!"
Beaus mind
felt so
empty
Beau’s lips twitched under the fabric. “I… I is… Borya?”
His cock twitched in his straining shorts.
“Fuck yeah, you are.” Danny’s hands slid lower, groping the hardness in his shorts.
Beau’s his mind was melting. Every inhale of the musky mask wiped more of him away...college, parents, his old life There was only Danny’s grip.
Danny..
Was boss...
master..
“Who are you Borya?” Danny demanded, voice firm now, like a trainer commanding a beast.
Beau drooled slightly inside the mask. “Is… muscle. Is… Here to Serve…”
Danny leaned down and kissed him hard through the mask. “That’s right. My big, brainless Russian muscle bitch.”'
Beau nodded, eyes glazed, fully erect now, body drenched in sweat. “...Da..."
Danny grabbed his collar, yanked the tank up and off his massive new body. “Then give me a show you dumb bitch”
Borya chuckled and gladly obeyed, flexing his chest and arms, biceps kissing his ears as he grinned beneath the fabric.
It felt so good
to obey boss...
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Danny muttered, unbuckling his belt. “Now show daddy what that mouth can do.”
“Da, komrade,” Borya drooled. “Is ready to serve…”
****
Hope you enjoyed! I know I did haha.
PLEASE feel free to let me know if you have any story ideas, or any other way you would transform me! Always down to chat!
Eager to be anywhere else after the third snowstorm this spring, Mitch finds his mind keeps wandering to the sunny shores of Rio. Accidentally manifesting a new beach-centric life for himself, he wills his boyfriend along for the ride.
Back with another sporadic story! Two twinks TF into a Brazilian twunk and his bearish lover. Hair, musk, and reality change centric, hope you enjoy this story about yearning for a sunnier, sexier summer! -Occam
Sun warm on his face, the great roar of ocean waves crashing onto the beach lulls him to continue sunbathing even as seagulls caw nearby. Stretching in his rest he feels a speedo catch on his tight hips and bubble butt. Mitch quickly reaches down to scratch his crotch and adjust the speedo’s straining band, his fingers slide down bronzed abs glistening with sweat.
He- he doesn’t have abs?
Mitch’s eyes open to find the world not nearly as summery or idyllic as he had dreamed. Snow continues to flurry down from the heavens as winter continues to relentlessly storm through what should be the beginnings of spring. Stark blanket of snow covering everything in sight, Mitch rubs his face and sighs. Beyond regretful that he woke up from his vibrant dream.
Phone chiming again, Mitch realizes he was brought back to reality by a text from his boyfriend: [All good over there babe?]
Channeling the dreary extended winter he continues sighing and types up a real thoughtful reply: [ya]
Pursing his lips he figures he should put more of an effort in before, in the back of his mind, the gleaming sun returns. It is odd that he dreamed of the beach, isn’t it? Looking down at his pasty neck and a body that’s somehow too thin and pudgy at once, he’s never been the type to enjoy the surf and sun.
And yet, his fingers seem to disagree as his mind meanders. [Hey, Jason, what do u say we take a big trip once this whole thing blows over? Ever thought about Rio?]
Blearily looking back at his screen as he unconsciously sends the message, Mitch stares agog as he hasn’t for a moment thought about a trip to Rio. Never considered a trip to Brazil at all for that matter. Brazil. It’s not like him at all, he doesn’t speak Portuguese, he doesn’t like crowds. He doesn’t even like the beach!
And yet, even as his conscious mind swears up and down that he’d rather die than get sunburned on some beach that’s half a day’s flight away. Something deep within him desperately wants to be on that shore. The logistics of planning a trip for him and Jason alone begin to cause a migraine and he chastises himself for humoring the idea. Simply not in the cards, nor, he remembers for the third time, something he wants to do even in the slightest.
That is, until he looks out at the snow once more. Surely it’s understandable that he’d yearn for sunny skies, empanadas in hand as he touches up his perfect tan. Mindlessly watching snowflakes continue to dance the oppressive white gives way to the deep, rich blue of the sea and sky once more.
What’s with him today? Mitch shakes off his dreaming of heatstroke and sticky sand to pointedly focus on the reality before him. He needs to find some way to burn his snowed-in day away. Could read, could game, Mitch struggles to focus on anything as his mind keeps drifting south. Vaguely light-headed, and even lighter of stomach, Mitch sets his on-edge mind towards breakfast.
Brewing coffee, Mitch smirks oddly as he sees that the beans were grown in Brazil. He tells himself it’s just appreciating the happenstance, but behind his self-soothing the sensation can only be described as pride. Pride that leads him to unconsciously puff his thin chest even as he throws meat on the stove and bread in his toaster.
One hand focused on preparing breakfast, the other keeps finding its way to the hem of his shirt. Stomach’s a little itchy. Must be the shirt. Coming to this conclusion, Mitch at last notices how the sweater he’s always worn explicitly because it was too big is suddenly tugging on his upper arms and chest.
Setting his breakfast off the heat, Mitch tugs at this thick fabric and watches as it retracts to hug his chest in a way that almost looks like pecs. Lips curl into a smile as Mitch sees his arms twitch against tightening sleeves. Not even noticing a hand easily snaking under the rising waistline to scratch at his stomach, he follows suit and simply tears off the sweater, throwing it to the kitchen floor.
Stumbling out of his pants en route to a full-body mirror, Mitchel gasps when he sees a body far more impressive than he thought he’d ever achieve. Sure, it seems like his ever–waxed treasure trail returned and there’s some unsightly stubble on his face that he’d need to be rid of when he sees Jason, but so it goes.
The little fat that rounds out his face seems to dissolve as his jawline sharpens underneath the patchy beard. His stick thin neck thickens as he checks angles like a man made to model rather than sit inside and whine.
Thighs almost bloating larger as he takes in his appearance, Mitchel’s mouth may as well water as he lets his mind wander to the azure sea again. Hands trail down abs slightly sticky with sweat as the scent of salty air and tanning oil assaults his senses once more. Wandering back to the living room he reposes onto the couch as if it were a beach blanket perfectly made to hold his growing form.
Giving into the sunny daydream more with every passing second, Mitchel almost begins snoring as he’d swear he feels the summer sun beaming down on him. Fingers still trailing up and down abs bulging larger, cupping pecs that are struggling to grow to their rightful size in a body bereft of strength- well, it’s no wonder they find themselves playing with the bush of pubes curling out from his underwear.
Exposed skin tans from the burning sun in his mind alone as his thickening bush continues to tangle and rise higher onto his bronzing stomach. Skin so pale as to blend in with the snow outside is washed in a tan as darkening waves of sun kissed skin conquer. Neck lolling and mouth agog as he falls back onto the couch, Mitchel does his best to quiet a moan as his pre-dripping dick throbs into his palm.
Shittt~ he can’t get off at the beach, can he?
Crotch now laden with a heavy bulge made to catch eyes in a speedo, Mitchel feels it start to get soggy with pre and in his foggy mind he decides to wander towards the sea to settle down. Never one to sleepwalk, trying to amble up with a far heavier body than he’s had to move consciously, Mitchel swiftly returns to the couch onto his wider back.
Having stumbled on the quickest path back to wakefulness, Mitchel gasps back to life as he should know it to find two wider hands stuffed down his pants. Retrieving his rougher palms before noticing the veiny forearms and even more impressive biceps they’re attached to. “Que merda?” Mitchuel mumbles out, barely noting the raspy deeper voice as he’s far more preoccupied by the fact he just spoke in a language he doesn’t know.
Small heart pounding in his heavier chest, the dreamlike scent of fruit and cooking milho vacate as the oppressive musk of his muscle bound body fills the space. Struggled breaths through expanding lungs inhale more and more of his sweaty stink and with heavy intake there’s a subtle scent of salty air growing stronger once more.
Chest panging in a manner than usually signals an anxiety attack to Mitchel, at present he reads his body's desperate pleas as nothing more than need. One which is his eager to fulfill as he twists his deeper neck to get a sniff of the sweaty jungle still thickening in his pits. Não está certo, né? But it’s so hot, how can it be wrong.
Couch creaking underneath him, Mitchuel tries to keep his mind focused on the reality before him. Tanned legs and a heavy bulge throbbing with need, it takes a good deal of his focus not to start humping into his tight underwear and paw his cock to completion. Retracing his steps mentally to try and remember if he accidentally ate a psychedelic or something, Mitchuel doesn’t notice as his thoughts are increasingly bilingual.
Finally standing to his full new height, the knowledge of snow-covered streets outside the window behind him melts away as he begins to forget the nature of the reality he woke to this morning. He was going to have café da manhã… have breakfast… sim…
Wandering to a messy kitchen, tripping over a sweatshirt or something discarded on the floor Mitchuel snatches it with his feet and gives it a good sniff to see if it's clean before grimacing and tossing it back to the floor. Whatever, not like he needs to wear anything to cook. Scratching the trail of curls on his stomach still prickling thicker, he smirks as in place of what should be a half prepared bacon egg and cheese sandwich he finds small rolls he at first doesn’t recognise.
“Oh! É pão de queijo! Eh? What? Cheese bread..?”
Clearing his throat as an even deeper voice echoes back. Micuel quibbles as he tries to decide if he actually knows what that is, taking a long sip of café to ground himself, he shrugs and simply begins eating. Doesn’t matter what he’s having but if he wants to keep his perfect body he’s gotta fill it with something.
Tearing into the small puffs, Micuel moans as the familiar taste fills him with certainty of self. Wanting to keep his mind sharp as his body, he uses his small caffeine buzz to focus on a book that’s always on his kitchen table. Only, he finds it hard to make any progress at all? Words dance before his eyes as he wonders why the book’s in English.
Sure he speaks it well enough but he’s never been that much of a good student. Thin eyebrows furrow into burly caterpillars above his dark eyes as he forces himself to try and read on. Fortunately for the born-and-bred carioca, In his hands though, the book does its best to reform itself into a tome he’d be realistically able to read.
Changes on his body finalizing as the book in his hand stains with sand and saltwater, the book becomes some barely intelligible guide to getting the perfect beachbody. One clearly functional as Miguel’s body becomes the textbook example. Shoulders crack wider as his pecs bulge towards the perfect size to allure anyone to hop on his dick as they’re covered by a patch of dark curls.
Shivering in the kitchen as a breeze blows through an open window, Miguel smirks as he sees another perfect sunny day shining outside. Stretching his muscular arms and lithe waist in the almost-too-bright sun, the man slightly lowers his speedo to ensure no inch of skin is anything less than perfectly bronze. Exposing his thick bush yet again, Miguel mindlessly plays with his pubes and bulge as he thinks out loud, now in fluent Portuguese.
“Ahh, O que devo fazer hoje?” (Ahh, what am I to do today?)
Bouncing his ass in his breezy den as he simply delights in the splendor of the tropical air, the troubles of life snowed in on the costa leste americana is thousands of miles away. And anyway, the question is rhetorical. Obviously he’s going to the beach, he should see if Jason wants to go.
And then his mind fractures.
Isso não é… That’s not his boyfriend, is it?
Thicker brows furrowed, he tries to remember the finer details of his relationship with his longtime boyfriend. Paging through his simplified mind more like a pamphlet than a book, beach boy Miguel can’t remember bumping into a twink so, ehh, nerdy as the man his memory asserts is his lover.
And yet, sure as he knows the back of his hand or brand of speedo on his waist, that’s his lover. His amante. It’s just, he would’ve sworn that Jason was more, well, just more. Massaging his temples, feeling his fingers scratch through salt-laden curls, Miguel tries to refresh his memories.
Jason was Brazilian. They went to school together, grew up in a favela right by his side. Watched as it blew up into quite the touristy spot, one that might attract the meek man being produced whenever Miguel thinks of Jason.
“Puta merda, minha cabeçaaa!” (God damnit my headdd!)
Josan was more than that, though of course it’s difficult to imagine anyone being more than Miguel somehow Josan managed it. The beach bunny just couldn’t quite remember how. Images of his lover flicker to mind.
He can see Josan’s ass, teasing him, luring Miguel to be as hornier as Josan was at any given moment. Back arched, covered in tattoos accrued from a lifetime of rushing from one excitement to another, performing twink with his cinched waist as if he weren’t even more of a lunkhead than Miguel.
Or sim! That’s it Jaosn was an absolute tank. Biceps the size of Miguel’s impressive legs, back wider than the front door at his place. Always eating to put mass on, the only man able to overpower Miguel’s musk and treat the built gym bro like a ragdoll. And behind that bulging veneer he’s just a teddy bear, bottom to boot.
Tck, não. Joãn was never that obsessive about his physique. He’d come with to the gym sure, but he’d never sculpt or perfect. Just put on mass, strength… Yeah, and he was hairy! Hairy for sure, between the pair Miguel was definitely the brains too, not that it really matters since they’re always by the other’s side.
Whining to himself, bass petulance rumbling from his muscular chest, Miguel takes a deep breath and retreats to where he can always find peace. What he knows best. Cheers of people playing in the waves accompanied by bossa nova from a nearby bar. Daydream washing over him as if he were in the sea, his heavy hand moves as if possessed and reaches forward to cup João's soft chest. That’s it! That’s his urso.
Across town, scrolling on his phone Jason feels his cozy bedroom grow even warmer. Working up a sweat even as he sits still, the hitherto twink grunts as he feels his clothes are suddenly a little tight. No need to keep clothed he tears off his sweater and lays back down, noticing a slight belly he shrugs and half-covers it with a blanket.
Hand behind his head, as he gets back to his phone, Jason sees something from the corner of his eye. At first it’s just one long dark strand sticking out from his few blonde pit curls. And then there’s another, a patch, then one can scarcely see beneath the dark jungle of curls. Mindlessly giving them a sniff, Jason recoils as his musk smells like that of a completely different man. The man he is becoming.
Groaning, he sits up and clutches his stomach as it begins to bloat. Josan stares as the same bountiful garden of hair races up from his pubes, cresting over what looks like an expanding beer belly pushing aside pecs similarly dusting with body hair he’d not dreamed of having with his natural blonde locks.
Moaning as anyone would, he holds down a few burps as he looks down at thickening thighs and the heavier bulge in between them. Cupping which he feels it throb with an intense need. Stubble that’s already become a beard rubbing against his neck as he looks down, João gasps out to no one, voice cracking deeper as he does.
“Carambaaa~, eu sou sexy, né?” (fuckk~ I’m sexy aren’t I?)
Smirking as he begins playing with himself, his eyes as blue as the sea darken into two onyx gems. Black as the thick hair on his head, and the even thicker pubes in his crotch. Sucking up some drool that was beginning to spill into his pristine goatee, João puts a hold on self-love to take a call from his lindo.
Switching it to a facetime instinctually, João immediately brightens as he sees his own face reflected back at him. Exercising the self-control not to immediately start phone-sex, he impatiently waits for Miguel to speak up.
“Ei, bebê! algum plano para hoje?” (Hey babe! Big plans today?)
“Na, na verdade não, só estou esperando a nev-” (Nah nah- just waiting on the snow to-)
“Neve!? Nossa, amor, não é à toa que todo mundo acha que eu sou o inteligente, heh!” (Snow!? Jeez babe, no wonder everyone thinks I’m the smart one, heh!)
João pauses at this, wondering if people really do think Miguel is the smart one before realizing he doesn’t really care. Together they are just one anyway. Always at the front of mind, João finds himself far more preoccupied with the next time him and Miguel’ll have some fun.
“Você tem o Speedo que eu enviei?” (Have the Speedo I sent you)
After a beat, João turns to a mirror and zooms out so Miguel can see the uniform already on. Mouth falling open at the sight of his bear in all his glory, Miguel feels his own blue balls suddenly grow far more urgent. Seems they’ve got something far more pressing to do than hit the beach, though there’s certainly time enough to enjoy their little slice of heaven afterwards.
Looking to the horizon, Miguel shivers one last time as the shining sea for some reason reminds him of blankets of snow like he’s never seen. Shrugging off the strange daydream of winter storms and a life indoors, he neglects to throw on a shirt as he starts his quick commute to fuck.
The world is brighter when he begins his walk through the bustling streets of Rio. Sun breaks through the canopy of buildings while thousands of voices singing and shouting vie for his attention. Only one man is on his mind as he waddles on, and only one destination lies afterwards. Miguel just can’t wait to have the sea on his skin, and João sunbathing by his side.
With a pep in his step and a beaming grin on his face, Javi strut down the hotel hallway with his bag in tow. The annual vacation with Tom was the one thing that he looked forward to more than anything— he and his childhood best friend made plans every year since they had graduated high school, each destination getting more and more exciting. In just ten years, they’d visited six new states and four countries. It was a far cry from their summers in rural Indiana, and each time was a new opportunity to relive those days of playing the PS3 at his house until 4 in the morning and spending every waking hour together surrounded in laughter and excitement. Now, as the lovely New York City hotel rolled out the red carpet to room 1709, the simple task of pressing his room key on the door and the click of the door unlocking marked the beginning of his yearly respite. Javi pressed his hand against the door, and pressed it wide open.
"You're early," Tom said, his voice gruffer than Javi had ever heard it.
Javi looked up from his phone, his heart skipping a beat. The hotel room looked normal, just as the website had advertised, but something was definitely off. The lights were dimmer, the air thick with an unusual musk. And there, snapping a selfie in the mirror, was Tom. Or at least, someone who looked like Tom, but this Tom was… different. His skin was covered in a fine layer of hair, his body bulging with muscles that seemed to have been photoshopped on overnight. Javi's eyes lingered on his friend's feet, noticing the way his toes curled and flexed in those dirty, sweaty black socks. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement.
"What the fuck happened to you, man?" Javi's voice cracked as he took a tentative step closer. Tom's reflection in the mirror smirked, turning to face him with a swagger that was entirely foreign to him. His warm brown eyes had a feral glint to them, his teeth baring wide in a snide smirk. Javi stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do… what to say… what to think.
"You like what you see?" Tom's tone was laced with an arrogance that made Javi's cheeks burn. He couldn't help but nod, his eyes darting back to those bulging muscles and the way the fabric of Tom's jockstrap strained against his shockingly massive bulge. The smell in the room was intoxicating, a buttery stink wafted off every inch of Tom's chiseled body. Something that sent a thrill down Javi's spine and made his knees weak as Tom stepped forward, his socks squelching with every footfall and leaving a trail of sweaty footprints as he strode forward. The walk, the voice, the fact that his formerly 5'8" band geek friend was now suddenly at least 6'0" and hulked out… There was an innate panic that swelled within him, but just the carnivorous eyes that New Tom flashed at him had Javi shuddering.
Tom stepped closer, and Javi found himself backpedaling until his knees hit the bed. "Yeah, I know you do," he said with a cocky grin, his teeth gleaming like a frat boy who had just scored a winning touchdown. "I've seen the way you look at me, the way you follow me around with those puppy dog eyes." He leaned down, his breath hot and minty on Javi's cheek. "I've seen you staring at my feet, Javier. How much you want to kiss them?" His words were a taunt, a challenge wrapped in a velvet threat that made Javi's cock throb.
Javi's heart raced as he tried to form a coherent sentence. "T-Tom, what happened to you?" He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the bulge in Tom's jockstrap. "You're not acting like yourself."
Tom flexed his biceps, his muscles rippling like waves under the dim hotel room light. He let out a deep, guttural laugh that seemed to shake the walls of the room like an earthquake. "You think?" He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, let me tell you, the old Tom is gone, baby. This is the new Tom, and boy, do you ever look like you're going to love him." He winked, his new, alpha-male persona oozing out of every pore.
Javi felt his body betraying him, his own cock straining against his pants as he took in the sight of Tom. He had always had a thing for jocks, for the way they could make him feel so… small, so insignificant, yet so desired. And now, here was his best friend, his secret crush, transformed into the epitome of masculine dominance. He could feel his resistance crumbling like a cookie in a vice, and as much as he wanted to flee, his ass remained rooted to the spot.
"T-Tom, this isn't funny," Javi stammered, his voice a mix of fear and arousal. "You need to go to the doctor, something's seriously wrong."
Tom just snickered, the sound sending a cold shiver down Javi's spine. He took a step closer, and before Javi could react, his massive, hairy hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. The mattress groaned under the weight of Tom's new form, and Javi found himself pinned down, the scent of his friend's sweat and musk enveloping him.
"There's nothing a doctor can do for me, Javier," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "This is who I am now. And it's about time you admitted who you really are, too." Tom's grip on Javi's chin tightened, forcing their faces closer together, his breath hot and minty. Javi's eyes searched Tom's, looking for some semblance of his friend, but all he found was a ravenous hunger that reflected his own hidden desires.
"What the fuck do you mean?" Javi's voice was a whisper, his body trembling beneath the weight of Tom's towering form.
Tom's grin widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "You know exactly what I mean," he said, his grip on Javi's chin tightening. "You've had the hots for me since we were in high school. Don't even try to deny it." His eyes bore into Javi's, and for a brief moment, Javi could see the flicker of the old Tom, the one who had been his confidant, his ally. But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, hard stare of the new Tom. The one who was in complete control.
"You're wrong," Javi protested feebly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tom's grip on his chin tightened, his thumb tracing the line of Javi's jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the power behind it. "Am I?" His eyes searched Javi's, looking for the truth that they both knew lay just beneath the surface. "You've been pining after me for years. Now's your chance to show me how much you want this." His breath was hot and minty on Javi's face, the scent of his minty breath mingling with the musky aroma of his body.
Javi's mind raced, trying to piece together how Tom could have changed so much in such a short time. It was impossible, it had to be some kind of prank, or maybe a really good costume. But the feel of those muscles beneath his fingers, the way Tom's body seemed to radiate heat and power, it was all too real. He tried to fight the urge to kiss him, to touch him, but his body was already responding, his cock straining against his pants.
Tom's grin grew wider, his eyes never leaving Javi's. "Feeling a little excited, are we?" His hand slid down to Javi's crotch, giving his erection a squeeze through the fabric. Javi's eyes went wide with shock and arousal. He couldn't believe this was happening, but the proof was in the way his body was begging for more. "Told you," Tom said, his voice a low purr. "You can't resist New Tom can you?"
Javi's mind raced, trying to find some rational explanation. He'd seen prosthetics in movies, maybe Tom had gotten really into cosplay. The smell of his sweat, the way his muscles bulged, it had to be a silicone suit. It had to be. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the fear that had been building up. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, Tom. I get it. You're just… playing a role."
Tom leaned in closer, his grin turning predatory. "You want to play along?" he whispered. "You want to find out who's really in charge here?"
Javi nodded, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The musky scent of Tom's body washed over him, making his head spin. He could feel the heat emanating from his friend's body, the power in every inch of him, and it was intoxicating. Tom grinned wickedly, rising to his feet and strutting over to the chair.
"Come on, then," he said, gesturing to his socks with a jerk of his head. "Take them off, I want you to get a good whiff."
Javi's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire as he slid off the bed and onto his knees. He felt the plush carpet against his skin, the fibers sticking slightly to the sweat that had gathered on his body. As he crawled towards Tom, the room felt hotter, the air thick with the scent of unwashed socks and virile musk, something that was making his cock throb even more insistently. He reached out tentatively and took hold of the top of Tom's sock. The fabric was warm and damp, and he could feel the outline of Tom's toes through it. His stomach fluttered as he tugged it down, revealing the hairy, sweaty arch of his friend's foot.
"Look at them," Tom said, raising one of his massive, muscled legs and pointing a toe at Javi's face. "These are what you've been dreaming about, aren't they?" The room was so silent, it was as if the very walls held their breath. The smell of Tom's unwashed feet hit Javi like a truck, a powerful aroma of butter and roquefort that seemed to fill every molecule of the air around them. The sight of those size 15 soles, glistening with sweat and grime, had him feeling lightheaded with a mix of fear and arousal.
Tom's toes curled and flexed, the muscles in his legs bulging like those of a Greek statue come to life. He placed his foot firmly against Javi's cheek, his toes digging into the side of his face. "Worship them," he ordered, his voice a thunderclap of dominance that reverberated through Javi's body. And despite his racing thoughts, despite his better judgment, Javi found himself leaning in, his nose brushing against the furry, sweat-soaked arch of Tom's foot.
The scent was… indescribable. It was like a symphony of manliness, a concert of musk and sweat that played a siren's song to Javi's deepest, most secret desires. It was the smell of power and strength, of a man that knew no bounds, that could take what it wanted with no apologies. It was a scent that made him feel small and helpless, ensnaring him like a moth to a flame. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the odor filling his nose and mouth, coating his tongue. It was thick and heavy, with notes of gym socks and washed rind cheese, of locker room floors and the faint hint of something… animalistic. It was a scent that made his cock throb, his knees wobble, and his heart race.
Tom's voice was like a serpent whispering sweet nothings into his ear, urging him closer, deeper into the rabbit hole. "That's it, baby," he crooned, his toes sliding along Javi's cheek, the calloused skin leaving a trail of heat. "Sniff them, lick them, show me how much you love these stinking, sweaty dogs." The words were a command, a declaration of ownership that Javi found himself obeying without thought. He leaned in, his nose buried in the high arch of Tom's foot, inhaling deeply. The scent was overwhelming, but as he let his tongue snake out to slide across the slick sole, he found it… delicious. The salt of his sweat, the faint cheesy tang of his skin, it was a feast that had Javi's mouth watering. He licked along the length of Tom's foot, from his heel to the base of his toes, savoring every inch, every taste.
"Mm, yes," Tom murmured, his foot pressing harder against Javi's face. "You've always been such a good boy, haven't you?" Javi couldn't help but moan into the arch of Tom's foot as he continued to worship the musky flesh before him. "But now, you're going to see just how good I feel in this body." Tom leaned back in the chair, his muscled chest heaving with each breath, his abs rippling like a mountain range.
With a swift kick, Tom sent his other foot flying through the air, the smell of his sweat-soaked sock smacking Javi right in the face. "Take them off," he said, his voice a growling command. Javi's eyes watered, but his hands were already moving, eager to obey. He peeled the sock off, the fabric sticking to Tom's skin with the suction of a vacuum seal. He held it up to his nose, inhaling the potent stench of his friend's foot.
"Now put them on," Tom said, his foot still pressing down on Javi's head. Javi took the sock, his heart racing, and slid it onto his own foot. It was like sliding into a warm, wet glove that had been marinating in a frat house's lost and found. The fabric clung to his toes, the scent of Tom's sweat enveloping him. He took a deep breath, the smell of his friend's feet filling his nostrils and making his cock throb even harder. He couldn't believe what he was doing, but he also couldn't believe how much he liked it.
"Good boy," Tom said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction that made Javi's stomach flip. "Now the other one." Javi obeyed, his hands shaking slightly as he slipped the other sock onto his foot. The smell was overpowering, a heady mix of musk and sweat that made him feel like he was inhaling pure, concentrated masculinity.
Tom's foot remained planted on Javi's head, his toes digging into his hair like they were anchors holding him in place. "Now, sniff them," he ordered. "Let me hear how much you love the smell of your new master's stench." Javi brought his best friend’s foot to his nose, his eyes rolling back in his head as the damp, sticky sole pressed against his nose. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding as he inhaled the scent that seemed to fill his very soul with a dark, delicious hunger.
“Ahhh fuck, Tom. Shit that’s so good.” With every suction of the thick miasma wafting now from both Tom’s foot and his own, he fell deeper and deeper into the thralls of lust. Letting his hand slide past the waistband of his shorts, the touch of his sweaty fingers gliding against the throbbing meat within made him gasp, droplets of Tom’s ripe sweat soaring into his lungs. Before he could take the initiative to pump, an even firmer pressure against his length was felt on his pleading groin. Opening his eyes, Javi could have burst just from the sight of it: Tom’s wicked smirk and his grimy left foot rubbing him through the pre soaked fabric.
“Such a good boy, Javi. I think I may deserve a treat, don’t you think?” Tom’s devilish grin sent shivers down Javi’s spine, and all he could do was nod in affirmation as the sweaty foot gently slid back and forth. “Yeah. I deserve a treat. I deserve you, Javi. Are you willing to give me my treat?” A guttural moan burst from his lips, the flavor of Tom’s sole against his face breaking any notion of resistance. He cried out with a muffled ‘mmhmm,’ desperation deep in his tone. That’s all Tom needed to hear.
It started as an ever so quiet little squeak, barely perceptible to the enraptured Javi. Though as he continued to lap at the slick sole, it wasn’t the wet squelches or the rubbery stretching that echoed in the hotel room that caught his attention; no, it was the sole. The way it started undulate, to bubble and warp beneath the smelly skin— Javi opened his eyes to see just what was truly happening. Tom’s sweat drenched boxer briefs, pulled down just below the pendulous balls, his long uncut shaft bulging and warping before his eyes as a grotesquely bulbous lump began to squirm up the length of his cock.
“Awww yeah. Javi, I’m gonna love it in there. You’re gonna love it too.” Tom’s teeth gritted with euphoric fervor as the bulge breached the tip of his stretching cockhead, wiry gray hairs slithering out wet and shellacked to the wrinkled, albeit handsome head of a man he did not know. Javi froze, the funk wafting from the feet his only comfort as the cock bloated and gaped around a vascular neck and broad shoulders. His eyes darted between Tom’s still smirking and wicked face and the hulking muscular man slithering out of his urethra.
“Oh… ohhh… unghhh…” The moans of pleasure that bellowed out of Javi’s mouth made Tom’s smirk widen as he continued to rub Javi’s throbbing appendage. Javi couldn’t process the surreal sight of the muscular man crawling out of his rod, down his thick, hairy legs toward him. As the man’s calloused hands pushed Tom’s foot from his face and his round rump and slimy cock sprang from the engorged slit, Javi’s mouth sat agape in mind numbing shock.
“Give me my treat, Javi.” Tom laughed wickedly as the man’s first few fingers slipped past Javi’s lips without so much as a gag of resistance. The taste of Tom’s cum coating the man’s form flavored his tongue with the sweetness of pineapple and tang of spunk as the man’s hands squeezed into his mouth— then his forearms, then his head… no pain, no discomfort, just… surrender. Once the foothold was established, the man’s arms thrust deeply down his bulging throat and into his core, it took little more than a firm tug for the man to slurp the rest of his chiseled form into Javi’s yielding body.
His cock tightening back to its thick, 9.5 inches as the last of the man’s ripe stinking size 15 feet slopped out of his slit, Tom let his head fall back onto the back of the chair as he wrapped his own hand around the length. He snickered to himself, listening to the schlorp and squelch of the man’s toes squeezing past Javi’s lips. The very same euphoria that overcame him when the leather daddy had dominated and entered his own body in the LaGuardia bathroom merely hours before was now overtaking Javi as the man made himself at home within his second body. Though it was not truly Tom in drivers seat behind those big brown eyes, he reveled in the addition of his host’s best friend into the cavalcade of identities merged into his consciousness— one more body to enjoy and experience. As he slipped on Javi’s skin, the overwhelming exhilaration of feeling the sensations of two bodies at once flooded his synapses while he pumped and smugly admired the hairy stud he’d created from the blank canvas of Tom’s skin.
“Heh, yeah boy. We’re gonna have some fun.” The sound of stretching rubber and elastic squeaks emanating from Javi’s warping form accompanied the slick, slimy noises of his lazy stroking. Gurgles and murmurs rang out with increasing frequency, mirroring the pace of his hand movements, until he grunted as the man’s head slipped into Javi’s like a silicone mask.
*SNAP*
Silence. Then a wry snicker as Javi stood- now mirroring his 6’4” stature and muscular, with the stench to boot. He towered above Tom, tugging on the elastic skin of his cheeks before they snapped into place, permanently.
“You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna join me?” Tom chided as he watched himself flex Javi’s thick, muscular arms- sweat dripping from his hairy armpits. His new acquisition still pouring in the body’s memories and incorporating them into his dominant consciousness; Javi leaned in, his tattooed hands landing squarely on either side of him on the armrests.
“Yeah, let’s have some fun.” Javi’s formerly sweet and innocent voice now thick with his gravel and grit, he sneered as their lips collided and tongues tangled.
———
“He’s on his way.” Javi leered as he fell backward onto his couch, kicking his funky, three week worn socks onto Tom’s lap as he sipped the last of his beer.
“You take the front, I’ll take the back. Nice spit roast for us.” Tom placed the empty Heineken on the table, resting his own identically ripe feet on either side of Javi. “Suckin’ and fuckin’, all at once. That’s the good shit.” Three weeks of wild debauchery in New York, and he had all but mastered the art of piloting two vessels at once. Tasting two brews simultaneously, savoring the buzz of poppers from two perspectives, feeling the tightness of latex on Javi and the creaks of leather on Tom… Manhattan had proved to be quite the training grounds for him. He wasn’t planning on letting that education go squandered.
“I know. That little twink won’t know what squeezed into him.” Javi smiled wryly, wriggling his toes beneath the grimy socks. “But until he gets here, give Javi some attention. The twink shouldn’t be the only one to enjoy him.” Tom grinned, letting his hands grip onto Javi’s damp foot, pulling it close to press against his face. “But you know, two is a party- three is a rave.”
Andrew and Marcus held hands as they watch the man behind the computer type up the invitation.
"Almost finished," he said. "And just so you know, this is a very exclusive invitation to a very special event in your young lives."
"We know," they said together. The two young men had met a few years ago, started dating, then living together. Now in their early 30s they decided they wanted to marry. But not just any wedding, a transformational wedding attended by only their closest friends and family. A destination wedding at a remote cabin resort upstate.
"It's going to be so beautiful," said Marcus to his partner. They were a cute couple, two slim twinks starting to put on a little more weight and muscle since meeting each other.
"And ... done! Invitations sent!" said the man.
"What? Already! But we didn't even send you the guest list? Or the name of my best man?" protested Andrew.
"There's no turning back now, boys," said the man, his voice suddenly deepening. The man's shirt and tie melted away as his shoulders and chest expanded. His hairy chest puffed out and his meaty six-pack was covered in dark fur.
With a stern voice, he continued to explain what was about to happen.
"I'll be officiating your wedding, your transformation, and the transformations of your guests. You'll want to take your phones out for this next part."
The two man obeyed, both terrified by the sudden appearance of this beastly man towering over them.
"We've found that the most loyal friends and family are not chosen by the couple or the guest at the wedding. We've taken that burden off of you and will create the perfect exclusive experience for you. We've sent an invitation to your entire network. Every person you know! The first three from each of your networks to open the invitation will attend and become your best men, a new brotherhood of forever friends that will never fail you. Ever. A bit of a curse on them, but a blessing on you. Got it? As soon as those six people are chosen, the rest of the invites vanish. No one else will know."
The two men gulped.
"Oh, look! Our first guest has sent in their photo!"
"Who is that?" asked Marcus.
"This was your co-worker Trevor, the one that works in IT. Looks like he's going to be your best man! Congrats!"
"But, that's not what he looks like ... he was only like 23 years old! And I barely have spoken to him."
"Not anymore. He's now one of your best friends, gym partner, drinking buddy, you name it. He's so excited for both of you!"
The phone in Andrew's hand suddenly chimed.
The message with the photo read, "Congrats, big bro!"
Andrew looked at the image and recognized the tattoo on the arm.
"Fuck...no...is that..." Andrew's face turned white.
"Yes, that's your little sister...well, little brother now," said the man. "It's always nice when one of your family joins the party! Congrats!"
"So, she's a dude now? This is sick, man! She was dating a dude ... like, what happens to him?"
"He's fine. Don't worry. It all works out in end and no one remembers a thing. They can still date if they both want to."
"But, she was my sister ..."
"Was she though?" said the man.
Andrew's face contorted suddenly and it felt like he was hit on the head with something. He rubbed his forehead and remembered only ever having a little brother. They had been in sports together, worked out together. He had just started dating his first gay guy after coming out a few years ago and he couldn't be prouder!
"What, no ... not him ..." said Marcus suddenly.
"Who is that?" asked Andrew looking over at the phone.
"Well, it *was* this horrible person that I grew up with. He was sort of a bully in my hometown. Remember when I told you about that summer camp that I went on with my high school church youth group?"
"Vaguely, why?" replied Marcus.
"He was the pastor's son and found out I was gay and pretty much ruined my senior year of high school. I think he went off to some conservative college and has like six kids. What's going to happen to them! This photo looks like it's taken in the bathroom of his house? Like, his wife and kids are probably home right now."
"True! And they still have a husband and father."
"Not sure how that's going to work out...he's super homophonic."
"I can assure you that is not anymore. He's not gay, but he's supportive of you both unconditionally and wants to be there on your special day. A year ago, he reached out to you to apologize. He's had a change of heart and you opened up to him. You get coffee together every couple of weeks now."
Wham! Marcus felt a smack on his head and believed it was true.
"I have no idea who this is," said Andrew.
"Remember that guy you shared a wifi password with back when you lived in that apartment building?" said the man.
"That guy was like 70 years old?"
"Well, he's going to be your new neighbor. He comes over for dinner pretty regularly too. Great taste for beer and wine."
"And sexy," said Marcus.
"Hey now," said Andrew. "Hands off my friend!"
The two of them were oblivious to the changes taking place slowly in their own bodies as two more notifications came in.
"Oh, this one is cute," said Marcus. "Remember my friend Kayla, who's always complaining about her job as a kindergarten teacher. Look at her now!?"
"What? That's hilarious!" laughed Andrew.
"Well, he still teaches kindergarten, but goes by Karl. The kids call him The Hulk. He's been voted 'Teacher of the Year' five times," said the man.
The final notification pinged Andrew's phone.
"Congrats, you're party is completed!"
"I don't know this guy?" said Andrew.
"Of course you do, that's your business partner and head brewer at the microbrewery you co-founded," said the man.
"The what now?" replied Andrew. Then it clicked, "Oh, that's right. Before I met you, I went on a date with this random guy that I met on a dating app. We met at a brewery, I think?"
"The brewery that you now own together," said the man.
Andrew looked up from his phone at Marcus and smiled. His fiancé had a thick black beard, dark eyebrows, and strong shoulders.
"I love you," said Andrew.
"And I love you too," said Marcus, taking a moment to squeeze his partner's thigh.
"Your guests will arrive by Friday night. The wedding will be short -- and shirtless -- just like you wanted and after your honeymoon, you two get to start living live with these beautiful people and new friends."
But the two of them weren't listening. They were too enraptured with each other.
The man snapped a photo and sent it out to the VIP guest list.
Lowry was a young man who is 18, somewhat lean and slim. He also was discovering his sexuality and that he liked men, particularly older men.
He had a friend named Max who he hang out with and would visit his house from time to time. Now what Max didn’t know was that Lowry had a special ability that allowed him to possess a person by removing his cloths and flying into there mouth. He would use it occasionally on Max’s stud of a Dad Riley, who was also Max’s coach to train, while Max needed time alone at home or whenever Lowry could have time to enjoy himself.
One day, Lowry went into Max’s house to help him pack his things to move to college out of state. While Max was occupied with preparing and clearing his room. Lowry thought to himself.
I am going miss taking over Old Riley. Lowry said. One last time, Why not?
Lowry then proceeded to jump into Riley mouth to jackoff and worship his sexy body while he was in bed. After savoring the cum one last time he attempts to leave except this time when he tries to exit out of the DILF’s body through his mouth in his physical form, Riley’s hand blocks the mouth and instead of Lowry, Riley exits in astral form into his son Max's room.
it seems to appear that the old man saw this opportunity when lowery took his body and the orgasms spiritual vulnerability, allowing a spirit to temporarily disconnect from the body.
Max then proceeded to spasm out loud for a moment and then comes out of his room to reveal Riley’s in control.
Don’t worry Dad, I’ll take good care of this body. Riley said in Max’s voice.
Lowry is now stuck in Riley’s old body for a certain amount of time, but one thing is certain, he’s not leaving his body anytime soon.
“You better get ready, Dane. Your “big brother” will come home soon and teach you a lesson for being a bad boy” said Adam, clearly focused on the street
“In two minutes, I’ll get all of your big brother memory and as soon as I get that, I’ll hit the gas hard and punish you ASAP. Let’s see what will you think about your favorite big brother become your worst bully. I bet home will be hell for you,” said Adam, gripping the steering wheel hard until his muscle tensed
Dane is a freshman in local high school whereas his brother Adam is in the 2nd year of college. Both boys played football and both boys were famous. They are very close to each other and such a role model for a perfect siblings relationship. But, Dane made the biggest mistake on his life as he bullied Wyatt, the witchcraft weirdo, and a fellow junior in local high school. Little did everyone know that Wyatt fond over witchcraft started because in his family, there’s a line of witchcraft ancestry and Wyatt have the power. So, he casted a spell to possess Adam’s body and as soon as he casted the spell, his soul shot out from his body directly to a parking lot where Adam parked his car and going to his friend, Marty, house. Adam fought as hard as he could, but the magic is irreversible and being too shocked, he can’t control too much before he finally let go of his control over his own body. Wyatt who already inside Adam instantly smirking as he checked his reflection in the rear side mirror
“Fuck, I’m huge. This muscle surely will beat the shit out of Dane,” stated Wyatt at that time
Several minutes after waiting, Adam memories and all of his reflexes flooding Wyatt’s mind and then, a sly smirk formed in his face
“Time to punish bratty little bro! I’ll leave this body after punishing Dane, but before that, I’ll twitch this guy mind first to hate Dane so bad, he only want to beat the shit out of Dane every time he saw him. There will be no more perfect bro for Dane, hahahahahahaha”
Will had always rolled his eyes at the twinks dancing around the club. They weren’t real men, he thought. Just annoying little bimbos. So when he started heckling them from the bar one night, he paid no attention as one of them turned to him and said that he’d regret that. But when his body started aching all over and he ran to the bathroom… Well, let’s just say between his diminishing height, his rapidly expanding bubble ass, and the new dryness in his mouth that he knew even then would only be satisfied with a good suck - Billy wished he’d have chosen his words a little more wisely.
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