BRAXTON WEST

Chill out, bro

[braxtonwest0824]

Matuberty

[All characters are aged 18 or older] 

Men's rule 001: Once the hair is full, the mind is gone.

March 12

Before I moved into the college dorm, Grandma’s warning voice sounded like a piece of moldy old rag: “Don’t trust men with fully grown hair, boy. Once the grass down there gets thick and impenetrable, their hearts will hold nothing but the dirty business between their legs.” Back then, looking at my own clean, pale, and scrawny crotch, I thought the old lady was just losing her mind. It was just puberty.

But today, staring into the mirror at those few stiff, black hairs jutting out haphazardly from my skin, I felt a primal restlessness and fear. They are incredibly rough and hard, like steel wire bristles dipped in aphrodisiacs. Every time the fabric of my underwear brushes against them, the hair roots tug at the nerves under my skin, sending waves of a lewd, stifling itch that forces me to scratch. With every rough scrape, that itch drills into the marrow of my thighs like an estrus-inducing electric current. That dormant lump of dead meat between my legs actually grew uncontrollably hot and even shamefully swelled up a full size.

I tell myself this is just normal development. I’m just a late bloomer.

May 20

The speed of my development is starting to spiral out of control—or rather, it’s a mutation. Those few isolated black hairs have now expanded into a dense, chaotic black jungle. I can clearly feel those bushy pubes squirming under my skin. Every time a thick, stiff hair violently pushes its way out of the follicle, it brings a maddening, piercing itch. Like lecherous living vines, they are slowly swallowing the base of my cock. The thick, black tips keep growing upward, acting like countless rough rasps with every step I take, viciously scraping and teasing the base of my developing meat pillar. Every single rub feels like a direct injection of the strongest aphrodisiac right into my crotch; the corpus cavernosum is forced to engorge and expand under the suffocating grip and violent friction of the black hair. The friction from these black pubes has become the nutrient ripening my flesh, forcing my dong to grow thicker and longer every single day, pushing my previously loose underwear into a massive, scalding hot, obscene silhouette that threatens to tear the fabric.

What disturbs me the most is that lewd “nourishing sensation.” This thicket of black hair is now absurdly dense, like a heavy, unbreathable wool blanket draped over my crotch, sealing all the intense heat and bodily fluids tightly inside. In this constant, humid roasting, I feel the organs underneath undergoing a qualitative mutation. My once-docile meat pillar is relentlessly ravaged inside this pile of hot, prickly black hair every single day. It has become hyper-sensitive; the tip of the purplish-red glans has started uncontrollably spewing pre. Sticky, transparent prostatic fluid leaks out drop by drop, making the newly grown, coarse curly hairs surrounding it all soaking wet and sticky. All it takes is pulling back my waistband, and a thick, raw stench—like a dog in heat—bursts out.

That pair of balls is making its presence known more and more, like two lead balls filled to the brim with thick cum, hanging heavily in the center of the hairy bush. With every step I take, that extreme, dragging weight tugs at my nerves and directly pulls at my spine. Every morning when I wake up, my joints pop and crack. I am growing taller; in just two months, I’ve shot up three inches. My line of sight is higher, and my shoulder frame aches like it’s being forcibly stretched apart. My once-ribbed chest is actually starting to bulge with two slabs of hot, dead meat, stretching my clothes tight. I find myself getting too lazy to think about geometry problems. My brain is getting emptier.

The first time I met Mark from the rugby team, he spread his massive, black-hair-covered legs wide and brazenly shoved his huge hand deep into his sweatpants, violently digging and scratching at that dense, sweat-soaked black forest of pubic hair. The scritch-scratch sound of his nails ruthlessly scraping against the coarse hair roots, accompanied by a faintly sticky, wet sound, echoed shamelessly in the air. He wore an expression of almost sacred, unapologetic shamelessness, letting that salty, musky stench—a concentrated mix of sweat and sebum—explode from his waistband.

Stay away from men with fully grown hair.

Even though Grandma’s words screamed in my head, it was like my soul had been hooked. My eyes were dead-locked on his large hand pumping inside that black bushy thicket. My own palms began to sweat, and I wanted nothing more than to copy him right then and there, tearing at my own wildly itching crotch in front of everyone. During every class break, I have to suppress the urge to imitate Mark—to sneak my hand into my waistband, dig into those scalding, wet, sticky hair roots, and feel the rush of having my hands covered in that thick, unmistakable scent of a man.

May 28

English class. The room is dead silent, save for the hum of the fan and the scratching of pens on paper. But I can't sit still.

My crotch is a literal furnace right now. That fully-grown, incredibly thick bush of black hair has completely stuffed the gap between my thighs. Sweat mixes into those coarse, curly hairs, brewing a piercing itch that makes me want to lose my mind. Every time I slightly shift my ass, those steel-wire-like pubes viciously scrape against my swollen, throbbing cock, which is only getting bigger and heavier.

“Fuck... so itchy...” I mutter under my breath, my voice unbelievably rough and raspy.

I spread my already thickened, muscular thighs as wide as possible, trying to let a little AC draft slip into my pants, but it's no use. That heavy “weight”—those two massive balls, swollen and hanging heavy, and that thick, purplish-red meat pillar threatening to bust through the fabric—are crammed inside that wet, hot, sweaty black hair. Every pulse rubs against the coarse curls; it’s so heavy it’s driving me crazy.

I finally can't take it anymore. Right in front of the entire class, I plunge my huge hand straight down the waistband of my sweatpants.

Scratch... scritch-scratch...

The sound of my nails digging into the coarse roots is exceptionally loud in the quiet classroom. The sensation of my fingers being swallowed by those thick curls is too damn good. Like clearing a path through a forest, I ruthlessly and aggressively dig and churn through that wet, black grass radiating a suffocating, musky stench. I grab ahold of the massive cock that’s been rubbed half-hard by the hair, yank it upward, and peel it off my sticky thigh. The moment I lift it, the sheer weight and carnal lust of it make me gasp. It’s a full size thicker than yesterday, coated in a layer of its own slippery pre—it’s practically a scalding, vein-bulging weapon.

“Nngh... ahh... heh...”

I actually involuntarily let out a heavy, vulgar moan from deep in my throat. The rush of pure pleasure from violently scratching those hair roots shoots straight into my increasingly empty brain, feeling so good my lower back goes weak. At the same time, I feel the blood in my body burning. That primal pleasure brought on by the friction of my pubes converts directly into pure, high-concentration testosterone, flooding my limbs like boiling magma and forcibly fueling muscle growth. I can hear the low hum of my bones growing; my legs involuntarily stretch out under the desk, my knees slamming directly into the bottom of the drawer. The fibers of my biceps and triceps slowly swell inside my T-shirt like rising dough, strangling the sleeves tight.

The meat on my thighs becomes as hard as rock, almost bursting my pant legs. Immediately after, a wave of maddening, piercing itch erupts from the hair follicles on my inner thighs. The black thicket previously confined to my crotch seems to take on a life of its own; the coarse, curly hairs rapidly breach the borders of my groin, spreading downward like wildfire. They violently pierce my pale skin and take deep root in my powerful thigh muscles. When the black hair on my thighs completely merges with my dense pubic hair into one seamless, pitch-black carpet, the tension of the pulling hair directly yanks at my deep nerves, causing my balls to slam heavily against my inner thighs like two lead balls full of thick cum, letting out an obscene smack of meat. As for my dong, being smothered by this rough “blanket” causes it to instantly swell up an entire size, forcibly breaking its previous size limits and stretching out another hard inch, pitching an exaggerated, massive tent in my sweatpants.

The girl sitting in front of me turns around, staring in horror at the sight of me: a massive hand buried in my crotch, face flushed red and dripping with sweat. But I don’t give a shit. I just bare my teeth at her in a wild, idiotic grin, my hand movements getting even rougher, frantically churning out blush-inducing, wet, sticky sounds from inside that black forest.

I pull my hand out, my fingertips coated in that salty, heavy musk. Right in front of her, I bring my hand right under my nose and take a deep hit.

“Smells fucking incredible, heh.”

I feel another massive chunk of English vocabulary die in my brain, but my shoulders seem to have broadened another inch. The second wave of muscle growth begins. It’s a slow, barely noticeable, yet wildly savage feeling. The bones get thicker; the meat gets denser. I can clearly feel the two meat pads on my chest fermenting and burning under my shirt; my thick pectorals expand slowly but firmly like water-logged sponges, stretching the collar tight. My two nipples are pushed into hard points right through the fabric, rubbing up a numb, electrifying pleasure with every breath. The once-flat lines of my stomach are forcefully remodeled by wildly proliferating, thick fibers under the skin. Six rock-hard abs violently push out one by one, accompanied by the deliciously painful sensation of the fascia being brutally stretched. With every inch of dead meat I grow, my IQ seems to evaporate with my sweat. My brain has completely turned into a blurry lump of muscle, leaving only the most primal urges: “mate,” “fuck,” and “go into heat.”

The skin under my armpits starts to itch. Tufts of coarse, black armpit hair aggressively invade like weeds, piercing the once-clean skin. A potent male musk, mixed with sweat, explodes directly from my rugged pits. My brain tells me this is wrong, but all I want to do is bury my face deep into those two patches of black hair and, like a beast in heat, greedily lick the coarse roots soaked in sweat and male musk.

August 15

It’s summer break now. I’ve completely become Mark’s wingman.

My pubic hair has thoroughly grown in, and it’s even started to invade outward. It trails up my V-lines, forming a dark, glossy Treasure Trail that cuts through my rock-hard abs and connects with the swirling hair around my belly button. Whenever the tips of these hairs pierce through the skin of my stomach, the abs underneath act like they’ve been injected with growth hormones, madly thickening as the hair spreads. Downward, they are firmly covering my inner thighs.

Mark and I sit in his basement all day playing video games—two muscular men filling up the couch, both wearing nothing but loose gym shorts. Our hands practically never leave our crotches. It’s an instinct; your hand just involuntarily buries itself into that scalding, thick forest to scratch that suffocating itch. It radiates an intense, salty scent—an aggressive, male mating scent fermented from sweat and sebum inside thick hair follicles.

I realize I’m getting dumber and dumber. I can’t remember complex words; my brain only holds the instinct to mate. Just smelling that suffocating musk on my fingertips and from my armpits fills my body with an inexplicable sense of superiority. Mark slaps my shoulder, his massive hand grabbing a handful of the shiny edges of my forest. “Bro, your bush is growing in fucking great. If it itches, you gotta scratch it.” I just chuckle idiotically, feeling that this life—covered in muscle, hands reeking of musk, mind full of primal lust—is way better than studying. My skeletal structure has completely mutated; I’m pushing 1.9 meters, and my weight is purely contributed by beastly muscle and a pair of balls the size of bull nuts. Whenever my hand roughly rubs that black bush inside my pants, that constantly leaking giant cock jumps wildly in my palm, engorging and swelling to the bursting point. The glans constantly spits out thick, lewd fluids, gluing my fingers and pubic hair together. The endless carnal pleasure completely drowns me.

October 2

This morning, the last patch of pale skin vanished.

My pubic hair, stomach hair, and leg hair—these three black territories finally held their grand summit at my crotch. In that instant, I felt this body, built like a bull, finally complete some sort of “circuit connection.”

As the last few follicles linked up, an electric surge of ecstasy shot straight from my perineum to my brain. My bones let out one final, violent crack, my height brutally breaking the 1.95-meter threshold, and my chest muscles expanding so much they ripped my T-shirt. My consciousness is now a blurry shade of gray. I stand in front of the mirror, looking at my massive pecs, thick arms, and the impenetrable, black occupied zone between my legs. That giant cock, which used to be somewhat contained, has fully mutated into a vicious mating organ the moment the hair completely connected. It doesn’t need any external stimulation; just relying on the extreme, suffocating heat and rough friction from the absurdly thick layer of black hair surrounding it keeps it in a heavy, half-hard state, constantly on the verge of popping a blood vessel and violently thrusting.

The weight of it is staggering. It hangs in the dense bush like a scalding iron pillar. I can't control my cock at all; it engorges and erects. The purplish-black pillar is wrapped in thick, earthworm-like veins, throbbing wildly. This is a standard, absolute beast of a massive cock—a full nine inches long, so thick I can't even wrap one hand entirely around it. The giant, purplish-red glans swells until it’s shiny, the piss slit stretched open, uncontrollably spewing thick, clear slime. Drip, drop. The pre constantly leaks down, dripping onto the hair, turning the thick, heavy black bush underneath completely slick, sticky, and glossy.

“Heh...” I let out a simple, idiotic laugh at the mirror.

My hand once again dives into my pants uncontrollably. I forcefully scratch at those prickly hair roots and start frantically jerking off. Through that thick, wet layer of black hair, I pump vigorously up and down, not even wanting to touch the bare meat directly. The coarse, curly hairs act like countless little mouths lined with barbs, viciously scraping against the hyper-sensitive, purplish-red pillar. This sensation of violently brutalizing my cock through the rough hair acts like the strongest aphrodisiac, feeling so good I’m panting heavily and practically drooling. I cup the two ridiculously heavy balls underneath—swollen with thick cum and ready to burst—weigh them in my hand, and stroke along the grain of the hair on that absurdly thick meat pillar, smearing all the leaked pre right into the black pubic hair.

That thick, salty, wet, heat-inducing musk, heavy with raging male hormones, completely floods my nasal cavity now.

“Yo, Mark...” I pull out my phone and record a voice memo, my voice deep, raspy, and carrying a sloppy, brute roughness. “Come out and lift, bro. I feel like I’m bursting with energy right now, literally can't take my hand out of my pants... heh, feels fucking amazing.”

Grandma, you were right. When a man’s hair fully grows in, he really does turn into a meat-headed bro who only thinks with his crotch.

But I'm not sad about it at all right now. Mark and I spend every day like dogs in heat, just looking for holes to fuck. The feeling of coarse pubic hair grinding hard against a meat hole, accompanied by the slapping sounds of bodies colliding and ruthlessly scraping... it feels so fucking good. Heh.

You'll grow up soon too, bro.

[bodriversblog]

You thought you were going to be part of a study on vitamin supplements. Instead, you were injected with a muscle growth serum, every day for a year. First they had to hold you against your will, but eventually, you had no will of your own, because a side effect of the serum was that it permanently lowered cognitive brain function.

The test was contracted by the Army, who wanted to create super soldiers. But your iteration of the serum created mind-fucked meatheads who never managed AFQT scores above 14, while the Army requires at least a 31 to enlist. So the facility decided to give away its byproducts to officers who had overseen the project, as pool boys and house servants.

[bigdudes]

David had become such a huge muscled roidpig, so pumped full of juice his massive thick pecs swelled with thick round mountains of muscle meat. Serum dripped uncontrollably from his thick, leathery sore nipples that now required constant milking to relieve the overwhelming pressure.

[selfishlove-tf]

I wonder what would happen to those who drank from his nipples >.>

[musclehuntersstuff]

They would grow into huge roided muscle beasts too, dumb and submissive, addicted to growth

[howtohimbo]

What are you getting yourself into?

What’s good, bros? Welcome to HowToHimbo, where I teach you how to become the perfect himbo.

Jock bro, trophy boy, brainless slut, or anything in between… if you wanna get bigger, hotter, dumber, and happier, you’re home.

Let’s build that body, that vibe, and that “pretty but empty” headspace.

Possible Side Effects of full himbo transformation:

• Massive increase in libido — you’ll be horny 24/7 with almost zero off-switch

• Decreased intelligence — those big thoughts get replaced by simple, happy, fuzzy ones

• Intense cravings for sex — cock, pussy, both, or anything that feels good. Your brain will default to “how do I get fucked or fuck right now?”

• Vapid & narcissistic tendencies — you’ll become gloriously shallow, self-obsessed, and addicted to attention

• Bonus effects — permanent glow-up energy, zero shame, and the ability to smile and flex through anything

Warning: Once you start, most bros don’t want to go back.

[forthegaze123]

All is Mine

He stood in that small apartment room, the ceiling light buzzing faintly above as sweat still glistened across every carved inch of the stolen body. His new hand—thick-fingered, veined, powerful—slid straight down the ripped abs and shoved the waistband low. The massive cock sprang free, already half-hard and heavy as fuck, the fat head glistening. He wrapped his fingers around the hot, throbbing shaft and gave it one long, slow pull from root to tip.

“Fuck… this is really happening. Yoshi’s thick cock in my hand… no, my cock now. So veiny, so heavy, I can barely close my grip around it.”

The trapped voice of the original owner exploded inside his skull, raw and furious. “Get the fuck out of my body right now, you sick freak! This is too weird!”

Adam just groaned low in the deep, resonant voice that now belonged to him and stroked again, slower, letting every ridge and vein slide under his palm.

“Too late, Yoshi. For now this perfect hunky body is all mine. Feel that? schlick The way it pulses? That’s me owning you.” Precum already leaked in a thick string from the wide slit, and he smeared it down the shaft with his thumb, the wet sound filthy in the quiet room. “Mmmph… so hot, so slick already. These balls are huge—full and low, swinging like they’re packed with weeks of cum. In my old scrawny body I never felt anything this heavy.”

He kept the pace deliberately slow, real-time, savoring every stolen sensation. His free hand roamed up to squeeze one massive pec, fingers sinking into the dense muscle.

“These tits are fucking ridiculous. So full, so heavy. Ohhhh yeahhh… they bounce when I stroke. Godddd, the weight of them…” He pinched the dark nipple hard, twisting, and the jolt shot straight to his cock, making it jump and spit more precum. “Ahhh—sensitive as hell. Uhhhnngh! Fuck yes, that zing right through the balls.”

Yoshi’s voice cracked with unwilling pleasure. “Stop—please—it feels too good… I can’t think straight…”

Adam laughed, deep and cocky, and brought his pumped arm up, burying his nose in the damp, hairy pit. He inhaled hard.

“Ohhh fuck, that musk… thick, salty, pure alpha stench. Hmmmmm yesss, It’s making my head spin and my cock leak even more. Smell it with me, Yoshi. This is what a real man reeks like, and I bet you never really noticed it before now.”

The trapped consciousness moaned despite himself. “N-no… that smell… it’s too strong…”

Adam stroked faster, the wet fap-fap-fap echoing.

“Exactly. Addictive. You wasted it and now it’s mine.”

He edged himself on purpose, slowing when the orgasm started to crest, letting the massive cock throb angrily in his fist, a long rope of precum dangling and dripping onto the floor.

“No no. Not yet. I want this load to be huge. Huuungghhh! Feel these balls pulling up? They’re so full it hurts—in the best way.” He flexed his free arm again, watching the bicep peak rise high and hard. “And look at this gun with those veins popping, muscle solid as rock. I used to jerk off to photos of you, you know? Now I am you hahahaha,”

Yoshi’s protests were getting breathier, breaking.

“I… I can feel everything… the stroke, the musk, the way the head flares… fuck, it’s too much… pleaseeee, get out of me!”

Adam answered out loud, voice husky with lust. “No can't do it, hottie. And that’s the point. Every stroke, every sniff, every flex is rewriting you. Straight little actor? Gone. Now you’re a horny, dominant muscle god who can’t stop touching himself. Imagine bending some pretty twink boy over and wrecking him with this monster. Or getting railed by a bigger stud while these pecs bounce. Fuck yeahhhh... the body wants it—needs it so bad.”

The mental image made the cock surge, another heavy spurt of precum. He brought the pit back to his nose and huffed while stroking hard.

“The musk mixed with my own precum… I could cum just from smelling myself.”

He edged twice more, stopping each time right on the brink, cock twitching violently, balls drawn up tight and aching. Sweat ran in rivulets down his chest, over the nipples, and down the deep cuts of his abs. He rubbed the sweat into his skin like lotion, then licked his own fingers.

“Oh yeah, salty… manly… tastes like power.”

Yoshi’s voice was barely a whisper now, broken with need. “Please… I can’t fight it anymore…”

Adam grinned, wide and feral.

“Now that's a good boy. Just give in. The old you is fading. I’m Yoshi Sudarso now—permanently. No going back.” He started the final climb, hand flying, hips snapping forward, the wet schlick-schlick-schlick loud and obscene. “Here it comes… balls boiling… Ahhhh… can’t hold it—!”

The orgasm detonated through the massive frame like a bomb. His deep voice ripped out in a guttural roar.

“AHHHH FUUUUCK—CUUUMMING!”

The first thick rope exploded with force, shooting high and splattering across his open mouth and chin, the hot, salty load flooding his tongue. He swallowed greedily. “Mmmph—fuck yes!” More powerful jets followed, painting long, glossy white stripes over the heaving pecs, running down the cleavage, over the nipples, and in thick streams down the shredded abs.

Drool dripped from his lower lip in a long, obscene strand, trailing down his neck and chest while more ropes kept pulsing out. Down there, the load still hit in exaggerated, endless waves. His balls emptying in heavy, satisfying spurts that lasted long seconds.

Adam's new muscular legs shook, one hand braced on the wall as the other kept milking the pulsing cock through every aftershock.

“Fuuuuck! So much—everywhere—ahh ahh!” The body convulsed, pleasure so intense his vision whited out, deep moans pouring out nonstop. When the last weak dribble finally oozed from the slit, he stood there panting, chest and abs completely glazed, cum cooling and dripping in shiny trails.

The inner voice was silent—gone, merged, erased in the overwhelming ecstasy. Only Adam remained, fully in control, the possession is complete and permanent.

He scooped a thick glob of cum from one pec with two fingers and sucked them clean with a wet slurp, eyes half-lidded in bliss.

“Tastes even better now he's finally gone hahaha. All is mine now.” He flexed both arms, cum still glistening on the peaks, and looked straight into the mirror with a cocky, satisfied smirk.

He gave the softening but still impressive cock one last slow stroke, smearing the remaining cum along the shaft.

“Round two in the shower. Then maybe at the gym. Then whoever I want to fuck or get fucked by hahahaha,” The room reeked of sweat, musk, and fresh cum. He breathed it in deep, already feeling the cock twitch again with renewed hunger.

“Now where's the script that I have to memorize, huh?”

[amalianetwork]

The Blue Shoes

Ernie, or Ernesto as his mind kept correcting him, knew it was too good to be true. He had found the shoes on the side of the road as he walked back from his job at the gas station. They were huge and looked brand new despite being discarded in a ditch. He took them home only thinking of selling them for some extra cash, but the shoes beckoned to him as they sat on his small table. Curious that he could not find a tag for the size, he decided to try them on.

Something felt off as he slipped them on, so he quickly decided to take them off. However, the shoes were stuck. He tried to yank them off so hard, Ernie lost his balance and fell back onto his ratty couch. He watched in horror and fascination as his toes bulged at the edge of the shoe. Then he knew the shoes were size 17s. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it was in his head. Then his pale skin was replaced by a natural tan. That’s when his brain started making him remember himself as Ernesto. then came the muscle, a lot of it. Ernie’s thin and malnourished form replaced by Ernesto’s gym-forged form. It started with his calves ballooning outward, followed by his thighs. Years of squats and calf raises embedding themselves into his muscles and memories. The same would go for his now massive pecs, sculpted abs, broad shoulders, wide back, and piston-like arms. A burst of muscle growth followed by a rush of new memories.

Then came Ernie’s cock. It snaked forward against his tight briefs. Years of sitting at a computer or looking at porn on his phone of men he only wished he could look like were replaced by conquest after conquest. Endless nights fucking both men and women. His balls bulged in their sac. A lifetime of shyness and low self-esteem replaced by confidence and cockiness. Finally the changes made their way to his face. Hollow cheekbones were filled in and his jaw cracked wider, Ernesto was a handsome man, his mother always told him so. Ernie’s life of a high school drop out and getting kicked out by his parents were swiftly gone from his mind. Instead it was filled with a supportive family in Columbia. Instead of kicking him out after high school, they encouraged him to attend school in the USA. There he would find out how much his body was worth. He stripped to pay for his business degree. Now he had been running a successful personal training business for 4 years (and still stripped on the side when he wanted to). With a deep and lustful groan, he orgasmed into his tight briefs. Looking down at his body and shoes, he wondered why he ever thought of throwing them away.

[pecspecspecs-deactivated2021092]

[keepemgrowin]

“I hope the boys will like me this year… especially after my growth spurt.”

[salmonskinrolltf]

Alumni Relations

[Thank you to @twistedtfs for contributing the second image for this not-so-short story.]

That’s my boyfriend, Blake, lying down, and me, Tyler, lying on him. As you might be able to tell, I’m a top. Not that he and I actually do anal all that often. It’s a lot of work, honestly, and a lot of cleanup. We often prefer just trading blowjobs, which is what we’re getting ready to do right now.

We’re on a time crunch, anyway. I’m on my lunch break at the law firm where I work, and he’s about to start his closing shift at the art supply store.

Just as I’m kissing my way down to Blake’s waistband, his phone starts blaring Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club.” Again. This is the fifth time that an unknown number has called in the past three minutes. Blake blocked the last three callers, but the calls keep coming from different numbers, so it isn’t working.

“Ugh, might as well see what they want,” grumbles Blake. I reluctantly roll off of him and he gets up, walking over to the bureau and answering his phone. “Who is this?”

I palm my tented briefs and he winks at me as he says, “No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong-”

Suddenly, his eyes go glassy.

I take my hand off my dick, sit up against the headboard, and watch him, curiously. What’s going on? Is it bad news or something?

“Well, yes,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. He must be nervous. He’s mussing his hair hard enough to pull the strands back, or something, because the part above his ears looks a lot shorter. When he moves his hand, I see something odd. His hair is shorter.

The back and sides are cropped close, and the only remaining length is at the top. I’m about to ask what’s going on when Blake does something that causes me to freeze in surprise. He grabs a blue baseball cap from the top of the dresser and puts it on, backward. He’s never worn a baseball hat like that. He’s never worn a baseball hat period. We don’t even own any!

The hat should be pressing his bangs flatter to his forehead, but they’re actually rising. They’re almost floating, like he’s touching one of those static electricity machine things at Spencer’s Gifts. They bristle and curl into a styled swoop that looks like it has been trained to flow in that exact way by years of cap-wearing.

I feel like my nerves are firing wrong, because I can’t move. All I can do is panic and try to process what I’m seeing.

“Yeah, of course,” Blake says. Is it just me or is his voice slightly deeper?

While the way he speaks has grown more masculine, his face is starting to look more boyish. His cheekbones rise, his lashes lengthen, and that beard that I love running my fingers through begins to fall from his face in small tufts, like flakes of paint being chipped off a wall. What’s left behind is patchy stubble, dark and thick on his chin and upper lip, but pretty sparse everywhere else.

“Totally, dude,” says Blake, letting out a deep guffaw that rumbles through his chest.

His ribs expand, as if they’re trying to properly contain the booming laughter that is bursting out of my normally restrained boyfriend. His thick pelt of chest hair holds on for dear life as his flat chest rises, his nipples suddenly perched on two solid mounds of muscle.

As he nods and continues to agree with whoever is on the other end of the phone, more details keep shifting. His septum ring glints as it vanishes into thin air. His underwear strains against a growing bulge. The stench of musk floods the room as he idly scratches an armpit. His eyes grow even more vacant and blank than they had looked at the beginning of the call.

He turns to look at me and I jolt. I was so shocked by Blake’s sudden transformation that I had forgotten I was actually in the room and not just observing this nightmare from afar.

“It’s for you, bro,” he says, holding the phone out to me. A goofy grin splits his face.

What the fuck do I do? Do I run? No, I can’t do that. This is Blake. The love of my life. Something weird is happening, and I need to fix it. I take the phone.

“Who is this, and what the fuck have you done with Blake?” I bark out the second the phone touches my ear.

“I don’t know any Blake,” said a calm voice on the other end of the phone. Male. Maybe early 20s? “But I asked Brody to hand the phone to you, so you can add to his generous donation.”

“Donation? What kind of scam-”

“My name is Evan and I’m calling on behalf of the local chapter of Beta Theta.”

“The frat? Look, I-”

“We’re raising funds so we can remodel the frat house. But our fraternity dues aren’t quite enough to cover everything.”

“OK, so talk to your frat alumni. Isn’t that how you people usually raise money?”

“I am talking to the frat alumni.”

“No you’re not.”

“Our tastes run expensive, as you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“We’re a relatively new frat, so there aren’t enough alumni in the area to get us what we need. I’ve had to get creative. I’ve been making frat alumni… calls.”

“OK, so you’re making calls. Why call us? And what did you do to Brody? I mean Blake.”

“You’ll understand in a minute. Look, the reason I’m calling is that you’re a former Beta Theta yourself.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve never been part of Beta Theta. Or any frat, for that matter.”

“My listings are never wrong. Don’t you live at 999 Hawthorne Place?” “Well, yes,” I say, as my fingertips start to tingle.

“And you have close-cropped brown hair?”

“I mean, yeah,” I say, running my hand across my shorn scalp, enjoying the prickly feeling. It’s weird how much darker my beard and chest hair are than my head hair, but I’ve always liked the way the length and the color clash. “But what does that have to do with-”

“And you’ve never been able to grow a full beard?”

I rub the patchy chestnut hairs on my chin and grimace. “Well, that’s true too, but you didn’t have to roast me like that, man.”

“And you’re just as muscular as Brody, but have way less chest hair?”

“All that is on the form?” I ask, looking down at the light brown hairs that are scattered along my shelflike chest.

“And your handsome face gets flushed when you drink, right?”

I suddenly felt dizzy. My deep voice slurs slightly when I respond “Yesh.” I take another swig from my Corona and set it down on the nightstand.

“And you’re always dressed in the frattiest clothes possible?”

“I mean duh, bro,” I say, rolling my eyes as I run my thumb along the length of my chain and adjust my backwards mesh hat.

“And you’re as dumb as a box of rocks?”

It takes a minute for that question to sink in. My gears have never turned all that quickly, and I got distracted by grabbing my package and leering at Brody. I can’t wait to get off the phone so I can bury this cock in his ass, to the hilt. Oh wait, didn’t that Evan guy ask me something? “Oh.. uh, yeah.”

“And your name is Tigger?”

“Yeah, bro, but it’s just a nickname. They called me that because Prez kept catching me bouncing on Brody’s dick,” I say. God, I’m so horny. My ass aches to be filled. Brody is taking off his underwear and jerking his fat cock. I’m drooling at the thought of it. I can’t resist jumping his bones every two hours or so whenever we’re alone together between shifts at the gym. The Beta Theta tattoo on his wrist flashes up and down with every stroke.

“And you’re a devoted Beta Theta?” Evan asks.

Is that even a question! “Uh… doy,” I say. “And they say I’m the dumb one. I have the tat on my asscheek to prove it. So you need money, yeah? Would 10K do? I have that much saved from my lame old job.”

“$10,000 would suit us perfectly well,” says Evan.

“Hell yeah, boyyyyy,” I say. “Just, like, make sure to put up a plaque or something when you build it. ‘Brody & Tigger’s Beer Pong Stadium’ or something like that, y’know?”

“Will do, Tigger. And thanks again,” says Evan.

“Anything for Beta Theta, man! These are the best years of your life, I wouldn’t want them to go to waste on a sucky frat house!”

After making the Zelle transfer, I hang up the phone and lumber over to Brody, grabbing his dripping cock in my meaty hand. I can’t wait to crash my mouth against his and feel his sexy stubble scrape against my chin. “Now, where were we, bro?”

[rakurairagnarok]

"Broooo stop... I'm getting so... big..."

Micheal was trying to button up this new muscle shirt he bought from this online store called Rakurai Inc. which apparently makes you grow fucking huge if you keep it open. But an unknown side effect was that you also got super dumb in the process.

His roommate, Bryce was present while he put it on, but now he was keeping Micheal from buttoning up his shirt, making his juicy pecs even bigger and his arms straining even harder against the fabric.

"Broooo... staahpp" Micheal moaned as Bryce was groping his muscle tits.

Bryce grinned as his roomie got even bigger, feeling his bulge grind up against his leg. He couldn't wait till his shirt got in, he couldn't wait to be hot, dumb and sweaty with his dumb roomie.

Want to help test some items from Rakurai Inc.? Feel free to sign up. Rakurai Inc. Is not liable for any bodily changes that may occur.

[yournewbody]

Budget Cuts

"I don't get it."

Patrick shook his head as the Director sat across from him. The Director sighed and uselessly flipped through some pages. He was an older man who looked like what Patrick imagined all librarians must've looked like.

"My hands are tied," the Director said. "We're at the end of our funding for the year and things are going to get much worse before they get better."

"I've been with this company for years and now you're shutting down my entire department! I'm the only employee!"

"We're aware. But, look at it this way, we at Ovid are going to make sure that you live more than comfortably. Hell without you that whole Himb-O Gas incident wouldn't have been contained so quickly."

Patrick grimaced as he remembered the tedious work of quarantining a popular vacation destination. Wearing a mask and trying not to stare at the hordes of hot men blowing each other's backs out in very public spaces, some of them who weren't actively fucking looked so desperately lusty as Patrick walked by them he almost let them suck him off or fuck him. Their damp erections looked almost painful. It took about a week before the gas fully dissipated and even then, an occasional story popped up of someone blowing up with muscles and fucking whatever was on hand and willing. Who the fuck was going to deal with issues like that? What about the whole media circus when Meta-V broke out? Shouldn't they be firing the bio-weapons department, not the PR people?

The rest of the conversation was a blur. Then packing up his desk. Hugging his few friends goodbye and then he was out the door. By the time he got to the elevator, he had to sheepishly let the guard take him down to the parking garage because his key card had already been turned off. He was so flustered he didn't notice the guard spraying him with Himb-O in a cologne bottle.

He did notice the musk that seemed to be coming off from him as he got into his car, though.

God this was so embarrassing.

Not only was he fired but he stunk up the elevator with his anxiety sweat.

He pulled out of the parking garage for the last time and tried to mentally catalogue all the liquor in his house for him to drink. It was going to be tough but he'd find work somewhere, right? He had lots of skills and he could probably coax the Director into being a professional reference. He drove home with the sun blazing in his eyes. He dimly thought about all the other Ovid employees who had been quietly released from their jobs. How it was like, by the end of the week, everyone seemed to have forgotten about them. He was sure that later the tears would come once the emotions caught up with him but for now, he was dry eyed and at a stoplight, and feeling the most ungodly itch around his crotch.

He felt hot enough to start sweating, his body awash with a pleasant warmth. He rolled his window down a little further to let some of the breeze in. He squirmed in his seat, hoping the friction of his crotch rubbing against his jeans would scratch the itch. But it didn't. It was like a skin deep itch, like down to the fucking bone itch. He discreetly undid his pants and looked around nervously, aware of the blush spreading across his sweaty cheeks. When he slid his hands down the waistband of his briefs, he paused. It felt like there was more hair there.

He looked down in confusion. Sprouting around the base of his cock, itching and burning, was dense, dark, sweaty pubes. He furrowed his brows as he literally saw the hair expanding and growing. His fingertips dampened with sweat. He brought his slick fingers up to his nose and took a sniff. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as his cock woke up, slowly expanding into a full boner pressed against his leg. The smell was orgasmic. Manly, powerful musk.

And the smell was coming from him.

His cock twitched with the thought. It felt so needy. His boner pulsed and felt like it was trying to get bigger.

A loud horn behind him jolted him from his sexual break. He apologized to the air and drove through the green light. He looked down and saw a wet spot forming on his jeans. It was then that he noticed that he felt his cock against his thigh, which meant that it had slipped out from under his briefs. As his musky, dense pubes stopped growing, his cock twitched and drooled, every bump making it bounce and dragging the gushing head against the fabric. He bit his lip to stop from moaning like a whore.

What was not helping matters was that it felt like he was getting caught by every fucking red light.

He was sweating buckets now. He wiped his brow and noticed the smell coming from his armpits - strong and ripe - matched the new musk coming from his pubes. He peeled back his sleeve and saw that his pit hair had also gotten dense, thick, and sweaty, and he hasn't even felt it. Felt that tingling itch, but it felt like his entire being was centered on his cock right now. And his balls. Fuck his balls felt tight. He clenched his legs together and whimpered as his balls churned. It felt like his balls were clogged, and his cock was pumping out so much pre to try and unclog them. He looked down and saw the wet patch spreading. A huge area of his jeans were damp and sticky, and.....holy shit.

He could smell it.

He could smell his pre. How strong it was. His car filled with his musk and the stench of sex. He clutched the steering wheel even tighter as his nipples tightened and hardened against his work shirt. He looked down and saw the daggers they were poking through the fabric. He kept his legs clenched as his hairy, sweaty balls drooped and sagged, inflating and pressing against the fabric of his briefs, stretching them to the limit, his cock gushing even more pre and making his whimpers even louder as his nipples seemed to surge forward, spreading against his shirt.

Fuck this was the longest red light in the world.

Without even thinking, he began rubbing his ass against the seat. Working his hips in an attempt to relieve the pressure in his crotch. Then he took one of his hands off the wheel and towards his rock hard nipples. His head was foggy and covered with hormones. All he could really think about was cumming and a little voice in his head was telling him that if he just touched his nipples.....

The light turned green and he nearly floored it.

A beard began growing from around his fattening lips as his cock widened a full inch, pre leaking at a steady pace down his leg as his whimpers turned into desperate, horny moans. He felt like those men that were affected by the gas. His hips cracked and popped as his thighs began inflating. He moaned as his muscular legs began squeezing his cock and swollen balls. Pre gushed from his cock like a ruptured water main. His thighs filled the fabric of his jeans, splitting the denim along the seams as thick, hairy, muscled up flesh was exposed to the air. He gripped his thighs with a numbing hand, and he noticed that his feet also had the same tingling sensation. The growth surged down his legs as his calves fattened and swelled, his legs becoming thick turkey legs in a matter of seconds. He panted as the hormones flushed through his body, sweat dripping down his face as his thighs rubbed his sensitive cock. His thickening toes collided with the tops of his shoes as his feet fattened and bloated. He absentmindedly pinched one of his fat, hard nipples and screamed with pleasure as his cock sprayed in his jeans, not an orgasm, but so close to it his cock burned with the edging he was receiving. The tops of his musky, muscular, veiny feet broke through his socks and sneakers. Size 15, huge and hairy, with wide soles.

He sucked in ragged breaths, howling with how good it felt as his feet destroyed his shoes. His jeans buckled and more tears began forming as his ass began growing. He leaned forward, arching his back as each cheek bloated and grew to match his widened hips. His ass blew through the back of his briefs, snapping the waistband and making the horny man reach down and take off his tattered underwear, tossing the musky, sweaty fabric onto the backseat. His hole twitched and tickled as hair carpeted his fattening ass. He clenched his teeth and his hand to prevent it from rubbing his cock. He'd never wanted needed to jerk off this bad. He didn't have time to notice the word switch as fat from his shrinking stomach poured into his ass, the muscles expanding and inflating giving him a perky, fat, jiggling and strong ass. His belt broke and the button flew off his jeans and landed somewhere on the floor, exposing his bush to the air.

He missed the turn to his house.

As his cock gushed at a more urgent rate, lengthening and widening by a full inch, he realized his memory was becoming spotty.

"No," he pleaded. "Please no. Fuckkkkk."

There were true holes in his memory. No, they weren't holes. But these memories didn't feel like his. His cock jumped as he had a "memory" of getting fucked by the entire football team, multiple threesomes and sessions after practices when he took turns sucking them off, his own cock twitching and leaking as their scent drove him wild. Another two inches piled onto his now 7 inch, girthy cock as his college science projects turned into getting railed in the backseats of cars. Having his nerdy friends, who put up with him and his near constant horniness and musk because he was essentially a sexy golden retriever. He loved cuddling with everyone because his sensitive body made everything feel so good and he always woke up with the bedsheets soaked with pre and evidence of his wet dreams. His cock soared in length as it strained the soaked fabric of his jeans.

"No, no, no, no!"

He clenched his teeth as his stomach imploded, the remaining fat settling behind his pecs and a little falling into his huge ass. It took everything in his power as he continued driving aimlessly to not stroke his cock. To stop thinking about it. If he came he'd lose whatever shred of himself he had left. He noticed hair sprouting along his knuckles as his palms fattened, his fingers cracking and expanding as his abs continued bloating against his sweat soaked shirt. He took one hand and ripped his shirt down the middle, it was so wet it tore easily. His torso slowly tanned as hair sprouted along his abs and a thick, sweaty happy trail spread down towards his crotch. He rubbed his abs as his hand kept getting dangerously close to the swollen head of his 9-inch fuck stick. Or even his nipples. Fuck if he touched his - huff huff - nipples..

He didn't even notice his thick, meaty hands were guiding him somewhere totally different. He stopped in front of an unfamiliar apartment building in a bougie neighborhood and put it in park just as his pecs began swelling. Muscle covering the thick fat underneath as he laid his head against the seat and massaged his inflating rack of muscle tits. His cock gushed and gushed, and every time his rough palms touched his steel-hard nipple, it was like a full, lube soaked stroke of his cock, of it buried deep in a bottom's ass or a top's cock huge cock brushing against his prostate. He grabbed greedy handfuls, feeling the dense muscle expanding and the squishy fat underneath making everything more sensitive and increasing the overload of pleasure his increasingly addled brain received.

It took an insane amount of willpower to open the door, one hand still massaging his huge jugs as the same dark hair sprouted across his cleavage.

He was getting so close. He was going to cum. And he was going to cum hard and long. He felt thousands of invisible hands worshipping his pecs, thousands of wet tongues and hungry mouths teasing his nipples and making his eyes roll back in pleasure. His heart pounded as his thoughts felt slower and hornier. He grabbed his cock and squeezed it and screamed into his palm to cover the sound. He still had a small enough shred of modesty to stroke his cock and half-heartedly cover his huge boner as he lumbered to the front door of the apartment complex, hunched forward with his shoulders broadening, his upper body gaining weight at enough speed that Paxton kept --.

Paxton?

Oh no.

He somehow had managed to remember his keys as he let himself inside. Pat...xton's back inflated and broadened, straining what remained of his shirt. He just had to make it up the stairs, his bare, sensitive feet scraping against the gorgeous carpeting as he hauled ass up the stairs. His tits swaying, back ripping through his shirt and it falling to the ground, ass cheeks jiggling and clapping behind him. His powerful musk filled the hallway as he lumbered towards his door. He shoved his whole hand down his briefs and grabbed his sweaty, slick cock. It was so big. A thick tube of man meat that smelled incredible.

P - Pa - Pa - Paxton. Pa - Paxton. He groaned as he tried to - tried to do what? Fuck what was he trying to remember?

He gained another twelve pounds as his biceps inflated and he was approaching nearly 190 pounds of pure, dense, jock muscle. His brain became crammed with images of him working out. Squats causing his hard cock to spray pre inside of his workout shorts. The intense after workout shower orgasms with his cock, buried to the base, in someone's throat. He thought about his clients. Fixing their cars or sinks or whatever, how much money these nice men gave him in exchange for his handy services. His moans deepened as his voice cracked and his biceps bloated huge and massive. He flexed one arm and saw the dense, thick muscle rise into a mini mountain. He leaned against the door as his brain slowly turned into horny, mushy soup.

"Bro, please," he moaned in that deeper, dumber voice. Paxton wondered who he was pleading to as he unlocked his front door. He had a vague image of some old guy in a fancy office but maybe that was a client? Some of them just liked watching him parade around in a jock and watch him get all sweaty and musky, cock so hard and his still growing 'ceps peak. He threw his pants and briefs to the floor as the door swung shut behind him.

He didn't even have time to take in his new living situation as he closed his eyes and flexed. Felt his thick forearms collide with his thick biceps. He moaned and panted like a rutting animal as he fucked the air, and then dropped his hands to massage his fatty, muscular cheeks.

Fuck it's - it's happening! It's happening!

His face collapsed and the bones rearranged into a handsome, empty, horny visage. His lips inflated. His features softening and hardening at the same time, making him ruggedly handsome but approachable.

Soon, he'd cum and there'd be nothing but a dumb, horny, happy void where his brain used to be. Where his old memories and thoughts and --.

When he came it felt like a dam had finally broken. Ropes after ropes of cum fired out of his strained, huge cock. He flexed again and took greedy whiffs of his musk.

He smelled fucking incredible.

He felt fucking incredible.

Whatever was left of...whoever that was went flying out of his cock and splattering all over the hardwood floors and the kitchen counter. He came for ten minutes of pure pleasure, his balls emptying themselves completely.

Paxton opened his eyes and saw what should've felt like a new house, but instead it felt like home. A warm feeling settled in his chest. He was in his musky, modest but nice apartment. But it didn't matter. His phone buzzed with what seemed like an onslaught of notifications. All of his hookup apps going off at once.

His cock buzzed with excitement again. He'd just came but his balls were already replacing the spent cum with more. He lumbered to his bedroom with his stiffening cock leading the way.

Then paused and chuckled.

He was such a dumbass! The app wouldn't let nudes be on his profile. Duh. How could he have forgotten!

But no matter, some lucky guy somewhere was going to see the full package soon anyway.

And in a gleaming office building on the other side of town, a man named Chris opened Grindr to see one of the hottest men he'd ever seen looking back at him. He swiped through the man's pictures as he got the nagging feeling that this man, this total stranger, somehow looked really familiar.

And even when this guy was giving him the most toe-curling, godly backshots of his life, he was still thinking about how weird it was that it felt like he used to know this man, this total himbo who wrapped him up in a comforting snuggle after sex.

But no matter. It was probably going to come to him in the morning.

[asian-men-x]

[parkersstories-deactivated20230]

It had been four weeks since I started my boyfriend on the Himbo pill.

He had asked me to do it, but I had been slowly increasing the dosage. Before, each week he put on about 10 pounds of muscle, lost some intelligence, and his cock grew an inch. But now? He was putting on 20 pound of muscle a week, an inch in height, three inches of cock, and he grew dumber by the day.

He used to be able to go a couple days without sex, and when we fucked after that time it was amazing. But now he can’t go hours without it, I almost can’t keep up.

He needs his hole filled by bigger and bigger dicks, something I just don’t have. He needs his massive balls drained every 2-3 hours. And he’s getting better at convincing me to stop working and fuck him instead.

I would say it’s getting annoying, but I love it.

I get the best ass I have ever fucked, a smoking hot boyfriend, and that’s it!

Man though, I must be getting better at sex, or at least my cardio is improving, because I used to get tired after a round or two but now I can stay with him for most of the day.

I also have been seeing a lot of improvements in my… performance. My cock has been getting harder when we fuck. At least that’s what it seems like. It definitely bigger… huhu… I got a huge cock now. And my bitch loves it, he squeals when I plow his ass.

Ahhh shit, I’m hard again, this is becoming a problem… hehe be- cumming… fuck I gotta unload.

And I can’t forget to take my meds. My boyfriend needs to too.

[writer-ofstuff]

He couldn't help but to keep touching his pecs. Whatever it is his weird roommate did to him, was making him enjoying the feeling of his pecs under his touch. He closes his eyes. Soft moans escaping him while he became lost in the pleasure.

He was vaguely aware of his pecs getting larger under his palms. Both inflating with muscle. The muscle growth cascades through the rest of him. Biceps gaining bulk to the,, veins bulging against them. His chest and back widen outwards, becoming more broader.

It wasn't just muscle gains either, he felt his face itching along his jawline. Days worth of stubble growing to form a neatly groomed beard on his formerly clean shaven face.

A trickle of drool runs down the side of his mouth. Opening his eyes he thrusts his hips forward. His dick fully erect, sputtering precum as he goons by just just playing with his thick muscle tits.

[rakurairagnarok]

A Single Tear

Micheal was giddy with excitement as he opened the package. A new weird challenge had been going around in which you wear a shirt which allegedly makes you grow until you tear it apart. The catch being that if it tears you turn into a dumb himbo, regardless of how smart you were before. Michael, however, had practiced by putting balloons under regular shirts and gotten amazing at taking them off just before they began to tear.

Taking the packaging off the shirt Michael was in awe with how nice the dark blue button up felt.

"This is some high quality shit." He looked at himself in the mirror and flexed his twiggy arms. He could do this. He had to, his life depended on it.

Carefully putting his arms through the sleeves, the fabric send a tingle through his body. He smirked. It was almost time. He took another look in the mirror. The shirt was huge on him, his hands barely reaching out of the sleeves.

Slowly, almost sensually, he began to button up the shirt. When he reached the 3rd highest button, he felt it. A rush of warmth, pain and most importantly pleasure. Michael smiled, it had begun.

He watched in the mirror as he saw himself rise up. The shirt that was previously ginormous on him began to fit him better each passing second. His torso rose to let the bottom of the shirt neatly fit above his trousers.

A smirk appeared on Michaels face. "It actually works." The bliss made him almost completely forget about the challenge and he quickly set up his phone to film.

He smiled at the camera as his previously slightly chubby face began to sharpen as a thick beard began to sprout on his newly squared jawline.

A soft stretching sound alarmed him but taking a good look at himseld he realised it was his skin stretching to accommodate the slowly growing muscles.

Suddenly a stiring in his pants made him realise that the growth was not limited to his torso.

"Fuckkk..." Michael moaned as his previous sub par member grew hard. Only when it kept growing past his previous maximum did he realise it was getting just as much attention from the shirt as the shelfing pecs that now adorned his chest did.

While his ass was ballooning out, Michael focussed his attention back to the shirt. The time was almost there. He didn't want to risk it so he had decided to stop a bit before his previous record.

However the moment he wanted to lift his arms to unbutton his shirt, his heart stopped.

An almost deafening tearing sound could be heard and Michael felt all the blood leave his face. He looked down and saw a slowly growing tear , next to the button onnhis chest.

"No... shit shit... fuuuuck.."

His mind was torn between pleasure and panic. He knew he had to get out of the shirt as fast as possible... but it felt so good. As the shirt continued tearing he felt his brain slowly break down. His memories together with his inhibitions got torn to pieces, and the previously meek student began feeling himself up more and more. Moving around only made it worse, as the shirt got torn up even further.

Flexing his now humongous arm tore the sleeve of his shirt, showing thick browned muscle underneath.

While flexing his other arm , Michael's legs began thickening , growing to support the absolute dumptruck and bulge he now possesed.

Not soon after his chest popped the already struggling button, bouncing in the steamy air of his bathroom.

Running a calloused hand over his bulbous pecs, he felt his core tighten, abs pushing to the surface.

As he did a double bicep pose his eyes fell on his still recording phone and he grinned. In a single movement he tore off the remaining tatters of his shirt, grinning from ear to ear as his pants quicky followed. Groping his new tool seductively at the camera his new persona completely took over. Gone was Michael the Grad student. Born was Mike the sweaty only fans creator, vers extraordinaire. His videos reaching a wide audience due to his sexual preference. To be precise as long as he was inclined hed use both his assets to pleasure any guy willing.

On the label of the package a small warning read : Extra unstretchy material, perfect for showing off your gains.

Rakurai INC. hopes you enjoy your purchase

[wakeup01]

This beastly jock’s huge pecs bounced as he turned to face you, motioning for you to reach out and touch. You blush, feeling slightly embarrassed at flagrantly objectifying him, but when building a body like that, it comes with the territory. Your hand stretches over and takes a cautious squeeze.

JIGGLE

Your finger digs into his chest, pushing deep into the tissue - being swallowed by his enormous mass. You let go and his chest shudders back into shape like a slippery water balloon. Resting your hand below, you bounce his nipple up and down. The way they shook was hypnotic.

JIGGLE JIGGLE

Your eyes were fixated, following the erratic movements of his taut nipples. He laughs and it was infectious. You laugh. You can’t help but join in, the tone of your voice getting deeper and slower, like playing at 0.5 speed. You find yourself saying ‘Jiggle’ out loud to him. It was akin to pointing out the grass was green.

With the ‘distraction’ you didn’t even notice your own pecs expanding, the pressure pushing out against your shirt. It was like there was a pump attached to your chest, filling it with air. It’s not the only thing that felt like it was filling with air. Your head was feeling incredibly spacious.

There was the abrasive sound of fabric ripping, your shirt bursting open at the chest. Looking down at yourself you see two huge jugs jutting out. They obscure the rest of your thickening body. You barely notice as your legs effortlessly push you higher from the ground while your shoulders bulk up, mirroring the jocks hulking physique. And then his hand reaches out to touch your pecs. He taps them lightly and-

JIGGLE

‘Jiggle’ You grunt loudly from your now thick, square shaped head. Your bushy brow hangs over your vacant eyes. ‘Jiggle’ he repeats back confidently. It felt good to be so blatantly objectified. An object. A big meaty object. You couldn’t deny that it was turning you on like crazy. Your junk was leaking like a fire hose as he continues to play with your breasts. You desperately wanted to be touched and squeezed. Viewed as eye candy with nothing of interest going on in that microscopic brain. Dumb. That was the word, the word for you. Your bro smiles at your glazed expression and pushes a baseball cap over your dense skull, spinning it around backwards.

Before long there was two vacuous jocks standing there like sculpted meat statues, chuckling dimly to themselves. When they both turned to face another onlooker their pecs-

JIGGLE

[malebodyswappingstories]

It was an accident

This is me now. You’d probably never believe it but I used to be the skinniest, nerdiest boy in all of school. That was until I learned I came from a long line of warlocks the day I turned 18. That flipped my entire life around. Throughout college, I learned spells left and right and suddenly I came across a body swap spell. Immediately curious I read up on it and the spell book said that both people have to agree to it. I knew immediately that I could get Brett the biggest jock I have ever seen to do it. After telling him I would tutor him, I went over to the frat house he was a part of. I told him about the plan and that instead of studying he could just have us switch bodies and I could take the test for him. I told him that I would only be in his body for one whole day and we’d switch back as long as neither of us broke the rules, which were that we couldn’t tell anyone, we couldn’t have sex and we couldn’t masturbate. If we did this the spell would be locked and we could not switch back from any other magic at all. 

And my plan was really to give Brett his body back.. but that didn’t happen.

I said the spell and when it was over nothing happened. I stood up and everything began to become blurry and I then was seeing myself standing and me sitting. I stood up and flexed a bit. I realized I had got all of Brett’s memories, to be able to interact with people so they couldn’t find out and also kept my own, so that I could take the test for him.

“Don’t get too used to it we’re switching back tomorrow” Brett said from my body. I knew this was true and it was sad. I had never felt more powerful or confident in my entire life! I took the test for him and got him an A. After the test I began to feel weird. I was feeling very horny and I began to think back on the rules of the switch but I couldn’t remember anything. Brett’s personality was taking over me and I was beginning to forget things fast.

So, forgetting about the rules I began to rub on my new, already throbbing cock and had the best masturbation of my life. I had so much fun but then remembered I had to get to bed so we could switch back.

I woke up the next morning in the same bed and to a knock at my door. I was confused why we didn’t switch but I was groggy and thought I was dreaming. I answered the door to see my old body standing there in tears. I asked what happened and he said you must have broken a rule or something. I asked him what the rules were and he told me and I immediately felt bad. I apologized like 300 times for masturbating because I forgot. He was now screaming which woke up the other boys in the house who immediately began making fun of the old me. They asked why I was talking to him and trying to keep cool I told them he broke into my room and won’t leave. 

They all stripped all of his clothes off and threw him outside to have to run to his dorm completely nude. I felt bad, but hey, he did the same types of things to me. Now, I’m dumber than he ever was and my only thirst is for cock. It was an accident though.. I swear!

[occamstfs]

Brazilian Daydreams

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)

“Sim, Sim. Ehh? Aquele laranja?” (Yeah yeah, ehh the orange one?)

“Claro!” (Of course!)

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.

[chaoticdjinn]

I've always wanted to be an enormously muscular stupid boy, only able to talk about muscles but still too dumb to make real sentences. And way too dumb to know when too big is too big. Could you help me, please?

“Nah Bro, they’re nowhere near big enough” your best friend grunts as his big meaty hands grope and fondle your big, perky muscle tits. You sigh in relief as you feel his hot breath on your neck  before taking in a deep breath of his masculine, sweat drenched scent.  You really are lucky to have someone like Butch in your life. Whether it’s reassuring you that you haven’t gotten to big, or making your meals for you, or keeping track of all your money and expenses, Butch is always there for you.   You feel like you were a little more independent earlier in your life, but everything before Butch is sort of hazy to you, like a cloud of sweat in the dry sauna, but in your head.  You chuckle dumbly at your thought, silly Bro, saunas can’t be inside heads, they’re inside gyms.“Ok Bro, i’ve got to run to make my shift at the Gym, i’ll be back in a few hours to pick you up for your work out, just sit around the cam until then.”You watch Butch leave apartment with a look of sad hesitation on your face, you always get so nervous when he leaves. What if something happens that you don’t know how to deal with?  If the webcam gets pulled out or you accidentally sit on the keyboard and close link to camwhores.com you don’t have the slightest idea of how to get them working again.You take in a deep breath and calm yourself. Butch trusts you to sit at home and make some money with your body, and bro wouldn’t trust you to do something you couldn’t know, he always knows best after all.Still as you sit down in front of the cam and start oiling up your big muscle tits you can’t help but wish you were a little bit smarter. Nothing crazy, just enough to be able to handle clients down at the gym as a trainer, like Butch…but no matter how hard you try you’ve just never been able to explain how to work out other than “Lift heavy, eat big, buy juice” grunted out in your deep broken baritone.The sound of private chat requests and tips pull you out of your own head fog and back to the computer in front of you. You have no idea how to work those private requests, so you just do one big public shows, which seems to rake in a ton of tips, enough to keep Butch proud of you anyway. As you catch a glimpse of your own eyes in the reflection of the webcam you freeze and don a look of  confusion, mingled with horror for just the slightest fraction of a second. Was this really what you wanted? Was this a life you would feel fulfilled living?The thoughts leave your head quickly as they entered, like water pouring through a sieve. Your name is Bro, You lift heavy, eat big, and juice it up. You listen to Butch and do whatever he says. That’s all you need out of life, you’re sure of it.Right?

[chaoticdjinn]

A reblog before I hit the hay early.  https://www.patreon.com/ChaoticDjinnv2