I have a nerd in my neighborhood that wont stop complaining about my frat party's bruh, I want him to join the frat but bro wont!
So can you solve that problem for me bruh?
Sure! I'll even throw in a bonus. Matching Biker Helmets for your whole frat, on the house. Be sure to give it to them...
"I'm... g-glad you decided to call a truce..." The nerd shakily said. His voice shaky and unstable in awe of your gorgeous stature.
"But... what is this helmet?" He asked, furrowing a brow.
"Think of it like a gift for putting up with us, brah." You respond.
He shakily responds with a simple "O-okay..." before deciding to put his new gift on his head. He's a little disoriented at first, due the visor obscuring all sight. Then, a hot flush washes all across his body, starting from the top of his head to the bottom of his heels.
"H-hey...! What's g-going... on!?" He cries.
"Just relax, brah." You assure him.
You can smell his newly emerging musk right away. Its raw, potent. The fruits from rarely showering and frequent physical activity. He's confused, and gags at first, but soon lets the funk invade his nostrils and his fogging brain with a simple, dumb moan as he begins to strip his clothes off, one by one.
He starts to sweat. Beads of swear pour down his face and onto his... muscles? The last vestiges of intelligent thought inside his smoothing brain cause his mouth to cry out: "The fuck... brah?" His tone much more douchey and frat-like.
Back to the muscles, his body was now lean and muscular. His flat stomach, smoothed out to form a slick six pack, his bone-like arms are now beefy biceps. His chest is now two mounds of flesh commonly called 'pecs'. His legs thick, dick hard as a rock and his ass fat. He mindlessly flexes his biceps and groans: "Fffuck.... brah..."
You're getting aroused just by looking at him "Damn.... you're really sexy, brah." You coo lazily as you gaze upon this sexy biker boy.
His member begins to tent in his pants as his brain begins to undergo a major shift. His academics, his smarts, his knowledge... Were beginning to fade away. Higher maths vanished, counting on more than 1 hand became a much more strenuous task, his vast vocabulary significantly shortened, the words that would come out of his dumb mouth from now on would be much MUCH simpler.
"Fuck... I'm so dumb, brah..." He chuckled as he begins to strip again, until he's completely naked gripping his naked member.
"I just wanna fuck, brah.... gimme a nice hole...." He begs as he grabs a nearby adult toy and begins to thrust and grunt like a dumb animal.
He's so desperate at this point. He's such a dog, a dumb horny dog... and so are your mates downstairs. You leave the newly reformed "Bro" to his own devices as you go back downstairs.
The Bro apparently left some of his nerd books when he first came here. And of course, your other bros were too stupid to read now with their new helmets, so they all stood there confused and babbling at the confusing words on the pages.
You smirk, dick hard. You look around at your harem and filthy, dumb biker boys. Boys who would gladly spread their beefy legs and debase themselves just for a chance to have their fat juicy asses plowed by their mighty frat leader.
"WHO WANTS TO TAKE THIS DICK, BROS!!!" You holler, pointing at your 10 inch member. Your boys drop their books in unison and began to hound you like a pack of horny dogs. You chuckle, picking your first bro to breed tonight...
How about a story about a homophobic frat jock who gets turned into the husband of his gay, middle aged english professor?
Jared had everything he could want. The looks, the friends, girls drooling over him, the athletic ability... the list went on. The only thing he didn't have was a good grade in his stupid intro to English course. To Jared, school was just an obstacle to the things he would rather be focusing on. His time partying, working out, and practicing on the field were all higher priorities for him. The only thing grades were good for were maintaining his sports scholarship.
"C'mon man, you can't fail me." Jared insisted, "I'll write a stupid essay or something. Ever heard of extra credit?"
Dr. Peters sighed, "Jared, I know you have the potential. You're a bright young man and..."
"Enough with the bullshitting." The young jock continued, "I'm sure I could pass your class if I gave a fuck." His eyes narrowed.
"In all my years of teaching, I've never..." Dr. Peters paused and regained his composure, "Look, I'm sorry Jared, but I can't just change your grade." He put the papers he had been reading down as his phone buzzed, "I'm sorry, I have to take this."
Jared watched as his professor stepped away and the young man sighed. Did he lose his cool? Yeah. Did it hurt his case? Fuck yeah. But he wasn't about to let some washed out, gay English nerd fuck with his life. Jared looked down at the papers Dr. Peters was reading and smirked. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and left the room.
-------------
Was stealing a bunch of papers from his English professor the best revenge he could think of? No, not at all. But when Jared started reading them, he nearly died from laughter.
"Did he write this shit?" Jared smirked, taking in Dr. Peter's handwriting, "Oh my god, dude needs to learn to type. Probably can't even afford a laptop on his shitty salary."
As Jared started to read the pages he had stolen, his expression shifted. He couldn't believe what he was reading.
"What a pervert." Jared chuckled, "This is what you spend your time writing about?" The story was unlike anything he expected. It detailed an intimate encounter between two men - Dr. Peters and an assistant coach named Chris, "You dirty fucker," Jared whispered under his breath.
But he couldn't help but continue to read over each line. The story unfolded with vivid descriptions of a burly, handsome assistant football coach, Chris. The broad shoulders, thick gut, hirsute form- oozing masculinity.
"So that's the type of guy Peters gets off to." Jared mused, "What a…" He shifted uncomfortably as he felt his cock beginning to stiffen, tenting against his jeans, "The fuck…?" He smirked, "Guess its been a bit since I got off…" He whispered.
Jared kept reading, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The story described how the English professor ran a hand through the assistant coach's thick chest hair, tracing the lines of muscle beneath. As he read these words, Jared felt an odd itching sensation on his own chest. He absently scratched at it, not realizing that fine hairs were beginning to sprout across his smooth skin.
He continued to read, now fully engrossed in the erotic tale unfolding before him. The professor leaned in closer to the coach, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. Jared inhaled deeply- he could swear he smelled it too. It was rugged, musky, and deliciously masculine. And it was coming from him. His own musky pits… And it smelled so good…
"What the hell." Jared shook his head, "Alright… time to put this down…"
Jared tried to set the papers aside, but found himself unable to look away. The story had taken hold of him, drawing him deeper into its world. As he read on, the characters' encounter grew more heated. The professor pressed his lips to the coach's neck, feeling the coarse stubble against his face. Jared winced as hairs sprouted from his own jawline, growing thicker until he sported a scraggly, manly beard.
"Wh-what the fuck?"
He tried to lift a hand to confirm what he had felt. But his hands remained stuck in place, holding the story. He couldn't even move his head, forced to stare at the pages and read what was on them.
"I can't move…" He stuttered, "I can't…"
Jared couldn't help but continue to read. Read the description of professor grasping the coach's muscular arms, Jared could feel his own biceps swell and thicken. But he couldn't look. Couldn't see the changes that the story wrought on his lean muscles and athletic form.
"Ohhhh... fuck…" He moaned.
The story detailed how the professor trailed kisses down the coach's chest, circling his nipples with his tongue. Jared gasped, feeling his own nipples harden and tingle. He wanted to look down, to see if they had darkened and enlarged like the coach's, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the pages. But he could feel his pecs swell, thickening with muscle, while also sagging and softening with age.
"Pl-please let me go…" Jared begged.
He read as the coach groaned, his hands roaming over the professor's body. Jared's fingers twitched, aching to do the same. To explore every inch of someone else's skin, to feel another man beneath him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. But they persisted, growing stronger with each passing moment. As the characters in the story began to undress each other, Jared felt his own clothes start to come undone and vanish, leaving him completely naked on his bed.
"Feels so good..." The cool air on his warm skin sent a shudder of pleasure through his increasingly larger form.
As Jared read on, he felt his scalp begin to tingle. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the vivid descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together. But the sensation grew more intense, spreading across his entire head.
He gasped as he felt strands of hair loosen and fall away. More followed, clinging to his fingers as he reached up to feel the thinning locks. Panic surged through him, but he couldn't stop reading. The story described the professor running his hands through the coach's thinning hair, and Jared felt his own recede further, revealing more of his scalp.
"No… please no…" He whimpered, but the words came out slurred and weak. His voice was changing too, deepening into a gravelly rasp. He could hear the difference, but couldn't process what it meant.
Jared's eyes widened as he felt a sudden burst of heat across his skin. The story detailed the professor trailing kisses down the coach's chest, across his hairy belly and lower still. Jared gasped, feeling coarse hairs erupt across his own once-smooth torso. They sprang up everywhere - his chest, back, shoulders. He felt like a walking carpet, covered in a thick pelt of dark fur.
"I can't be becoming him... I can't be.... fuck..."
Despite the alarming changes, Jared found himself growing more aroused. The descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together, their sweaty skin sliding against each other, filled him with a primal hunger. He craved that closeness, that intimacy. He wanted to feel another man's strong arms around him.
"Oh fuck that… I'm not gay…" The pace of his breathing had quickened, his mind was racing as he tried to process the changes, "I'm Jared. I'm not…"
The story described the professor reaching down to grasp the coach's throbbing cock, feeling it pulse in his hand. Jared moaned, his own member responding in kind. It lengthened and thickened. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, dripping down onto his furry thighs. He couldn't believe how sensitive he had become, how desperately he needed release.
"I need… I need…" He whimpered, but he couldn't find the words. Couldn't articulate the burning desire coursing through his veins. All he knew was that he craved another man's touch. Craved the feeling of being filled, of being used.
Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him.
Strong arms wrapped around Jared's waist, pulling him back against a solid, muscular frame. He gasped, his eyes snapping open as he realized he was no longer alone. Realized he wasn't even in his dorm room anymore. He was in a bedroom. Their bedroom. Their? No he was… he was… His eyes widened as the papers in his hands vanished, as the the story's words faded away, instead replaced by reality.
"W-what the fuck?" He stammered, trying to turn around. But the arms held him firmly in place.
A low, husky voice rumbled in his ear, "I love you, babe."
Jared froze, recognizing that voice instantly. It was Dr. Peters. But how?
Before he could process it further, he felt the older man's hand wrap around his throbbing cock. Fingers closed around the base, squeezing gently. Jared cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Yes, right there," Jared heard himself say, but the voice didn't belong to him. It was deeper, gruffer, and laced with lust. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, his lips formed a smile as he pushed back against Dr. Peters' hand.
Panic surged through Jared's mind as he realized he wasn't in control of his own body anymore. He was trapped, watching helplessly as the assistant coach persona took over. The one from the story.
"Please, don't stop," Coach moaned, his hips rocking in time with Dr. Peters' strokes. "I need you inside me."
As Dr. Peters guided him towards the bed, Jared's vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was a wedding band glinting on his own finger. Memories flooded his mind - memories of a life he hadn't lived. Of loving Dr. Peters, of being loved by him. Of countless nights spent entwined in each other's arms, of waking up to the older man's warm embrace.
-----------
"Babe? Babe?" Jared stirred awake, his eyelids fluttering open. He blinked groggily, trying to orient himself. The last thing he remembered was… what exactly? Something about a story... about Dr. Peters… No... Evan. His husband...
"Thank god, you passed out," Evan said, relief evident in his voice. He sat on the edge of the bed, a concerned look etched on his face. "I was worried sick about you."
Jared frowned, confusion clouding his mind. Passed out? Worried? What was going on? He glanced down at his hand, noticing the wedding band for the first time. It was gold, simple, but unmistakable. He lifted his hand to examine it, but Evan caught his wrist gently.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Evan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Jared's hand.
Jared found himself nodding along, allowing Dr. Peters to guide him towards the bathroom. As they walked, Jared inspected his body. The thick chest hair, the broad shoulders, the paunch around his middle. None of it made sense. He was supposed to be a fit, muscular college athlete, not this… not this…
"Babe?"
As Jared looked at Evan, something clicked into place. The concern in his eyes, the gentle touch of his hands, the familiarity of his voice - it all fell together like pieces of a puzzle. This was his husband. His lover. The man he had built a life with. With a swift movement, Jared pushed Evan backwards onto the couch, pinning him beneath his weight. The older man yelped in surprise, but quickly melted into a pleased smile as he felt Jared's erection press against his thigh.
"We can't just leave it hanging like that, can we?"
Hey there boy. See something you like? Or should I say, smell something you like? Yeah, that’s it. My daddy musk has already got your eyes glazed over and your dick leaking. Come over here, get closer. It’s so much better to bury your face right in there, and huff it directly from my pits. With each breath you take you’re getting dumber and dumber and you’re getting more and more beefy. I can see the muscle growing on your body while I see you leaking all your brains away out of your dick. There you go, switch over to the other pit. Nothing better than taking an ordinary college guy and making him a big dumb jock. Especially guys that truly dig my stink. Guys like you can really lap up all the sweat that collects under there, get nice and big. Fuck, at this rate you might as well try out for wrestling or the defensive line. A big brute like you, who has no problem getting up close and personal with other musky men, you belong playing sports. Whoops, we better slow down. You’ve already rippee your shirt to shreds, I don’t want you getting stopped by the police if you break open your pants. Why don’t you run back to your dorm and start jerking off. Your cock’s got to be massive by now, and since you’re no longer going to be worried about studying or homework or shit, you have a lot more time to jerk off and find guys to fuck. After all, who’s going to want to turn down a beefy man like you? You must be 250 pounds of muscle, hairy all over, with a cock to match. Tell you what, why don’t you give me your number. When I finish up later, I can come over and show you how a real man fucks. And don’t worry, you can sniff my pits plenty more than. I’ll even do you a favor and skip the post-work shower. Sound good sport?
That little something was a powder called Ovid's Wet Dream, and it had found its way inside of Eli's morning coffee courtesy of Silas. Now, Silas clutches his legs as he watches his equally nerdy friend explode in height.
"I'm so fucking horny!"
Silas is practically drooling at the sight of Eli's modest erection begins fattening. Eli's sweatpants are so thin and soaked with pre-cum that they're practically see-through, and do little to hide the inflating sausage between his legs. The cock's head flares and pushes out pre at a more urgent rate, as his balls begin churning and inflating with backed-up cum, becoming veritable, hairy baseballs between his legs. Eli's balls flood his body with testosterone. Sweat begins pouring out of his body, his pubes and pit air thickening and growing denser.
"I'm glad it feels good!" Silas says, encouragingly, squirming as his 5-inch erection brushes against his shorts.
Eli only moans in assurance as his frail chest begins inflating. If Eli had the mental faculties to do so, he would be asking lots of questions. But through the drool flooding out of his mouth, it's obvious the mental changes the powder promised are steadily kicking in. The overwhelming flood of hormones makes the loss of Silas's intelligence even more pronounced as he begins mindlessly humping, thrusting his hips, desperate for release as his cock surges to 9, thick, long inches. The head of his cock pumps a steady stream of pre down his knee.
"Fuck, bro!"
"Oh my god," Silas mutters, licking his lips.
Now, the most important question is why. Why is Silas watching his friend play with his fattening nipples, moaning like a whore and groaning with pleasure as his chest begins inflating with displaced fat and muscle? Why is Silas slowly stroking himself as Eli begins furiously massaging his expanding muscle tits, his hands cracking and inflating, becoming thick and veiny, callouses forming on his hands as workout routines replace complex math problems in Eli's shrinking brain? Why is Silas drooling from horniness as Eli flexes an expanding bicep and shows off his fattening arm, the thick hair growing beneath his pits, damp and sweaty, reeking of musk and testosterone?
Well, the poor guy is a virgin.
Still.
Eli stands and grabs his tight shirt, abs carving themselves into his stomach, and rips it clean down the collar. His back widens and thickens, biceps pumping with more meat as he bumps his beyond hard dick against his desk, files deleting themselves from his computer. All of his math homework? Gone. All of his coding programs? Gone. In their place is all the gay porn the gay, horny jock can possibly masturbate to whenever his massive, constantly producing bull balls need draining. The aroma of cum, sex, sweat, and musk fills both Eli and Silas's noses. It makes Silas's hole twitch, clenching in feverish anticipation, and only inflates Eli's burgeoning ego, and his burgeoning ass. The pancake ass begins stuffing itself with muscle and fat just like his pecs, the cheeks filling out whatever room is left in his straining, soaked sweatpants as his thighs, calves, and feet begin growing to match his upper body.
Eli looks at Silas with half-lidded eyes, cloudy with lust. He bites his lip as the cocky streak in him begins growing, seeing the cute twink in a different, much less platonic light as his pale skin begins growing a healthy tan, moaning as his nipples expand further, becoming more sensitive as more heft is packed onto his already meaty chest.
All Silas has ever wanted was to lose his virginity. Eli lost his recently but that's only because Eli was bolder, a little more comfortable using the apps than Silas ever was. It filled him with jealousy as Eli gushed about the experience. How nice the man was. How careful he was. Silas sat there silently fuming and mildly embarrassed at the fact that he was seemingly such a late bloomer. So many people he'd met had fucked already. And here he was, fingering himself and quietly moaning into his hand as he came. Besides, none of the men on the apps fit the exact parameters that Silas was looking for. Sure they were hunky, but did they have such a fat ass splitting the back of their sweatpants, the hairy globes released into the air and nearly clapping from their size? Did they have such meaty, juicy thighs sandwiching their fat nuts? Did they have such huge, musky feet, stretching across the carpeting, the toes thickening and thin hairs growing on the backs of them, the musk adding to the heady smell in the air, making Silas woozy with lust? Did they think with the head between their legs more often than the one on their shoulders?
Eli groans in pleasure, his newly deep voice ricocheting through the small room. His computer bloats into a massive, color-changing gaming computer. Java closing itself and COD showing up on the computer screen.
For Eli, he's never felt so good in his life. His brain totally devoid of worries and fears. No anxieties at all. He's just horny as shit. His brain is a carousel of images involving some bottom in front of him, their hole clutching tight to his thick dick, the massive schlong buried deep in their holes as it gains another inch in length and girth. Or his fat ass being impaled by one of his workout buddies, bent over in the musky locker room, cock oozing on the floor as his eyes loll in pleasure. He rubs his chiseling chin, moaning in approval as a thick beard begins growing on his chin. A baseball cap appears on his head, his wardrobe simplifying into the only attire necessary for a horned up jock like him. Sneakers, tank tops, basketball shorts, sweatpants, tight jeans, tighter polos, nipples and pecs and abs and dense, meaty biceps forever in display. Begging for a worshipper to lick him from head to toe. To swallow his cock down to the base, nose buried in the thick, musky pubes.
His cock strains with backed-up cum. His torn T-shirt (size small? Why the fuck did he buy such a small shirt) draped over the boner that's finally broken free of his destroyed sweatpants.
Silas mouth falls open and he gasps.
"Shit, bro I didn't know you were in here," Eli says, pressing down on his dick and making it bob. His dick pulses hungrily.
"Um," Silas says, speech temporarily shorted out by his own boner and the musk spreading through the room.
"I was gonna game," Eli says, "but then you walked by me with those shorts on." He bites his lip. "That ass looks perfect."
"I'm a virgin," Silas blurts and then blushes.
Eli only chuckles, before standing and letting the shirt slide off and his cock to bob in front of the mesmerized twink in its full, drippy glory. He wonders why he never considered fucking his nerdy friend before, maybe as a reward for doing his homework or something. Yeah, maybe he should start doing that. It's hard to pay attention to some dumb professor when all your dick wants to do is bust a nut everywhere. Maybe his friend and roomy here could help him with his large problem.
FUCK!
Welp here I was. Back in the dog house. I laid myself down with the one pillow I could snag before my husband, Evan, slammed the bedroom door on me. I laid there replaying the argument we’d just had.
“Babe, listen. It was a blowjob. It doesn’t mean anything!”
“Oh no? You getting sucked off by some stranger on the dancefloor doesn’t mean anything?! …riiiight.”
“It doesn’t! It just sort of happened. There’s just certain things you won’t do and the fantasy got away from me!”
“Right like me on my knees on the Dancefloor sucking your cock like some SLUT!” Evan shouted.
The image of my 10/10 husband on his knees sucking me like a good slut began playing through my mind…
I immediately chubbed up. It must have shown…and why wouldn’t it? I’m pretty well endowed there.
“Ya know what. Sleep on the couch tonight. We can talk about this tomorrow!” My husband’s steel blue eyes threw daggers as I quickly grabbed a pillow. Before a resolute SLAM rang through our town house. The bedroom door was shut tight.
This brings me here. Trying to sleep on our couch. My thick cock chubbing up yet again at the wicked fantasy of my prudish husband on his knees, sucking me off on the dancefloor, while guys passed by. Maybe some started noticing, with smirks on their faces whipping their cocks out and leering. I see myself inviting them over, my husband pleading me for more cock to enjoy.
Fuck. I must sound like a complete tool. I’m a total top and Evan only bottoms. The sex I have with my husband is beautiful, sensual, and loving. It’s just not…raw. I hear my friends talk about their sex lives, how hot and ragged it becomes. Spit, slings, pits and sweat. Two-three different partners at once. Sometimes…
I wish my husband was more slutty.
I breathed out. I spat on my hand. My 9" cock fully erect and leaking as I began jerking off to my slutty fantasy. There was my husband again, down on his knees in the middle of the dance floor. My giant cock slapping him across the face as other men slowly gather around. All of them adjusting their bulges. Some pulling them out and Evan noticing. Him looking up at me with eager pleading eyes. Begging me to let him take more cock. Faster and faster, up and down I stroked…until.
—I was waking up in a cold sweat—
I heard weird sounds coming from our bedroom upstairs. It sounded like my husband. But I’d never heard sounds like these coming from his mouth. They were deep and guttural. I rushed up to our bedroom.
“Mmmm oohhh mmmm uhhhmnnn! Fuckkk yess so big!” My husband moaned.
That stopped me. It sounded overtly…sexual?
“Fuckkkk Yesss. More! More babe yes!” I slowly twisted the door handle and opened the door.
There, writhing on the bed in just a jockstrap was my husband. Sweat broke across his face, his curly brown hair plastered wet against his forehead in places. His eyes were knit tightly shut. He was lost in pure bliss. A wicked smile played across his face as his body contorted sensually. A huge boner filled out his jock. A large wet spot spread around the head.
He was dreaming. Against my lust, my concern won out, I vigorously shook him. All at once his blue eyes opened. Although, whereas last night they were full of intelligence and verve, these eyes were all bedroom.
“fuuuck babe. Why’d you wake me? I was having the best dream!” Evan said, smirking as he stretched his perfect body out.
“I—I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen you like that before.” I said completely dumbfounded at the body language that seemed so foreign on my husband.
“What do you mean? I always have sex dreams.” Evan threw me a quizzical look. “You wanna hear about it? Fuck, alright. In the dream we were on the dancefloor and I noticed you chubbing up. So I pulled you over to the side, and started unbuckling your pants. I released your cock…the head was swollen and purple. There was pre smeared all over the top. I dropped to my knees and just wolfed it down right there, in front of everyone. God it was so fuckin hot. Eventually all these guys started seeing it and started to pull their cocks out too…you started motioning them over and then—YOU WOKE ME UP YOU JERK!” He said with a laugh.
Holy shit. My husband verbatim described the fantasy I was having last night.
“Seems like you like my dream.” He said, motioning to my crotch with a nod.
I looked down and blushed. I don’t know if my cock had ever been harder.
“Need some help with that big guy?” He purred. His hands starting to run down my hairy muscular body. His fingers biting into my flesh.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“I-I thought you were mad at me?” I gulped as his hands reached the elastic of my mesh shorts. He swiftly pulled them down. My cock slapping him across the face. Precum smearing across his lips. He moaned not making any moves to wipe his face clean.
“Why would I be mad?” He smirked devilishly.
“The-The blow job from that guy last night?” His smirk widened as he got to his knees on the bed, eye level with my cock.
Slowly he began licking my cock from its root to the fat purple head, stopping just shy of the top before slowly swirling his tongue along my glands. His puffy lips closed around my huge head as he began vigorously sucking my cockhead while rolling his tongue over top. It was almost too much, my knees nearly buckling from the intense pleasure. Then all at once he took all 9”. Something he could never do before. Something very few bottoms could. His nose was deep in my sweaty pubes, huffing my scent. His tongue stretching out over my balls.
“Jesus fuck.” I gasped.
Back and forth he sucked me from our bed. Vigorous. Sensual. Loudly moaning all the while. He looked up at me. His eyes now vapid and glossed over. He had always looked so mature for his age, but now his eyes screamed “fuck me.” All he was thinking about was my cock and how good it felt to suck it.
I couldn’t take it any longer, I grabbed either side of his head and began to skullfuck my husband. His moans increased in volume letting me know how much he liked. I roughly took him. My moans increased, I could feel my balls lifting!
All at once he pulled off me. My mounting orgasm folding. My husband moved off the bed stood before me, a whole head shorter and with all his might he shoved me.
I fell hard onto the bed in shock and before I could do anything I felt him pounce on me once again. Only this time he was facing upside down. He wanted to 69?!!? I opened my mouth to protest and found it full of his 6” thickish cock. He swallowed me down yet again, as he began pile driving my head into the bed. I sputtered, I gagged. He roughly grabbed my hands and moved them to his ass…When did his ass get so big?! My hands could barely fit around those melons. I slapped and squeezed them. He twerked his ass back so I could feel it jiggle and then he brought his weight down gagging me yet again on his cock.
I’d never been a fan of blowjobs but the roughness, his ass pulsing in my hands. All at once I began to come. Moaning like a mess around his cock as he poured his own load down my gullet.
“Holy fuck babe. That was—that was insane.” I said, cum smeared at the corners of my mouth.
“Thought you might like it. Breakfast?” He said while wiggling his eyebrows.
Evan hopped out of bed and left me staring at those cakes as he walked down the hall…his ass was definitely bigger! I felt like I was dreaming. I was wracking my brain for what might be going on…did the stress from last night short circuit his brain? I mean that wouldn’t explain is fat Farari of an ass though, or the slutty knowledge that would make the pope blush. Then it hit me…
I wish my husband was more slutty
The wish…had I made my husband into a huge slut?!
“Babe you coming?!” Evan shouted up.
“On my way!”
After a huge helping of eggs, hash browns, and bacon. I was completely sated. It was Sunday after all and I was ready for a nap. We hopped in the shower together, something we never do. It was very cute. Evan soaped down my muscular furry bod. He started paying extra care to my nipples. Fuck. He knew that always get me going. He gave little bites to each nipple, introducing his free hand to play with the other. It was Heaven.
My 9” rod was back up again. I pushed him against the back marbled wall of our large glass and stone shower and began kissing him roughly. invading his mouth with my bigger tongue. It was passionate. I growled as he lightly bit my tongue. I pulled back and play slapped his cheek, before spinning him around.
I looked around for anything we could use as lube when, there before me, was our favorite lube brand. Sitting right on its own shelf. When had that gotten there? I lubed up my cock and lined it up with his lightly hairy, huge ass. FUCK! His ass started sucking me in greedily. Both of our breathing begin to synch up as his moaning increased. He growled at the large intruder bearing down on his hole.
Just like in the bedroom his new sexual instincts took over. He began twerking his ass back on my cock. The pressure was unbelievable and watching his ass? God, he was still covered in suds. I took over and grabbed his tight waist. I let him have all my weight as I launched into a furious fuck.
I bit his neck from behind and he turned his face to mine so that once again I could shove my tongue down his throat. He moaned loudly at that. I pulled him back and spat in his open mouth, he swallowed it graciously and moaned even louder! I could feel him getting close as his ass began quivering around my cock.
“oh fuck. Fuck babe! Your fat cock..gonna make me!!”
That was all I needed to hear as my own cock began firing off load after load of cum into Evan’s hole.
I slowly pulled out and we showered once again kissing each other tenderly throughout. God I could get used to this.
After toweling off I turned to Evan.
“Well love. I think it’s time for me to get some shut eye. Gonna take a nap.” I smiled.
“Oh no problem…you mind if I stay up and keep having some fun?” Evan said with a glint in his eye.
“Not at all. Love you.”
“Love you, hot stuff.” Evan said pulling out his phone and typing away. As I walked back to the room I heard an immediate ping and the sound of Evan giggling.
I thought that kind of strange, but climbed into bed and with a satisfied exhale fell right into sleep.
When I awoke it was dark. How long had I been asleep? Evan really wore me down.
“Mmmmm oooohhh mmmm fucccckk.” I heard that familiar sound from this morning. I smiled to myself as I opened the bedroom door and made my way downstairs. Evan was having one of his sex dreams. He really did have them a lot. I was still pretty worn out, but how hot would it be to start fucking him while he—
“What the fuck?! Who are you!??!” I yelled.
There before me was Evan, bent over our massive couch while a man 10 years my senior plowed him from behind.
“Oh hi baby! Were we too loud?? Did you want to join?” Evan spoke in between thrusts, his face red with exhaustion and sweat.
“No I wanna know who is fucking you!?” I said, balling up my fists.
The guy was big, but looked intimidated by me. He stepped back, pulling out of Evan. When he did, Evan visibly shuttered and I could see why. The man’s cock had to be 12” long and as thick as my forearm.
“Hey listen man. He said you guys were open?” The bigger bear of a man said honestly.
I looked to Evan who looked mystified as well by my actions.
“ I—we—yes we are I’m so sorry guys I just woke from a crazy nightmare…” I made my way back upstairs.
For the next two hours I listened to Evan moan like the slut he now was.
“Fuck Daddy, it’s so big! FUCKK NEVER HAD ONE SO BIG!!! Fuck me harder!!! Yes! Yes! I’m your slutty boy toy!”
I guess this is how Evan felt when I got all those random BJs…damn, I laid in our bed jealously. As fucked as it was, I had a massive boner that wouldn’t go down. Hmmm maybe I can reverse my wish?
“I wish Evan was less slutty.”
…I waited…
“Fuck daddy, take my hole! Harder-there right there!” My husband moaned from downstairs.
Nope I guess we’re stuck here—unless? I breathed in…
I wish I was more slutty.
I breathed out. All at once I felt it. The same feeling taking over me. I closed my eyes.
…
“Babe! Babe you alright? Looked like you were passing out for a minute?! Need some water?”
“Ya, you alright bud? I know this thing is big. It’s had that effect before.” A gruff voice sounded behind me. I looked down I was fully boned up, wearing a light blue jockstrap. I was laid over the edge of our couch.
Behind me was the giant bear of a man who was fucking my husband before. His kind brown eyes full of concern for me. My stomach fluttered and was filled with butterflies. Then I saw it…his fat 12” cock pointed directly at me.
“Fuckkkk. Put it in me please!” I begged, my mouth watering at the thought of getting fucked by such a god-like cock.
My husband grinned. “There’s my slutty hubby. Now open up your holes.” He said while ruffling my hair.
“God I’ve never met two such slutty men in my life.” The big man sounded with smirk.
My tongue lolled out and my ass relaxed as they both entered me.
“mmmmm. MMMHHHPPPPHHHHMMMMM.” I begged through full mouth as I felt the Daddy’s dick head penetrate my hole. They both slowly took me, building up steam until I was rammed like the whore I was. With each thunderous Daddy clap from behind, my husbands cock went deep down my throat.
I watched above me as my husband and the giant daddy made out. His pecs and gut jiggled as he fucked me harder and harder.
He began to pick up pace. Sweat rained down on me from above as both men began to moan loudly. I could feel it; the crest mounting in all of us.
all at once I felt the strongest pulse I’d ever felt in my ass as shot after shot of cum was volleyed off into my hole. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, my husband pulled out and shot his load all over my face, smearing his cum around with his softening cock. It was too much for me. I came hands free with a loud moan. My whole body began shuddering. Lightning bolts dance over my skin as my toes curled and my hole tightened around the monster cock still lodged up my ass. God life was perfect with my slutty hubby.
It’s finally done!! This was a request from @bigbren1979 . I hope you like it my dude!! Please enjoy. I also have some interesting news coming up later today!!! Stay tuned!!
Brett Lawrie was a massive success on the baseball field. People loved seeing this very attractive man swing away, both men and women. Unfortunately for both of them, he was already taken, having a wife and kid. Even worse, Lawrie was a massive homophobe, making fun of and harassing all the gay guys that worked out at the gym. He didn’t make it very obvious so he would not get into trouble, but everyone knew he really hated them all.
Sadly for Lawrie, he messed with the wrong guy today.
Andrew was having a beer with his friends in the local bar, when he saw Brett entering, clearly drunk. He sat down with his buds in a booth and immediately shouted for a waitress. When a guy approached the table, Lawrie and his friends immediately started calling him names. “Get us some beers, faggot” he said while spewing in his face. Andrew watched the scene unfold with his fists clenched. That bastard, always pestering the queer folk around town. He was about to get up to say something to the sportsman, when a thought entered his mind. A sly grin spread along his face as he sat back down and enjoyed the rest of his evening.
The following morning
Andrew walked into the gym, looking for his target. He found Brett on the leg extension machine. Andrew moved over to the baseball player and smiled.
“Hey man, You’re Brett Lawrie right? I’m a huge fan, dude! That last game was fantastic! Your swings were top tier!” Lawrie smiled.
“Thanks bro! It was such a great game. I’m glad there are still some actual baseball fans around here, and not just fags.” Andrew bit his tongue and smiled.
“Yeah man, been a fan for ages!” Lawrie beamed as his ego was stroked to high heaven. Andrew rummaged through his bag and took out a workout shaker.
“Hey man, so I wanted to give you this, it’s a protein shake I developed myself. Gives you this hugeeee boost. Best workout you’ve ever had, trust me. And unlike pre-workout, you don’t even have to wait!!” Lawrie took the bottle with big eyes and took a swig.
“Bro… this tastes divine!!” he took another sip and, kind of reluctantly, gave back the bottle to Andrew. Andrew saw the remorse in his eyes and smiled.
“You know what man, you can keep that one, I got another one in my locker.” Brett looked up. “Are you sure… you don’t-”
“I insist dude.” Andrew retorted and handed him the bottle.
Brett gazed at it and quickly took another mouthful. He stared up at Andrew and then immediately downed the whole bottle after which he let out a massive belch. “Jezus that was fucking great man. Thanks a lot”
Andrew grinned “No probz bro. Be sure to see me after your workout though. I can hook you up with some more”
Lawrie nodded. “Yeah sure thing bro!” Andrew turned and started to walk towards the weights, starting his own workout.
In the meantime, Lawrie continued with renewed vigor. He had actually been almost done but the shake had given him an energy reset. He was ready to keep going. He continued to workout his legs and ass. His girlfriend loved his massive ass. When Lawrie was headed towards the Squat rack, he felt his stomach rumble. He chuckled. “Oh dear, there come the preworkout gasses. Oh well, people should know I’ve been here, they’d better be honored to smell me.” He said with a smug look on his face. But the farts and burps never came. Even when squatting down with 50 pounds on each side of the bar, not a single puff of air came out of him.
Instead, his body slowly started to swell up a bit. His lean body started to fill out with some fat and muscle. His rough slender arms started to fill out his shirt. His stomach roared again, this time enlarging his pecs into soft, warm cushions of flesh. Another rumble and he shrank down a few inches, but as he was squatting down at the same time, he didn’t even notice. The former 6 foot athlete, was now an adorable 5 ‘7. With another rumble came another set of changes. His 30 year old face started to lose some years. Patches of aged skin started to smooth out, the few wrinkles he had pulled away, and his beard receded into a soft stubble. His stern face melted away into a soft and cute face with boyish charm. His short hair started to grow out and turned wavy. Lawrie bit his lips as they slowly plumped up, making him look very cute, but also very, very gay. He squatted down once more and the ink on his body started to wash away with all the sweat that ran down his frame. He now had smooth and youthful looking skin. His final squat and his body hair all but disappeared leaving behind a slight dusting of hair along his new juicy pecs. Having some energy left, Lawrie decided to put on some weights and continue the squats. With every squat his ass felt like it was on fire. Each rep made his ass bigger, and more jiggly. His below average rod also started to grow. Not just hard, but longer, and thicker too. His balls grew too, with every rep making them bigger and faster. Lawrie’s ass was getting bigger by the second, almost ripping his shorts. He was also getting smoother, all the hair sucking into his balls and shaft, leaving a perfect smooth member.
He finally put down the bar and stood there, panting and sweating. “Fuck… that was amazing” he thought to himself. He grabbed his towel and headed to the locker room, ready to get some more of that delicious drink. As he opened the door he was met with an alluring smell that he could immediately place; it was the drink. He looked around and saw Andrew sitting on a bench, legs spread apart, with a towel around his waist, covering his manhood.
“Hey bro… I “ Lawrie fell silent. His usual rough voice was gone. Instead, when he talked a youthful, squeaky voice rang through the room.
“Hey man, you’re finally done. Took you long enough. But damn you look good!” Lawrie looked down, and saw his clothes didn’t fit him the same as they did when he put them on this morning. They were hanging lower on his body, but he filled them out much more.
He looked up in the mirror and screamed. Instead of the handsome, rugged face he knew, a new young, cute, and very queer looking face looked back at him.
“What did you do to me” He asked, in that annoyingly gay sounding voice.
“You just love to make fun of all the gays around here, so I thought, why not make you experience it for a change” he spread apart his legs a bit more, and Lawrie got attacked by a fresh, warm wave of the smell.
“Y-you …. Put something in the drink” Lawrie stammered, feeling a thread of drool run down his chin.
“You look adorable like that, but yeah you’re right. You want more right, that’s why you came? Want it from the source?” Andrew threw off the towel and Lawries knees buckled. The smell spread around the locker room, and more drool came spilling out of Lawries mouth. Andrew slowly walked over, his thick dick standing at attention. As he came closer there were no questions needed about what the source was; Lawrie only had eyes for Andrews dick. Andrew stopped just in front of Lawrie, his dick on eye level with the former star player.
“Fuck you’re cute now.” Andrew cooed. He ran his thumb along Lawries soft jaw. “You want a taste, baby?” Lawrie gulped and bit his lip.
“N-no I’m.. “
“Lick it boy” Andrew commanded, and Lawrie immediately complied. He opened his mouth and swallowed the rod. The bear groaned as the boy started to expertly suck him off. Lawries eyes opened wide as the familiar flavor of his drink started to fill his mouth.
“That’s a good boy” these words filled Lawrie with a weird warm and fuzzy feeling. “You wanna make daddy cum, don’t you?” Lawrie wanted to spit out the dick and curse out the man in front of him but instead he looked up into the bear’s eyes and nodded.
“Very good boy, you’re such a cutie. I’m gonna take such good care of you” As Andrew said that he shot a load down Brett Lawries throat. This in turn made the boy cream his own pants, shooting out all the old negative parts of the married baseball player. What was left was Barry, Andrew’s soft boyfriend pup, who was such a massive slut for his Daddy’s cock.
“That was amazing daddy… did I do good?”
“You sure did pup… but I’ve got a question… What is your sexuality?”
“Im very gay Drewie. I’m so very gay for your cock… And those of your hot friends…”
Andrew laughed and he pulled his boyfriend up, giving him a warm embrace. “That’s my boy. Lets get you cleaned up and home’
Later
It’s been a few months since Brett Lawrie has been missing. The gay community of the town didnt really mind though. In his place, they got a new slut with a very cute face. Andrew’s new boyfriend made a very cheap onlyfans, and had plenty of time for visitors. His instagram is full of his dumb, cute face.
Brett doesn’t remember much from his old life, only that it got substantially better when he and Andrew met. He now gets endless attention, money, and dick from him so he doesn’t have much to complain about.
Have we as a society lost our sense of acceptable public behavior?
Picture it: me, a swanky bistro, and an elegant patio adorned by the warm glow of string lights. I'm having a nice dinner—just me and my current favorite menu—until a couple is seated near me. It didn't take me long to hear that they were celebrating a six month anniversary and—given their gradually escalating volume—it was a night out at my favorite restaurant that was not going to fix their obvious relationship problems. In the short time it took the fresh rosemary rolls and whipped butter to arrive at their table, their loud talking had become peaks of yelling quelled only briefly by an unsatisfactorily hushed "quit talking so loud" or an ironic "you're embarrassing me."
Do you hate them yet? Because I definitely did. Except unlike you, I can take care of this; after all, knowledge of my methods is becoming more widespread. All I have to do is wait the thirty seconds it will inevitably take for the volume to boil over yet again.
"I can't take you anywhere!"
There she is again. Time to work my magic—
"Same shit again! I can't fucking take you anywhere! Everywhere we go: "miss, could you quiet down", and "sir, could you tell your date to stop yelling.""
"I'm not the one screaming f-bombs in public places! You need to learn some manners!"
*Whoosh.*
"Babe, I just can't have a conversation with you if you always yell." Already he's speaking at a much quieter volume.
"I just never feel like you're listening to me."—and she's also followed suit. Maybe that was all I needed to do, now I got my peace and quiet... but I'm not one to stop once I've started, and I suppose I'd rather not disappoint you either—after all, this isn't very interesting yet, is it. She continues: "I told you to dress nice and all you can manage is a t-shirt and shorts."
"I love you babe, but you can't tell me that you showing that much skin in a place like this is appropriate either."
No one sees it, but a slight grin crosses my face. I wave my hand and...
*Whoosh.* A light breeze passes through and their outfits shift.
"I'm dressed showing skin?! You're not even wearing a shirt."
"Babe, you're basically just wearing a sports bra and shorts."
"I look good. You don't work out enough to pull off not wearing a shirt in public."
*Whoosh.* A light breeze again. He's sporting some nice light muscle: square pecs, a nice six-pack, and some toned arms.
"Babe, I know I'm nowhere near my bulking goals but I know I look good enough to pull off being shirtless. Look, if you're gonna be like this, maybe we reschedule and have this dinner when you're not on your period."
...
...
...Look. What I did here may have been inappropriate... but would you expect anything less from me. I don't claim to be ethical, and I'm pretty sure you are well-aware of my biases by now... I'm not proud of what I did... I'm not... Okay maybe I am.
The ebb and flow of the conversation took a radical tone when one masculine voice was met for the first time by another. "Well then it's a good thing I'm not a girl."
"I guess that's true. Why would I even say that?"
"Because you're trying to avoid the subject again. Between you're time at the gym and your time at work, I never see you."
"I can't help it. At least I have a job."
*Whoosh.*
"Being an influencer is a job. I just wanna know how you can spend so much time working out when your job is being a personal trainer."
"My body is my sales pitch. I've build so much muscle now my co-workers are telling me I could enter a physique competition. Maybe if you worked out more, you'd actually get followers, and make money."
*Whoosh.*
"That's why I wanted to come here with you. Ever since I started working out with you, I have been gaining followers just as fast as I've been gaining muscle. I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you: I have 1 million followers."
"Babe, that's great news. I can't believe it!"
"Yeah, and there's more. The videos that gained the most traction online were the ones I shot with you. So I wanna go in a different direction with my page from now on."
"Wait, you've built it up by yourself. Why would you change it?"
"I wanna make it a couples page. Health, fitness, and gay pride."
"Most people dating for three years usually get proposals involving a ring."
"Do you wanna do this with me?"
"Yes, of course!"
A couple in my favorite bistro rise and embrace beside their patio table and share a passionate kiss. They seem happy, although I sit there and wonder if they'd be interested in a third for the night.
Have we as a society lost our sense of acceptable public behavior?
No. Not in this case. It could absolutely be much worse.
“This book is so boring. Why the fuck did I pick English as a major?” my roommate Aaron groaned for the third time that evening.
He was sprawled on the couch in his usual baggy hoodie and shorts, skinny legs dangling off the edge, looking every bit the pale, nerdy English student he was. I sighed and tried to ignore him, flipping through my own textbook.
“Why couldn’t I have picked something easy like Sports Science or whatever?” he whined again.
I couldn’t help but smirk. Aaron was as skinny as they came, he had no muscle, no coordination, zero interest in anything athletic. Still, if it would shut him up…
I had discovered long ago that I could change one thing about a person’s life. Just one. Permanent. Reality would rewrite itself around whatever it was I changed and make it so the rest of their life and the world would fit.
So I focused on him and made the change.
Aaron’s major is now Sports Science.
The world rippled.
I felt the shift wash over the room like a wave. When I looked back at the couch, my jaw dropped.
Aaron was gone.
In his place lounged a total jock god.
He was massive. Thick, powerful legs covered in dark, intricate tattoos stretched across the couch, his quads and calves bulging even while relaxed. He now had rock-l hard abs and a broad, sculpted chest. His arms were covered in full sleeves of ink, one draped lazily behind his head while the other held a book he was clearly no longer interested in. A red cap sat backwards on his head, and his jaw had sharpened into a strong, masculine line with a perfectly trimmed beard.
“Bro… why the fuck am I reading a book?” His voice was deep and lazy now, full of that effortless jock confidence.
He tossed the book aside and stretched, the movement making his entire muscular body flex and shift. The tank top pulled tight across his wide chest as he scratched at his abs absentmindedly. His thick legs shifted, the heavy bulge in his tight white Calvin Klein briefs impossible to ignore.
Aaron looked over at me with a cocky grin.
“Yo, dude. My brain feels fucking fried from all these plays and training drills. When’s practice again?” He flexed one massive arm casually, admiring the way his bicep peaked. “Shit, I’ve gotten huge this semester.”
I just stared, heart racing. The change had rewritten everything. His clothes, his major, his body, even his personality. The skinny English nerd was completely gone. In his place was this tattooed, muscular Sports Science jock who looked like he lived in the gym and partied every weekend.
He swung his powerful legs off the couch and stood up, towering over me. The way his quads and glutes flexed as he moved was hypnotic.
“Wanna hit the gym with me, bro? I need to get a good pump in before the game this weekend.”
He grinned, completely oblivious to the fact that just thirty seconds ago he had been complaining about Shakespeare.
I swallowed hard, trying not to stare at his incredible new body. I wondered if he would let me suck his cock. It’s not everyday you turn your nerdy roommate into an absolute beast
The entire table gulped audibly as Adrian handed them the character sheets. Even though they didn’t know about the magic, something about the sheets felt weird to them. However that feeling was quick to pass as the excitement of creating new characters took over.
Noah went first, basically vibrating as he grabbed the dice.
“Okay,” he said, grinning nervously. “I’m doing it. Full commitment. Human barbarian.”
Ethan burst out laughing immediately.
“You? A barbarian?”
“I can play against type!”
“You look like you lose fights against folding chairs.”
Noah flipped him off, but blushed slightly, looking at Adrian for the okay to start the character creation.
“Roll in order.”, Adrian nodded softly, “Strength first.”
The D20 clattered against the old wooden table, everyone’s eyes drawn to the shiny piece of plastic.
18
For a second nothing happened. And suddenly Noah inhaled sharply as he sat upright in his chair, his posture suddenly remarkably straight.
Underneath his hoodie his shoulders shot out to the sides as meat piled onto his frame, the fabric just barely adjusting in time to not get completely shredded under the pressure of the frail nerd’s inflation. His forearms thickened, his biceps bringing the sleeves devastatingly close to breaking point, veins pushing out against his skin. His hands flexing as they grew to the size of dinner plates, powerful and manly. Then his chest expanded, pulling the fabric already struggling with his cannonball arms tightly against his enormous pecs.
The chair creaked.
“Oh my God,” Oliver whispered.
Noah lurched upward as another inch—then another—was added to his height. His knees pressed awkwardly against the underside of the table before the transformation settled. Not monstrous. Not absurd. Just overwhelmingly athletic. Broad. Powerful.
Like a heavyweight fighter hidden beneath a nerd’s clothing.
And then reality adjusted.
The others blinked.
New memories appeared, the image of tiny Noah disappearing like ice under the midday sun, the awkward ginger runt replaced with the overwhelmingly manly mountain of muscle who acted like a tiny nerd. Only Adrian retained his old memories, smiling faintly at the awkward way the towering Barbarian warrior sat there, squeezing his enormous bulk at the table and still trying and failing to take up less space than his intensely huge frame demanded.
Noah himself looked oddly surprised by his new size, carefully balling and relaxing his fists a couple of times, almost seeming unsettled by the size of his own muscles. Only the sound of Adrian’s smooth voice ripped the Barbarian-sized nerd out of his stupor.
“Dexterity.”
Noah nodded and rolled again.
8
The change was subtler this time.
His posture and movement looked less precise, less graceful. It really appeared like the low roll on Dexterity had grounded the mountain sized geek somewhat. His posture now seemed more confident and solid, heavier even, his behaviour now showing less nervous and anxious shifting. Like someone who relied on power over grace.
A water bottle slipped from his grasp a second later.
“Jesus, dude.”, Ethan laughed, “I still can’t get over the fact that a guy that’s built like a linebacker has finally dipped his toe into playing a Barbarian after all these years. Speaking of which, are you still hellbent on getting on the football team? Coach must be getting fed up with your clumsy ass constantly trying out.”
Noah just blushed, his ears nearly as ginger as his hair, which he now hid under a cap of the local football team. With his clumsiness he didn’t make for the best player, but he’d tried enough times to like the sport.
Adrian watched from behind his DM screen as reality settled around Noah, curiously observing the mental changes that had begun around the edges. Noah was still Noah … just more.
“Constitution.”, Adrian prompted.
Noah rolled.
The die bounced once. Twice.
19
The effects hit like a freight train this time.
Noah gasped as his frame became denser. Not bigger per se, but more sharply defined, his chest swelling against the fabric and pulling it tight against his mid section, the outline of 6 brick sized abs clearly visible. Even his neck thickened, a prominent Adam's apple pushing into existence and lowering the Barbarian’s voice from a soft tenor to a booming bass.
Even a beard forced itself into existence against his more masculine lantern jaw. Not the teenage scruff he had been able to grow before, but a thick manly beard that looked utterly right on his rugged face.
Noah looked amazing. Not delicate. Not pretty-boy handsome. Dangerously handsome. Like some mythological northern warrior accidentally dropped into a college apartment.
“Hell yeah,”, the incredibly sexy lumberjack said, once again shocking his friends with the foghorn boom of his voice, “Nineteen Con.”
The other three players just nodded. Even sitting down, Noah dominated the room physically now. His shoulders stretched the seams of his hoodie so badly he eventually peeled it off entirely, revealing a black tank top straining across an absurdly broad chest and thick, powerful arms.
The Barbarian shifted in his seat, immediately drawing attention to another result of his roll.
“Dude, can’t you wear underwear for once to DnD? Your sweatpants look ridiculous!”, Ethan complained, trying very hard not to stare at the obvious outline of what was running down his left leg. Noah just blushed, trying to make his footlong soft cock somehow less noticeable through his grey sweatpants. And failing miserably.
Like the rest of him the thing sat heavy, thick and huge off the edge of the chair, even the outline of his bull balls being faintly visible through the fabric trying to cover his crotch.
“Talk about Barbarian Constitution.”, Marcus chuckled.
“Shut up,” Noah muttered.
But he sounded more embarrassed in theory than in practice. The growing confidence from his partially locked-in stats kept blunting his old insecurity before it could fully form.
Adrian quietly watched the magic settle again.
“Keep rolling.”, he said, “Intelligence is next.”
Noah, still feeling high from the absolutely monstrous roll on Constitution, enthusiastically threw the die.
5
The change was immediate.
Noah blinked.
Then blinked again.
The sharpness behind his eyes dulled and he relaxed in his seat. The constant anxious overprocessing vanished instantly as his racing thoughts slowed to a crawl. Adrian just grinned. A Barbarian wasn’t meant to be smart after all. He already had the overwhelming physicality, he didn’t need to think too much.
His posture spread wider in the chair.
Heavy.
Certain.
He looked at his friends with a relaxed and easy smile, confident despite his reduced intelligence.
“Dude, you’re literally playing yourself. Huge in body, but not the brightest bulb.”, Ethan chuckled at his simple friend. Noah just grinned in return and threw up his enormous cannonball biceps in a flex. Reality had settled seamlessly around the giant himbo.
Adrian cleared his throat and nodded towards the dice. “Let’s roll Wisdom next.”
Noah rolled.
6
The effect was subtler but somehow more unsettling.
Noah’s eyes softened immediately.
Not weaker physically—far from it—but more suggestible. More trusting. More willing to follow stronger personalities without questioning them deeply. Especially Adrian. Adrian noticed it at once. So did Ethan.
“Earth to Barbarian,” Ethan muttered. “You’re looking at Adrian weirdly again.”
Noah frowned faintly.
“Huh?”
“You keep waiting for him to talk before doing stuff.”
Noah opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then shrugged.
“Guess he’s the DM.”
Simple.
Logical.
Final.
The room laughed.
Only Adrian understood how profound the shift really was.
Noah’s independent critical resistance had just permanently collapsed. Not mindless obedience. Just reduced willpower. Reduced need to question. The barbarian archetype was crystallizing perfectly. While always physically in charge, he liked for others to take the lead, make suggestions and tell him what to do.
And there was still one stat left.
Charisma.
Adrian folded his hands together behind the DM screen and smiled faintly.
“Last roll.”
Noah rolled the die.
It spun across the wood.
Stopped.
15
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Noah smiled and the entire atmosphere of the room shifted instantly. Not magically glowing. Not supernatural mind control. Just… overwhelming presence.
His posture straightened subtly, massive shoulders rolling back with effortless confidence while his expression relaxed into an easy, rugged charm that looked absurdly natural on him. The lazy grin beneath his copper stubble suddenly carried weight behind it. Warmth. Magnetism.
His face redefined itself, becoming even more devastatingly handsome, manly, rugged. Like his entire look had been designed by someone who wanted to show what copious amounts of testosterone would do to a handsome man’s face.
And reality adapted around him. To the rest of the table Noah had always been overwhelmingly charismatic. He could say the most stupid shit and people would still laugh with him, his entire personality just becoming comfort food, easygoing and welcoming, while never losing the raw sex appeal that made people want to suck his cock or get impaled on his meat hammer within 5 minutes of meeting him.
“Guess I’m just charismatic.”, the massive ginger chuckled dumbly.
Reality now insisted he had never existed in that form at all.
Instead, Noah had always been this. A towering, massively muscular ginger barbarian of a man with movie-star ruggedness, absurd stamina, effortless charm, and the simple confidence of someone who had never spent much time doubting himself. A beautiful brute with long wavy copper hair, heavy stubble, broad hands, thick muscle-packed limbs, and a mind optimized less for critical analysis and more for instinct, confidence, and immediate physical certainty.
And according to everyone’s rewritten memories? He had always been the heart of the group. The guy strangers flirted with constantly. The one who won arguments through sheer presence instead of logic. The one who solved problems by kicking doors open.
Noah himself looked down at the completed character sheet and grinned proudly.
“Damn,” he rumbled. “This dude rules.”
“Our resident himbo literally plays himself.”, Ethan rolled his eyes. “Massive super stud football player, massive super stud barbarian. Tomato, tomato.”
“Still taller than you.”, Noah countered and the room burst out laughing.
And Adrian quietly watched the rewritten world stabilize around the completed barbarian.
One player down.
Three to go.
The grimoire beneath the table pulsed warmly against his knee.
For a while, Jamie getting the chronivac was the most fun we ever had. We went from two bullied idiots to kings of the school. Look at him, he looked like he had taken insane amounts of roids, but that was just what he naturally looked like now. All the guys in the school we’re just thirsting for a lick of his alpha dick, something he had carefully made sure of. Not me though, I got lucky haha!
I, obviously, also got my upgrades. I always did have a bit of swagger hidden behind my previous nerdy identity, so I had no trouble picking up girls with my huge new body. The App had just let the butterfly out of the chrysalis.
Anyone who was annoying us? Turned into some sort of sex doll that wanted to have sex with us and our huge tanned bodies.
Mr Morrison, for example, was bothering us the other day on his class because we weren’t paying attention to the bronze age collapse or some shit. Jamie just pulled his phone, made some alterations and boom, this was Ryan Morrison now. Not a history teacher, but an anatomy one that lectured shirtless, in order to better help illustrate the body’s anatomy, of course. He also gave private lessons to his favorite student, Jamie, where he explored his anatomy further. Damn, I should have him do some shit like this to Mrs Gomez too…
It was all rainbows and sunshine for a while, but one day I think he got bored. We had already transformed and fucked half the school, and while I was content just living life like this, he wasn’t. I think some people are just never satisfied.
“Yo, Jamie, what you doing there? Any transformation ideas? I was thinking maybe we could genderswap some peop-“ I exclaimed, before getting quickly cut off
“Actually, Lex, I think I have a better idea. I think you’re going to be my next target.” He said, smirking coldly at me
“W-what? Dude, don’t play around like that! We’re in this together, right? I responded, trying to cover up the nervousness in my voice.
“No, actually. I’m the one with the app, I just happened to share my joy with you for a while. Now I think I’m gonna have some fun with you.” He said, pressing the enter button before I could react.
When I woke up, I couldn’t believe what he had done to me. I looked masculine, sure, but so fucking gay. I had shrunk down a whole foot, making my muscles insanely compact. I looked like some buffed up dwarf, hairy as fuck too. My cock was now tiny, probably the same reason why my butt looked like some kardashian’s. It ached, ached for Jamie. That fucking faggot, I can’t believe he did this to me. I’m so fucking horny. I need him. I sent him a photo, showing his work.
“Fuck you, now I need your dick inside my ass you asshat. If you made me a faggot, the least you can do is come and plow me with your cock.”
I quickly got an answer
“hahaha, i’m right outside babygirl, just come on out and i’ll help you out”
I opened the door, my brain too clouded with hormones to think about what the fuck I was about to do. I just know I need it.
"Come on Harry, let's play rock paper scissors to see who gets to use the stone first," I said, holding up the mysterious wishing stone we had found on our hike.
"Sure thing, Alex," Harry replied, readying his hand.
I won the first round and wished for us to be rich and smart. Harry followed suit, also wishing for wealth and intelligence. But as we continued to play, the competition between us grew.
"My turn again," I said, grinning at Harry. "I wish for you to be tall and muscular."
As I spoke the words, I watched as Harry's body began to change. His previously slender frame started to bulge and grow, muscles rippling and stretching under his skin. His arms became thick and strong, his chest and abs defined and chiseled. His legs became toned and powerful, his thighs bulging with raw strength.
Harry's transformation was a sight to behold, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of arousal as I watched him grow into a towering hunk before my eyes. His previously narrow shoulders became broad and muscular, his biceps bulging as he flexed them. His previously small pecs swelled and grew, his nipples hardening as he ran his hands over his new body.
"Wow, I can't believe it," Harry said, flexing his muscles and admiring his new physique in the mirror.
"Well, it's my turn now," Harry said, using the stone to make me even more attractive. As I looked in the mirror, I couldn't believe the changes that had taken place in my appearance. My formerly average-looking face had become chiseled and handsome, with piercing blue eyes and a strong jawline. My nose had become straight and sharp, my lips full and sensual. My hair had grown thick and luscious, falling in soft waves around my face.
But things took a turn when we both made jokes while holding the stone. Harry jokingly said were such "dumbasses", We didn't expect the stone to take his words literally, but suddenly we both felt our intelligence slipping away.
As the changes to my memory took place, I suddenly found myself forgetting everything I had ever learned. My thoughts became jumbled and disorganized, and I struggled to form coherent sentences. I couldn't remember anything from my past, including my education and career.
In my new memories, I had dropped out of school and was too stupid to hold down a job. I resorted to being an escort, using my body to make a living. But instead of feeling shame and embarrassment, I was cocky and arrogant about my new career. I remembered feeling confident and sexy as I strutted my stuff, turning heads wherever I went.
It wasn't until I used the stone again that things really got interesting. Being dumb, I jokingly said how gay we look right now. But as we looked at each other, we both suddenly felt a strong attraction to the other. My desire for Harry became overwhelmingly intense, and I couldn't resist using the stone to make him my slut.
"I wish for you to be my dumb, submissive slut," I said, feeling a surge of arousal as I imagined Harry wrapped around my cock, ready to do my bidding.
Harry blushed at the thought, but couldn't deny the thrill of submission. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice dripping with desire. "I'll be your horny little slut, ready to please you any way you want."
With all of his newfound muscle, he easily pinned me down and stole the stone from my grasp. "I wish for you to be a dominant alpha, one who only wants to fuck me," Harry said, his voice dripping with desire.
As the words left his mouth, I felt a sudden shift in my body and mind. My muscles grew even bigger and more defined, my chest and abs rippling with raw strength. I felt a surge of confidence and aggression, my desire for Harry becoming all-consuming.
But Harry wasn't done yet. Just before I could take him, he made one final wish. "I wish for you to have a 12-inch beer can thick cock and massive balls," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I couldn't believe the changes that took place in my groin. My already impressive member grew even bigger, the thickness and girth almost too much to handle. My balls swelled to enormous size, filled with an endless supply of cum. I could feel the power and intensity in my new member, ready to fuck Harry nonstop and cum every time.
I couldn't wait any longer. I grabbed Harry and aggressively took him, pounding into him with my massive cock. He moaned and begged for more, his submissive desires driving him wild.
Fucking Harry was like nothing I had ever experienced before. His tight, muscular body was a perfect fit for my massive cock, and I couldn't get enough of the way he begged for more. As I pounded into him, I could feel every inch of my member sliding into him, the tightness and heat driving me wild.
As I approached my climax, I knew I couldn't hold back any longer. I erupted inside Harry, my cum filling him to the brim. As I filled him with my seed, we both made a wish that this moment would never end.
Suddenly, we found ourselves trapped in an endless loop of me fucking Harry and cumming inside him, our aggressive sex never stopping. Harry's ass was constantly filled with my cum, the splashing noises echoing in our ears as we got lost in the pleasure.
We were locked in this blissful state forever, never wanting to break free from the intense pleasure we were experiencing. The wishing stone had granted our desires in ways we never could have imagined, and we were both grateful to be trapped in this endless cycle of hardcore, aggressive sex.
Hey bro, I’m so sick and tired of being a little twink. Is there a way that I could become a huge dilf? I’m ok with any side effects. I’m also an Aussie and would love my accent to be deeper and sexier.
“Wake Up Mate!”
You looked over upon hearing these words, wincing as the blazing sun hit your eyes and raising your hand to try and block it out long enough to see who had spoken. Before you was a blond, ruggedly handsome man who looked to be wearing only speedos, sunglasses, and a cocky smirk. Just being near the man made you feel insecure, unable to stop yourself from comparing his tan muscles to your scrawny and ridiculously pale self, but you decided to put your insecurity to the side in order to make room for your confusion.
“I’m sorry, you talkin’ to me?” You asked, looking at the studly blond man curiously. The hunk suddenly scowled, his disdain for you eminent in his eyes, even with the stylish dark sunglasses on.
“Piss off ya drongo, I’m not talking to you.” He said with a sneer that slowly turned into a smirk as he continued to speak “I’m talking to him. Is this what you want mate? Wanna let this pathetic gronk make the whole continent look bad? Time to wake up mate! Time to be a real Aussie bloke.” He said with a charming, arrogant grin
You stared at the man for a moment, confused? What was he going on about? His words were so toxic and odd, but they seemed to echo in your head as he spoke. You could feel the sun's rays on your skin, and see that the blazing light of the sun seemed to grow stronger and stronger as the words seemed to drown everything out. The light grew brighter and brighter, blinding you, as the echo became a scream.
Wake up Mate. Wake up Mate. Wake up Mate. WAKE UP MATE!
You felt yourself stumble back as the light that had filled your eyes and the words that had filled your mind suddenly disappeared, leaving your body even quicker than they had forced their way in. Although, your body didn’t feel like yours anymore. Your shirt was gone, as were your swim shorts, replaced by a speedo and what looked to be a good amount of pure aussie beef. You could see your reflection in the water nearby. You looked older… manlier. Like a proper bloke. You felt a cocky grin come across your face as your new mind kinked into gear and your old self dissipated. You swaggered over to the other man, the blond beach stud who had brought your inner aussie bloke out into the open.
“I’m awake mate!” You said, your far voice deeper and sexier than before “Now c’mon you absolute wombat, lets go find ourselves some shelias.”
The blond grinned back at you, patting you on the shoulder like a true brother as you two headed off to find some chicks. You knew that soon the whole beach would be filled with real aussie men like you and your friend. Soon, the entire world was going to wake up.
So I’ve been taking a tour of a dairy farm today and the tour guide’s been eyeing me weirdly. Even stranger, I still haven’t seen any cows. They keep promising me I’ll meet them soon… Any idea what’s up with that?
Such a precarious situation. Perhaps the crumpled papers you found can give you some context:
Entry 1
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here.
The last thing I remember is the end of the farm tour. The guide... that guy with the small, mean eyes... said I was special. He said I was going to get a "behind-the-scenes" look. Then, I think I blacked out. I woke up in this room and I've been here ever since... Banging on the walls for hours, screaming for someone to let me out, but the workers just walk past. There are two of them standing right outside the door right now, talking like nothings wrong. It's making me sick.
One of them finally brought me a bowl of this thick, white sludge. I didn’t want to drink it, but I’m so thirsty, and my throat feels like it’s full of sawdust. It tasted weird... bland and chalky.
Fuck.
Why am I here? What do they want? Why won't the talk to me? If I can just keep my head clear, maybe I can find a way to break the lock when they come back to feed me.
I have to stay focused. I can’t let them see how scared I actually am.
Entry 2
I didn’t sleep at all last night. Every time I started to drift off, I heard that low, rumbling sound from down the hall... like a hum, or maybe someone grunting. It didn't sound human. I kept pressing my back against the wall, trying to stay as far from the door as possible.
I... I thought I was having a heart attack today. My chest feels... weird. There's this dull, throbbing ache right under my skin. Maybe its from how I was laying? Anxiety? Fuck... it just feels so heavy and sore. My nipples too... they feel sensitive. Whenever my shirt rubs against them, it sends this sharp, stinging sensation through my whole torso. It doesn't hurt, but it's definitely noticeable. It’s probably just irritation from the fabric; I’m probably just making it a bigger deal than it is because I’m so stressed out.
The workers came by again this morning. They didn't say a word, just slid another bowl of that sludge through the slot. I really tried not to drink it, but I’m starving, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself. It went down so easily, almost like my body was craving it.
I checked the walls again. Still nothing. No windows, no cracks, no way to climb out. I tried to ask one of the workers what's going on, but he ignore me. Doesn't look like they'll be of any help.
Entry 3
My chest feels heavy. Really heavy. It’s not just a dull ache anymore... it’s like the muscle is actually pushing against the skin, stretching it tight. When I looked down this morning, it definitely looked swollen. Puffy and sore. I pressed on it to see and fuck it hurt so much I had to stop. Just this horrible achiness. I haven't touch it since.
I heard them talking today. The workers. They stopped right outside my room, acting like I wasn't even there.
"The new one is coming along fast," one of them said. "Look at the tissue development. He's going to be one of the best producers we've seen all season."
"Producer." That’s what they called me. What does that even mean? I wanted to scream at them, to ask what they were doing to me, but my voice just died in my throat. They didn't even acknowledge that I was listening; they just acted like I was some kind of animal they were grading.
I’m so scared. I keep trying to think clearly, trying to plan a way out, but my mind feels… fuzzy. Like I’m moving through water. I just want to go home. Please, I just want to wake up in my own bed.
Entry 4
They came in today. Three of them. I tried to back away, to scramble into the corner, but there’s nowhere to go in this steel box. They didn’t even argue. They just grabbed my clothes... my shirt, my pants... and tore them off like. I’ve been completely naked since. I’m trying to huddle up, knees to my chest, trying to cover myself with my arms, but my chest is so sensitive now that even the air in this room feels like it's stinging me. Every time I breathe, my nipples ache, like they're being pulled or pinched.
It’s humiliating. I just want to hide, but they keep staring.
Then, they brought the sludge. They didn't even put it in a bowl this time. One of them just threw it at me. It splashed all over my chest and arms. It’s so thick, so sticky. I was so disgusted at first, but I couldn't help it. I started licking it off my arm, and it… it tasted so good. I couldn't stop. I even licked it off the floor when it dripped down.
When I looked up, they were watching me, and they seemed so satisfied. Like I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I noticed my arms while I was licking the stuff off. There’s hair growing, thick and dark, more than there was a day ago. Why is this happening to me? My head feels so heavy, like I can’t quite think straight, but I keep wanting more of that drink. I hate it, but I’m so hungry.
Entry 5
There's something wrong with my body. I woke up this morning to find my chest wet. I thought maybe I had spilled some of that sludge in my sleep, but then I felt it. A slow, warm trickling down my chest. It was coming from my nipples. They were leaking, a thin, white fluid that was matting into all this new, dark hair that’s sprouted across my chest.
Before I could even wrap my head around it, they came. They just dragged me out of the room. I felt so small, so exposed, as they marched me down the hallway.
They strapped me into a machine. It had these cold, metal cups that suctioned right onto my chest. I tried to fight them, I really did, but my muscles felt sluggish, heavy, and weak. When the machine turned on, a pulse of electricity or suction... I don’t know what it was... shot through me.
It was an overwhelming, jolting kind of pleasure. I arched my back, my breath hitching as the machine squeezed and pulled at me, forcing the white fluid out. I felt helpless, exposed, and utterly humiliated, but I couldn't stop the moan that ripped out of my throat. I heard the workers talking, their voices echoing off the tile walls.
"Look at that output."
"The volume is already exceeding the previous batch. He’s a natural."
"Customers are gonna love his milk."
"See how his pecs are already hardening? He’s going to be a prime producer. Keep the vacuum pressure steady, we don't want to over-tax the tissue this early."
They talked about me like I was a piece of equipment being calibrated. I just hung there, my head lolling back, completely unable to do anything but take the sensation. When they finally detached the cups, I felt lighter, like the heavy pressure that had been building for days had been drained away. I felt… relieved.
But it didn't last. By the time they dragged me back to my room and tossed me inside, I could already feel the throb starting again. The pressure is coming back, deeper and faster than before. I’m scared. I’m so, so scared, but I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when they forced it out of me. What is happening to my head?
Entry 6
They moved me. I am in the big pen now. I thought it was just me, but... I was pushed into a giant room with the others.
God. God. What are they?
I am hiding in the corner. I don't want them to see me. I want to be small. But I am not small anymore. My chest is huge. It feels tight, stretched, like it’s going to pop. And the others… they are monsters. Men, but they aren't men. They're huge... hairy... They're just standing there, or crawling on the floor, drooling. One of them, he has these massive, sagging pecs, and he’s just… groping them. Pulling at them. Grunting.
I’m horrified. I tried to back away, but another one came over. He looked at me with these empty, glassy eyes. He reached out with thick, calloused fingers and poked at my chest. I screamed, but he just grunted and drooled on my shoulder. It was warm. Disgusting.
I heard the workers on the catwalk above.
"The herd is agitated," one says.
"They’re just getting used to the new producer," the other one laughs. "He looks frightened. Good. The adrenaline spike always makes the first week of production more potent."
"Look at him," they say, laughing. "He’s trying to stay human. It’s cute."
But I am a person. I am...
Why are they touching me? Why is it so hot in here? Why do I want to grunt back at them? My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly hold this pen. I need to get out. I need to get out now before I start acting like them. I don't want to be like them. I don't.
Entry 7
Everything feels so slow. My head... heavy. Like thick mud.
Machine again today. Dragged off. Everything is loud and bright. The workers are talking, talking, talking... words don't make sense. Sounds like noise. Just noise. They want the stuff. They always want the stuff.
The machine was hard. Fast. Pulled so much out. I felt... empty. But the good kind of empty. Back in the pen, it started again. Fast. Leaking down my chest. It’s sticky. Everything is sticky. My chest, my cock... So big...
Another one came over. A big one. He saw me leaking. He didn't look at my face, just my chest. He started pressing. Hard. Hands all over, kneading, squeezing. It hurt a little, but... it felt right. Helped me get more out.
I started helping him, too. Pressing into him. His chest is so big, so full. So hairy. His nipples taste... so good... We just sat there. Grunting.
Why am I doing this? I don't know. The pressure in my chest is better now. Just want to sit. Feel pecs... Just want to be close...
Entry 8
head hurt so bad. to much thort. chest is so big now. hevy. look down and just see pecs. hair everywhere thick and black.
the sweet drink come today. i lick it from floor. want more. allways want more.
the other ones touch me. grabed my meat. squeezeing. i leak and leak. i grunt at them. they grunt back. we just stand close. warm. it feel gud.
workers on wall laugh. make noised. i dont look up. dont care.
chest full again already. aching. hot. just want the hands to squeeze. want it out...
Entry 9
the big ones here now. hands all over... squeeze hard. pullin at my meat. i pull back. gruntin. mouth open. droolin on the floor.
big cock... he pushes inside me. squeeze my pecs. so much pleasure. so much ache. push. squeeze. empty out.
don't want to think. head quiet. just heat. just pressure. just hunger.
big hands. wet skin. thick heavy pecs. need to be squeezed.
need to leak.
more.
more.
more.
....................
Your hands tremble so violently that the paper crinkles, your fingers slick with the same sweet residue that still clings to your lips. You barely register the cramped, steel-walled pen they just tossed you into. Too busy trying to make sense of what you just read. Too distracted by the throbbing, achy pressure of your increasingly heavier pecs, where thick, dark hairs are already beginning to sprout and itch against your sensitive, stretching skin.
You glance back down at the scrawled note in your grip, but you're already having a hard time rereading the words.
A grunt breaks you out of your increasingly slower train of thought, and you look up to see one of them. His massive, hair-matted, leaking pecs blocking your view. His chest heaving with each guttural breath. His glassy eyes lock onto your chest. And as his calloused hand reaches out for your swollen, aching pecs, you don't recoil. You can't.
The room quickly fills with your own mindless, gutteral grunts.
Agent Fisher reports on his roommate's transformative descent into being a father figure straight from a 90's sitcom as he tries to pretend he's not into it.
Dad and Bear Tf's are always some of my favorites to write and this one is no different! Took the flavor but not the style of a certain foundation! Enjoy this daddification from the POV of a desperate agent who has failed his station and by the end suffers the same transformative consequences. -Occam
This is a report from Special Agent Fisher on a previously unidentified anomalous artifact. Delivered to my apartment while I was away on an expedition, a VHS tape labeled Dad’s Den was opened and watched by my friend and roommate who, unaware he should resist, succumbed to its effects and in time was replaced by what can only be described as a stereotypical dad. As if he were straight out of the video tape he couldn’t help but watch.
Given I was on foundation business during the encounter and have already suffered through the loss of my dear friend Clayton, I would request leniency. I submit this thorough report of the VHS tapes effects as evidence and when guaranteed both my personal safety and continued employment I will deliver both the video footage and the anomalous artifact in question.
I understand how this will be perceived but know I only hold the foundation’s best interests at heart. This is simply not my fault and I refuse to be demoted due to a situation out of my hands that I have already suffered beyond measure from. If anything I deserve a promotion for resisting the tape’s allure and effects, though at present I simply want guaranteed and continued safety for Clayton and myself.
Please read the following account of what I have dubbed AA-0646: ‘The Fatherly Film’ before coming to any decisions.
Consummate professional that I am, my installed cameras were able to capture Clayton’s entire encounter with the anomaly. Delivered in a box addressed to my true name, Clayton was none the wiser. Under the impression that I worked for the Parks service, my roommate was entirely unguarded when he decided to just open the box. Perhaps this is a failing of your protocol regarding cohabitants but I digress.
As soon as the package was in his hands there began an audio static in the recording. Isolating it I am able to confirm it was the sound of a laugh track, like you might find on the very same schlocky sitcom that is now in my friend’s hands. At this unfortunate point it is my professional opinion that it is already too late for my poor roommate. Proof of this is the dusty VHS player that appeared under our tv when he tore open the box.
When he moves to the television Clayton inserts the tape into a VHS player we didn’t have moments ago before flopping onto the couch. Then the true effects begin as Clayton is completely lost to the screen. Hardly moving for hours as the tape plays far longer than any cassette could possibly last, Clayton doesn’t blink as dated jokes and shoddy sets beam into his mind with no end.
Previously my roommate could hardly go half an hour without pulling out his phone to aimlessly scroll. When I’d at last convinced him to watch Fellowship of the Ring with me I had to constantly get on his ass for getting distracted by notifications and summarily doomscrolling. I’d be annoyed at him suddenly finding attention span to spare for this drivel were I not distraught by what happens in the following days.
After about six hours of this, Clayton finally starts to doze off. Eyes that were locked on the screen despite their ever-present glaze flutter shut before closing altogether. At the very same time the screen turns off. Overnight little of note occurs. Head lolling back against the couch, the sound of his heavy breathing can barely be caught on my cameras.
Every so often his mouth hanging open twitches into a grin as hands resting on his stomach scratch aimlessly. It feels safe to say this is when true biological changes begin. Never one to grow stubble by the time daylight arrives there is some darker fuzz surrounding his mouth and scattered across his jawline.
When he at last awakens, decidedly earlier than I’ve seen the perpetual night owl ever rise on his own, his arms twitch and rise as his mouth opens to audibly yawn. The quiet cracking sounds of his arms stretching as some heft is revealed on his waistline is covered by the shockingly loud sound of him yawning.
At this point I had hoped he was free from the tape as when he stands there’s a clear look of confusion on his face. Clayton clearly recognized something wrong was happening. If only I was there. Wandering into the kitchen, Clayton appears to grab a pizza from the fridge and return to the living room. There he removes his shirt and tosses it onto the floor before doing some very noisy stretching.
Body bared it’s suddenly obvious that even without actively watching the tape that he has continued to change. Clayton was always complaining about his inability to grow any body hair, whining that it makes him feel like less of a man. Clearly this desire is being preyed upon as a treasure trail suddenly begins to crawl up his already slightly heavier stomach.
Even more apparent is the generous spread that has begun to prickle across his thin chest as it too starts to grow, having been freed from the shirt he slept in. Returning to the couch and sinking back into the same position he slept in, the new weight on his upper body settles in a manner I personally would describe as more attractive heavier.
Thoughtlessly he reaches for the remote and puts his new favorite show back on. Entranced once more, now that his whole chest is out it’s clear that Clayton is visibly growing. Frequently his fingers scratch his chest as each twitchy grin from what he’s watching shoots a few new strands of hair to scatter across his developing pecs.
So too does a small but wide treasure trail begin inching upwards, onto his belly as the distracted man just eats and laughs at jokes he must have heard half a dozen times by now. A few times he raises an arm behind his head to reveal the most drastic hair growth thus far.
The action takes a tad more effort than I’d expect, surely due to the new mass on his bulking arms, or perhaps he’s already growing less flexible. At any rate, there is an unmistakable bush of hair hiding under his arms. Slightly shiny on the film, the strands look to almost be as long as those on his head. It’s quite, well, distracting.
While I remain physically and mentally unaffected from my briefest of encounters with Clayton, something about his scent has left my mind foggy if I focus too much on his pheromones, if that is the correct word. It was quite overwhelming, I- let’s just say it’s fortunate that such an esteemed employee encountered this brutish bear of a dad, this anomaly that is. Keep this in mind as you continue to read, I’m a perfect employee. You can’t just replace me.
Moving on, on day two his changes accelerate. Though it took all night for his first few patches of body hair to bloom, now that he’s mindlessly watching Dad’s Den again they are flourishing. In one episode his chest is wholly overtaken by thick chest hair. By the next it connects with his paltry treasure trail before that too expands to cover his still bulking stomach.
And as he continues changing he laughs all the more. Wide smile on his face as his lips are tickled with stubble, Clayton rubs his stomach as each guffaw is louder than the last. Ruffling the dense coverage on his stomach, his hands can’t help but reach under his waistline for a scratch or two.
Doing so a distinctly different glazed look overtakes his eyes. Still smiling blankly, Clayton’s head lolls back as he kicks off his pants to expose legs that have grown their own garden of fur as they’ve been hidden from sight. When at last the jeans fall to the floor his feet bounce back a few sizes larger as the coat atop them is just as thick as that on his calves and thighs.
Hand still seemingly magnetized to his tangled bush and apparently needy cock, the expression on his face shifts to one of desperation. Leaning back so far I can barely make out him biting his lips as some spit trickles into his beard. Core twitching as the bulge in his pants grows heavier, and heavier I-
Apologies. Again.
After Clayton tuckers himself out, he falls asleep in exactly the same position he has still yet to move from. One sullied hand stuffed in his pants, the other behind his head allowing his sweaty pit to aerate our living room. It’s unclear what precisely launches the next wave of changes but it is at this point that our home begins to change.
Something of a neat-freak before he began watching, it’s increasingly clear his cleanliness will not survive the change. Morphing into a man almost proud of his filth, the pizza box falls to the floor next to a hamper of clothes that have clearly already been worn more than once. His cozy antique love seat gives way to a gaudy la-z boy recliner as our once quaint living room shifts irreparably into a dad cave.
That night, in between snores that rise to a degree loud enough to almost shake my camera, Clayton also begins murmuring in his sleep. It quickly becomes clear to me that he’s telling jokes. Repeating lines from the show. I don’t make an effort to listen to them of course, they’re always almost annoyingly bad. Here’s a recording of him for an example:
Ah well that’s a pretty good one no? Suppose I could include a few more. If you’re interested? Men-toes. Heh. I uhm- Back to it, of course.
In sleep he continues laughing at each and every one of these jokes he dreams up or retrieves from Dad’s Den. And with each reverberation of struggled snores and raucous guffaws he bloats all the larger, and ages all the sightlier. By midnight his coat has grown enough to cover him like a proper pelt.
The sweaty bush in his pits connects with the blanket of even coverage painted from his neckline to his pubes. Perpetual stubble that now decorates his face is slightly speckled white as it reaches upward to connect with messy hair that is beginning to thin. Meaty muscle continues to pack on just as fast as the mouth-watering heft growing on his gut.
The next day he awakes before sunrise. Launching into a massive stretch and not yawning so much as yelling, his back cracks wider as he moans at the feeling of relief. Scratching his heavier ass to reveal a few lengthy curls decorating his backside, Clayton meanders into the kitchen. His footsteps fall like flippers as our apartment’s new wood panelling creaks under his weight.
Jokes about rising and grinding and what a brew-tiful morning it is resound in the kitchen accompanied by giggling crackling deeper. Until now his voice had maintained at least a familiar tone but with each pun to nobody it’s like his voicebox is aging as his resting tone sinks deeper and deeper. And credit where it’s due I do find myself enjoying his puns more and more.
When the morning sun does stream into the den, Clayton returns with a black cup of coffee. I’d be surprised he’s able to stomach it given his preference for incredibly sweet lattes, but the grand reveal of his new fatherly form is far too stunning to describe anything else. Uhm, scientifically speaking.
Resting his massive feet on our coffee table, Clayton leans back and starts downing his dark roast as the television just starts up without him even needing to lift a finger. Now mouthing along to the dad’s dialogue as if he were voicing it himself it’s clear my roommate is more Dad than his old self.
Crow’s feet etch into his eyes as smile lines trail down his cheeks, hidden his thick stubble. It’s difficult for me to tear my eyes away from his masculine form. I didn’t even notice at first that the dad- that Clayton had changed into a jock, but as his much larger dick twitches under the tight fabric. As his toes curl and the arches of his feet crack wider. As his bulky biceps bulge larger with each raise of the steaming dark cup, streaking into his beard before he wipes it with his rough hand fuck shit
Clearly there are some hazards involved with watching this process but I can guarantee that there is nothing memetic or mind-altering besides watching the tape itself. Which I have taken care to completely block from my recordings. You’re welcome again.
Back to it the changes in our apartment have similarly accelerated, where we once had posters and framed art there now exist bizarre family portraits. Clayton with some college aged offspring though from the best I can tell there isn’t a single one with a wife. Perhaps related to the plot of the show? Perhaps because my roommate’s gay. Not to sound like a broken record but if you want any further of my hypotheses you know what to do.
Skipping ahead, I’d figured that his changes would have slowed since to my eye his dilfy form had reached its apex, but I was quickly proven wrong. Today as his hairline continues to thin and his body hair continues to thicken, his body starts to truly bulk. I’d heard of dad strength but it’s almost ridiculous watching him grow heavier and stronger.
Eyes almost rolling back into his head Clayton’s stomach finally grows into a proper dad bod as heavy pecs hang atop it, bloating themselves into the perfect canvas for his thick curls. Beside the growing barrel of a torso rest arms increasingly patterned with throbbing veins and twitching with strength.
His forearms are covered with the type of hair you’d balk at in person. I could hardly believe it when I did see them in person, they’re like a second layer of skin lifted almost an inch off the arms, so thick at points you can barely see the veiny, muscled guns beneath. To say nothing of the very same curls trailing up his massive biceps. How they twitch with the slightest movement of his sausage fingers. How they grow larger as he continues watching the show. As he continues watching. As-
Ugh god this report is giving me such a headache.
Over the following day it seems the anomaly starts skipping and fading away on the, much larger, TV. Clayton doesn’t seem to react though, he continues just mouthing the lines to himself as he goes about the house. Grunting with every movement like a man decades older than he should be, my new fatherly roommate ambles about with a toolbox I swear he’s never lugged out before as he goes about any chores that don’t involve tidying up.
Slight baldspot on his increasingly speckled head and thick hair crawling up his ass from tacky cargo shorts, it’s at some point this day which I’d say the artifact has finished its dirty work. As Clayton interacts with confusion to whatever aspects of his old self remain they rapidly adjust to fit his new life.
Everything in his wardrobe lengthens more than a few sizes before morphing and restylizing to lose even the slightest amount of fashionability. The man oozes practicality as much as he does raw masculine sex appeal. Soon there’s not a trace of our old home, even my bedroom seems to have been corrupted into that of a son who’s gone off to college.
I’ve yet to do an investigation as to the nature of his apparent new family but should I be allowed to once more use the agency’s resources. And, to prove I’m acting in good faith, there is one remaining object from his past, a photo of the two of us together which is now an image of myself and him in his current form. It was this I found him looking at when I at last returned from my mission.
He set it down softly when I entered and leaned against the wall. Obviously I instantly knew something terrible had happened. I tried to convince him to drop everything and come to the lab but he wouldn’t listen. I- he just kept saying these stupid, stupid jokes. Obviously I know now what happened but even then I felt like I was talking with a character rather than a person. Rather than my roommate.
But I couldn’t really look away. The way his weight shifted as he moved, the musk that filled the whole place- I know I said watching his transformation wasn’t mind affecting but being in his presence very well could be. Even now I find myself craving that scent. God he was so fucking-
I digress. As soon as I found myself starting to enjoy the shitty jokes he kept firing off, I shook out of it and realized Clayton’s expression shifted from when I first entered. At first he looked blankly at myself before his eyes softened as if he seemed to recognize me. Not as his friend or roommate though, no. Instead he said his kiddos had been telling him about a coach that was moving in next door.
I’d be lying if I said this didn’t suddenly give me dry mouth and butterflies in my stomach. But I acted quickly and according to protocol. I immediately left and retrieved my security footage remotely after sealing our apartment for Clayton’s safety and the safety of anyone who might accidentally stumble into our place.
Returning later with the proper physical and psychological protection, I retrieved the anomalous artefact in question and Clayton. At present myself, the artifact, and Clayton are in my safehouse unknown to the agency where we will remain until I am guaranteed continued employment. After retrieval the only further effect was changing my prius into a station wagon. Which doesn’t bother me for some reason or another.
Apologies again for the underhanded tactics but I know at least one supervisor who attained his position acting similarly during that banana protein shake disaster. Time is of the essence so the quicker you approve my demands the quicker we can get this contained.
Yours. Agent Fisher
AGENT FISHER: DEMOTED
One day after receiving Agent Subject Fisher’s missal he was found, reprimanded, and retrieved for further testing. AA-0646 victim “Clayton”, furthermore named AA-0646-A, was taken in for questioning and, as Fisher described, his previous identity and mind have been subsumed by this new dad persona.
Agent: Do you recall your life before you were a father?
Clayton: Awh gee there it’s just been so long y’know? I’m not one for dwelling on the past. My kiddos always used to whine and winge like you wouldn’t believe! Ohh but before I settled down I did think about being a historian, matter of fact!
Agent: Really? Well-
Clayton: Course, there’s no future in that! Hah hah hah! Heh.
Agent: Mmhm I see.
When Fisher came up in questioning, AA-0646-A went glassy in the eyes and produced a second variant of AA-0646 from his robe, distinct from the original; this version is decorated with a garish title sticker labelling “Coach Next Door”. Lou over in processing is confident the tape is porn but as the Agency demands, we must discover everything about this Anomalous Artifact, and there is no better test lab rat than our newest Subject Fisher.
While AA-0646-A allegedly changed over the course of a few days, Fisher’s changes were far hastier. Perhaps exacerbated through his frequent and ill advised contact and borderline obsession with AA-0646-A.
As Fisher suggested Agents have neglected to observe what the program actually consists of, but given the subject’s excitement it seems to be somewhere between outright porn and a classic sitcom. After the first viewing, the subject has begun to exhibit increased muscle mass and hair growth.
When momentarily prevented from viewing AA-0646, the subject began to grow frantic before being assuaged by the suggestion of physical exercise. Following this subject’s mass began to increase with even more haste. Subject continued to exercise even after AA-0646 was returned, more so when it began to play once more.
On the second loop the subject grew in height and body hair began to accelerate to a degree agents describe as ‘above average’. While his upper body develops pecs and biceps, his jaw sharpens as it too is overtaken with stubble that befits his new self.
Agents tell me the subject at this point appears to be an ‘otter’. I neglect to follow up. From the images delivered however it is clear the subject is no longer the Fisher we knew and tolerated. Almost nude in the test room, subject’s malfitting underpants are stained and filled with a notable bulge.
Finally, on watch three, much like on subject AA-0646-A’s Day three, the transformation accelerates to totally excise whatever remains of the subject within. Muscle mass still rising, it is soon displaced by fat that befits an ex-jock, clearly the coach next door in question.
Body hair has accelerated from ‘above-average’ to ‘extreme’ and the messy stubble on his face has begun to be speckled with a few white hairs. Subject’s surely thinning hairline is covered by a cheap sweat-stained baseball cap allegedly not given to him by Agents, nor were the jock strap, whistle, or tube socks.
Given AA-646’s ability to generate matter and shape reality Doctor Marquez suggests subjects AA-646-A and AA-646-B, that is ‘Fisher’, be quarantined and their respective instances of AA-646, sealed away from them. The idea is broached with A and B and surprisingly they are amenable, as long as they are quarantined with access together.
This request is deemed acceptable and the Agency will see fit to keep the affected subjects under constant supervision. Though, given the agent’s best guesses as to what is to occur between the pair it remains unclear what intelligence will be gathered. Still, knowledge above all else. We shall see to it that someone decidedly lustless shall oversee the continued research on instances of AA-646.
While Special Agent Fisher’s prior demands may be neglected, at the very least he and Clayton, that is 646-A and 646-B, shall have their needs met by the agency and each other.
Recommended follow up: Agents are to remind cohabitants letter of the federal law to not open mail addressed to others. Agents are to exercise caution around VHS and other vintage recordings. Furthermore any Agents with daddy issues or kinks are to avoid Block 600A until further notice.
An artsy, pretentious hipster whose Instagram is all black-and-white photography (he hates the shallowness of social media, but it's the only way for his art to reach the people) opens it to post yet another masterpiece...
...Only to find that his profile has been replaced by a wall of thirst traps from exactly the kind of guy he most looks down on: some totally basic gym gay, with plenty of muscles but nothing behind the eyes, flexing and showing off his armpits. Huh?
[This Quick and Dirty story was written by a human (me) based on a prompt that was previously sent to generative AI. I wrote it in one uninterrupted stream-of-consciousness flow with a hard time limit of 20 minutes. It is not perfect. No edits have been made, except to correct typos. Feel free to use my asks to send me more prompts!]
My name is Devlin, and I’m a photographer. My ex-boyfriend, who is also my best friend and my business partner for a coffee pop-up we’re trying to get off the ground, says I should share more of my photography online. He says it will help me build a “following.” I don’t know why I’m expected to bend over backwards to cater to the lowest-common-denominator tastes of social media, but he’s right.
I’ve been posting my black-and-white photography on Instagram for a few months now, and I’ve already gotten a few pieces in galleries because of it.
So I heave a sigh at the necessary evil as I open Instagram to upload my newest piece, a self-portrait titled “A Quandary of Nature.”
I’m just about to hit the button to upload a new image when I notice that my profile picture in the corner looks different. I click on it and my whole profile pops up. I see my name and username, so I’m clearly still logged in, but I must have been hacked or something. All the photos I posted are gone, replaced by a series of inane selfies from some muscled-up influencer-looking guy who looks dumb as a bag of bricks. He looks like probably calls these images “content.” It makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit.
In the most recent image, he’s showing off his armpits.
He’s also showing them off in the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that… And so on. I scroll and scroll until I hit the bottom, where there’s an image of a visibly younger version of the hunk… showing off his armpits.
What is it with striking the same pose over and over again? I get that he’s probably figured out armpits are good for engagement or something, but I fear that he simply doesn’t have the vision to come up with more creative shots. Watching this page is like seeing art and culture stagnate before my eyes.
Clearly I’ve been hacked. I’m not very familiar with the Instagram interface, but I’m sure there must be a way to report hacking. I click around to try and find it, and I accidentally open the camera, revealing an image of myself and the wall behind me.
And something is… changing. My bleached hair is slowly losing its color, fading back to my natural brown as it rearranges into a shorter, trendier cut that falls in choppy waves over my forehead. My glasses disappear. My cheekbones rise, my jaw straightens, and my eyes dull, both in color and in vibrance.
I assume this is one of those weird in-app things that Instagram people insist are called “filters,” because why make up a new word when you can steal one from the photography lexicon that already means something?
But when I reach up to touch my forehead, I can feel the hair rustling against it. The arm I’ve raised also looks swollen, like it's been stung by a whole hive of bees. I look away from my phone and down at my arm, which is growing meatier by the second, swelling to what must be four times its original size.
A quick glance to my left shows that the same thing is happening with my other arm. And a glance down shows… nothing. My pecs have already swelled to such a mountainous size that I can’t see anything past them. But I pat my stomach, which is now tight and muscular. My thighs are, too.
Fuck. Somehow, I’ve instantly transformed into a gym-honed tool, who - to be honest - looks exactly like the guy from those Instagram photos. The one difference is that I still have my mustache. I know I should be freaking out, but something is dulling my reactions and all I can think about is how glad I am to still have my mustache. It feels like a connection to the real me. Proof that I am still myself, at my core, even if I look totally different.
I am still an artistic, intelligent guy with great taste who… Wait, what am I doing?
My elbow is sticking straight up in the air, as if I’m trying to show off my armpit, even though I’m wearing a shirt.
I snap a photo. I don’t know why. I just do. I’m a photographer. It’s only natural, I guess.
But fuck, I just took a thirst trap selfie that looks exactly like every other photo in the goddamn library that got hacked onto my account!
But also… I look fucking hot. With my finger, I trace the unimaginably huge bulge of my biceps, my strong, stubbled jaw… I accidentally hit post.
In shock, I close out of Instagram and throw my phone across the room. I look at myself in the mirror and strike a double-armpit pose. Fuck! What’s wrong with me?
When I do it, my brain goes fuzzy for an instant, giving me a strangely pleasurable feeling. My dick chubs up in my pants.
I raise my left arm. The fuzzy feeling comes back, and my dick rises to full mast. I raise my right to join it, and my brain tingles like I’m getting a blow job while eating an ice cream cone. I feel… fucking good, man.
Wait, no. This isn’t me. I snap out of it and grab my phone. I open my photography app, make sure to use the black-and-white option (the only option, in my opinion), and try to take a selfie at a fun, unique angle that proves how artful and smart I am. I hold the camera low, and…
This is how it turns out.
At least my armpits aren’t out.
After I hit “post,” I raise both arms again, out of habit, and feel my brain instantly obliterated by fuzziness. I feel so good I cum in my pants, even. By the time I lower my arms, I’ve forgotten what I was so worried about.
All I can think about is how goddamn good I look, and how I need the world to share in the joy that is my beautiful body.
I change and take a another picture, to bank some content for later.
Your friends had finally talked you into it after months of listening to you whine about being a skinny twink who always ended up bottoming. “Just go get the masculinisation surgery in Turkey,” they kept saying. “You’ll come back huge and finally be able to top like you want.”
You booked the trip, paid the money, and let them flood your system with testosterone and that experimental gene-editing tech. The doctors warned you about the side effects: explosive muscle growth, extra height, body hair going wild, cock growth, and that 95% chance the procedure would flip your orientation. You told them straight up “I’m staying gay. Don’t let that part happen.”
Apparently they listened.
The first week after the surgery was a fever of heat and constant growth. When the swelling finally went down and you stood in front of the mirror in the recovery apartment, you barely recognized yourself.
You were massive.
Dense, powerful muscle had packed onto your once-skinny frame. Your chest had ballooned into two thick, heavy pecs covered in a thick pelt of dark hair that spread all the way down over a solid, rounded gut. Your arms were now veiny cannons, shoulders wide and capped, back flaring out like you’d been hauling steel for years. Your thighs were tree trunks, rubbing together with every step, and your ass had rounded out into something firm and powerful.
Body hair had gone feral. Thick black curls covered your chest, stomach, shoulders, and especially those deep, musky armpits that now gave off a strong, masculine scent every time you moved. Your face had sharpened too, stronger jaw, thicker brows, and a full, dark beard that made you look like a proper manly bear in his early thirties instead of a twenty-three-year-old twink. Even your hair had thickened up into a rugged cut.
Between your legs the change was just as dramatic. Your cock had grown thick, heavy, and long, hanging with real weight and girth. The kind of dick that made other guys stare and immediately start thinking about dropping to their knees.
The clinic had left you with nothing but this tiny rainbow thong as a joke “welcome to the new you” gift. The bright fabric was stretched obscenely over your new bulge and dark bush, the colors popping against all that black body hair. You smirked at your reflection, running both hands over your hairy chest, then lifting one arm to bury your nose in your own pit. The raw, manly stink hit you hard and made your thick cock twitch and start to chub up in the thong.
Still 100% gay. If anything, you felt even more hungry for men now that you had the body to match.
You imagined pinning some cute twink down, shoving his face into your hairy chest and sweaty pits while you used every inch of your new size and cock on him. The thought alone made you throb.
You snapped a quick selfie from low, chest puffed out, gut proudly on display, beard framing that cocky new grin, rainbow thong barely containing your heavy bulge and bush.
Your friends back home are going to lose their shit when they see you. The skinny bottom who used to complain about never getting to top is gone. In his place is a hairy, bearded, thick-dicked muscle bear who’s finally built exactly how you always wanted.
Time to fly home and show the boys what a real top looks like now.
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