Game of Thrones Daily
RMH
Three Goblin Art
occasionally subtle
if i look back, i am lost
ellievsbear
blake kathryn
Keni
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Show & Tell
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Stranger Things
tannertan36
almost home
PR's Tumblrdome
NASA
Cosimo Galluzzi
Monterey Bay Aquarium
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Denmark
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Argentina
seen from Austria
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Honduras
seen from Australia
@bremenmask
“Duuuude,” he said.
I had just returned from the past. This douche ran into me on the street and had the audacity to say it was my fault. So I made sure he went to football camp instead of business school.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
He smiled dumbly. “Nah, man,” he chuckled. His eyes flitted down to my crotch.
“Well, I could use help with one thing, bro…”
“Dammit—I told HR my interns need to have very SPECIFIC qualities!”
In need of assistance - AI muscle growth himbo sequence
George adjusted his tie and got comfortable in his chair as the IT guy tapped away on his computer, as head of marketing and sales he was eager to get this new AI assistant programme some of the other department heads had been raving about. It was said to make organisation, spread sheets, emails and data analysis a breeze.
"There we are Mr Harris, the programme is installed and I have done most of the set but I have left the customisation for you to finish. Mr Higgins down the hall went with a woman with a sweet, southern sounding voice but I think you can create an avatar and everything."
"An Avawhat?" George said while raising an eyebrow at the man about to leave. Who was about to answer before George's human assistant walked in.
Putting On Airs
[Thank you to @axeeglitter for donating the first image!]
God, isn’t my boyfriend Kevin hot?
Like, maybe TOO hot? I constantly worry he’s going to be stolen away from me by some jacked-up jock who’s more his speed. I don’t really get what he sees in me. Especially considering how much I see in him.
Like, look at how I’m looking at him right now.
This is how my face looks every time he’s in front of me. I can’t even focus on the totally Instagram-worthy coffee shop café thing he’s dragged me to. I couldn’t care less about coffee, really, but Kevin wanted to come (“they have coffee sommeliers that come right up to your table, Andrew,” he said, as if that wasn’t what regular waiters did at regular restaurants).
Anyway, I don’t know why I get so worked up about how hot he is. He adores me. He always tells me so. He doesn’t care that I don’t play basketball or go to the gym as much as he does. He says he likes having a respite from all of that when he comes home.
He says everyone at the gym is stupid and boring. He even called them “pretentious,” which made me laugh. You can’t be pretentious about macros. They’re not, like, fine art. But it’s just Kevin being Kevin. He just calls anything he hates “pretentious.”
That’s because what Kevin really hates is pretentious people. He hates when people put on airs and pretend to be cooler than they are.
That sure isn’t how I operate. And he loves me. He’s proven that time and again. So I gotta accept it. That’s what my therapist says.
And I believe every word of his constant “I love yous,” for so many reasons. Like, this schmoopy across-the-table gaze thing is a two-way street. If you could see the way he’s looking at me right now… Puppy dog eyes, I swear. He’s toying with my hand and picks it up to kiss it gently. This sweet gesture earns us a snort of derision from this jacked guy walking past our table.
He is exactly who I’ve always secretly feared is Kevin’s type. Expensive fitted clothes that are made to look like they’re off-the-rack. Tattoos that highlight how thick his neck is and how burly his bicep is. I hate him already.
He’s clearly about to say something, but Kevin shoots him a glare and says “keep walking, pal.”
And the guy does keep walking. If only every problem in life had such a simple solution.
As soon as my food shows up, I need to pee. I can’t explain how this always happens to me. But it’s like clockwork. While I’m peeing, I type a reply to my sister Julia’s latest text. It takes longer than I anticipated, and I eventually snap out of my phone trance, realizing that a few minutes have passed since I left our table.
I wash my hands and dry them in a rush, pushing the restroom door open with my hip and hurrying back to my seat…which is currently being occupied by a big, burly man. The guy who scoffed at us earlier. Douchebag stole my seat! I storm up to the table, preparing to eloquently tell him off, but - finding myself unprepared - all I can say is, “what the fuck?” The stranger looks at me like I’m the dirt underneath his shoe.
“What’s up, little man?” he says in a casual voice laced with condescension.
“You’re in my seat,” I say though gritted teeth.
“No, I’m in my seat,” he says.
I change tacks and turn to my boyfriend. “Kevin, tell him that’s my seat.”
Kevin just shrugs and says, “He’s been sitting here the whole time, pal, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Is this some sort of prank? Is this some friend of Kevin’s from the gym that he got to help him mess with me or something? I start to say something else when I see Kevin rest his hand on the interloper’s thigh. He’s squeezing the bulky muscle and sliding his hand too close to his crotch for comfort. I don’t think Kevin would do that just to prank me. It’s too cruel.
“Jesus, Kevin,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. “Right in front of me? That’s rich. After all the times you said my worries were unfounded. That you loved me for me.”
“Why would I tell you I loved you?” Kevin asks. He has a quizzical expression that seems genuine, and I’m lost for words yet again.
“Yeah, you’re really not his type,” says the other guy, who needs to stay out of this.
“Of course I’m his type,” I spit out.
“No offense,” says Kevin, looking me up and down, “but you’re really not. Honestly, I’m sure a lot of guys dig your vibe, but it’s a bit pretentious for me. I much prefer my big oaf here.” He accompanies that last statement by grabbing the stranger’s shoulder and giving it an affectionate little rub with his thumb.
I feel like he’s just dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. “Pretentious? Pretentious? How can you call me pretentious when this guy is wearing designer sunglasses and has a neck tattoo?”
“It’s called style, man,” says the stranger.
“Shut up, I’m not talking to you,” I spit back.
“Hey, hey,” says Kevin. “Let’s not be rude to my boyfriend.”
Hearing him say the word “boyfriend” practically made my brain implode. I gaped at him mutely, like a fish who was just unexpectedly pulled from the water onto dry land.
I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “You told me you loved me not 12 minutes ago. Now you’re feeling up some other guy in front of me and calling me pretentious. What gives?”
Kevin narrows his eyes. “What aren’t you getting? I have no reason to love you. And why wouldn’t I call you pretentious? How else would you describe that outfit?”
My sweater? I look down, confused, only to see the thick woven fibers of my top blending together into a smooth texture. As the uniform green-blue color begins to turn mottled and patchy, fading into a design of autumn leaves, the collar droops, the opening getting looser and looser to reveal first my clavicle, and then my entire bare torso as the entire sweater splits in half down the front. Buttons sprout from one side and I hastily do them up, blushing, but not quite registering that my hands stop just halfway up, leaving half my hairless chest on display. A chest that looks a bit skinner, a bit more hollow than I remember.
I feel a breeze around my ankles and look down to see that my blue jeans have become baggy, tan capris that flutter around my knees. It looks like a garment that an extra in an Indiana Jones movie would wear.
I reach out hesitantly to touch the soft fabric, light glinting off a pair of chunky rings that now adorn my hand. I feel overwhelmed by the sudden shift in my clothes. I feel dizzy… I feel-
Kevin clears his throat and I realize I have been letting his question hang in the air.
“My outfit’s not pretentious,” I say, jerking my chin toward the stranger. “Like he said, it’s called style.”
“But what about your hair? Don’t tell me that’s not pretentious.”
My hair? What about my hair? I reach up to pat it and my fingers get tangled up as the strands start growing around them, flowing around my knuckles like a river current making way for a set of boulders. My hair extends down past my nose and past my chin, eventually settling atop my shoulders in wild waves that tickle my exposed neck.
The tickling increases as my clean-shaven face suddenly explodes with bristles. I untangle my fingers from my hair to poke at my cheeks in shock as prickly stubble gives way to patchy growth, eventually becoming a soft and downy beard that feels heavenly to touch. I do use a good conditioner, after all.
I grab a hair tie from around my wrist and do up my hair in a messy bun, then return to answering Kevin’s questions. I’m still angry with him, because of… Because of why again? Oh yeah, he called me pretentious.
“For your information, I happen to look hot like this. Haven’t you noticed?” I ask. “It’s not pretentious to want to look your best.”
“OK, sure,” said Kevin, “But it’s more about the way you think. The way you carry yourself. The way you think your opinion matters more than anybody else’s.”
That statement sends me reeling. Kevin knows everything about the way I think, and he knows I’m not like that. I would never… listen to the opinions of just anyone.
I mean, if I only watched what the mainstream watched, I’d have wasted my time watching those Transformers movies in high school instead of exploring New Queer Cinema classics. Was I better than my classmates because I was watching The Watermelon Woman and The Living End? Well, yes. Yes I was.
If I only listened to what the mainstream listened to, my lovely, beat-up, vintage record player would only ever be used to play the latest Taylor Swift releases. I shudder at the thought.
If I only drank what the mainstream drank, I’d be imbibing that burnt swill that Starbucks serves up on every street corner.
But still… pretentious? I open my mouth to speak again when the big guy cuts me off.
“OK, look…” he says, squinting squints at my name tag “Andrew, is it?”
“Actually, it’s Anders,” I say, rolling my eyes. People are always getting my name wrong. It annoys the shit out of me.
“Anders. Why are you standing here arguing with my boyfriend and I? Don’t you have something you should be doing?”
I briefly think that what I should be doing is correcting his grammar. It’s “my boyfriend and me.” But then I snap out of it. Of course I have something I should be doing.
“Yes, of course. Sorry about that, sir. Well, you indicated on your digital menu that you prefer more bitterness in your coffee, so I think you’re going to want to start with this new blend we just got in, using beans from South Africa. The soil there really…”
———
After my shift ends, I brew a cup of coffee just for myself, which is my favorite part of the day. In spite of my expertise as a coffee sommelier, people always chose the safe, boring options instead of the exuberant, rich beverage experiences that they could have had if they actually listened to me.
Like that couple earlier. The buff dude didn’t even smell the South African beans I recommended. He and his boyfriend just went for the regular Americano. And get this… they asked if we had milk for them to put into it. For crying out loud!
They called me pretentious, but that’s only because they wouldn’t know taste if it bit them on the ass. I shake my head and take another sip, letting the deliciously bitter taste wash the memory of those shitty customers away.
Status Quo
Yes, I’ve always been this handsome. I think you’re just going crazy. I didn’t have an awkward phase, when puberty hit, I never got a single pimple, a single imperfection in my skin. My bone structure is just that good. Basically all of the girls in school had a crush on me, and some of the guys too. It’s hard to ignore such a pretty face.
I’ve always been this big too. Ever since puberty hit, I’ve just been growing nonstop, my biceps are the size of footballs and my pecs are so big I can’t even see my abs that well, and I didn’t even have to hit the gym that much for it. My doctor said it’s some sort of genetic thing. That genetic thing also makes my dick huge for some reason, go figure.
It’s also totally normal that everyone is irresistibly attracted to me. Can’t blame them, it’s their primal instinct upon seeing such a genetically blessed man. Some of the guys don’t even try to fight it too, they just let their girls go have some fun with me, then I bring them home after. The ones who don’t? I usually beat them up, or maybe just offer to fuck them after too or let them suck on my hog, that usually sweetens the deal for them.
It’s also normal for you to be hard right now, and even more normal to be wanting to suck my dick. Still think all of this is wrong? No? Well, good thing you’ve come back to your senses. As a treat, I’ll give you the carrot now. Yeah, suck it fuckin’ goooooood. Who’s the fuckin’ cock sucker now huh? You are, fuckin’ bitch. Just keep on milking me, since this is all sooo fucking normal.
Big Boy Undies 7
A/N: Hey there, so this is actually the last story from that original stockpile I had. Since then I've written a few more, but wanted to make a note of it.
Ever played a prank before? Mac had. Lots of times. It ran in the Grogan men DNA. Never mean or cruel, just things that would make both father and son laugh or give a good freight. That’s why Mac hid under his dad’s bed, there was enough space and behind the dresser was too obvious. The closet? Too uninventive. In truth, he had hidden everywhere at this point, but the bed just couldn’t be beat. Under the bed he could pop out, scare his dad and run out before he was caught. It was procedural at this point.
As he crawled under this time, getting into position, pajamas dragging on the wood floor, he spotted it. Laying there under his dad’s bed, on the opposite side of where his dad usually slept, was grey fabric. Mac grabbed at it but couldn't quite make it out. For all the talk his dad gave him about keeping a clean bedroom, it turned out his dad could be messy and forgetful too. He waited and listened. Didn’t sound like his dad was coming. He slowly got from under the bed to see the item in the light.
Underwear.
That was obvious, but it didn’t look like any underwear he’d seen. He wore briefs. His dad wore boxers. What was in his hands felt like briefs but looked like his dad’s boxers. As was a son’s right, he had rummaged through his dad’s drawers multiple times, whether playing or just being nosey. He’d never once spotted these. Did his dad keep them hidden? Well, Mac had seen them now. The longer he held the underwear, the more curious he got. What did it feel like to have them on? He had played in his dad’s boxers before; nothing special. But these felt different. Mac let his curiosity guide him, taking off his pajama bottoms to slide into them.
Once he got them on, Mac felt good, really good. Better than he ever did in his briefs and better than his dad’s boxers. He didn’t need to hold them up like he did with his dad’s boxers. The elastic waistband on them snapped to his waist even if the rest was roomy. A strange warmth flowed out from the underwear into him. There was a pop then a crack, Mac thought his dad was coming in, but the door was still closed. It wasn’t until his viewpoint was yanked up that he realized the sounds were coming from him. His body was changing—growing—rapidly. It started with a few inches in height, then got his muscles in on the action. Mac wasn’t just growing up; he was growing out. The drifting of his shoulders further started it, broadening his back allowing them to round as his traps grew stronger. Then his pecs bubbled out, spilling into the open, no longer one cohesive unit with the rest of his torso. His pajama shirt was split open, two tragic halves dangling on to his sides. It wasn't enough, abs ingrained their own importance onto his body further disrupting its unity for preference of grooves and divides.
The valley between Mac’s pecs grew deeper as his arms bulked, feeding directly from the shoulders. The pajama halves fell off. Light brown hair cropped up over his forearms and his legs’ and spine pushed him higher into the air. The same hair migrated to his legs before his thighs doubled, then quadrupled in size. His calves were no different, experiencing the same changes, expanding with newfound power. The change in his feet was undeniable, stretched across the floor, morphing into true heavy stompers, supporting his new weight. A tension in his neck released, a thickness had taken over. “GUH!” the first sounds of his new voice escaped. Far richer and deeper than any sound he made before. Mac’s face was restructured, soft and rounded features removed for solid harder edges. A beard emerged, dark brown chocolate, that swallowed up his lower jaw and upper lip and yet made his jawline appear all the harsher.
Here's to our thirties
The old wooden sign reading “Blackthorn Lake House” still hung crookedly from the rusted iron post at the end of the long gravel driveway, half-hidden by overgrown ivy. Joey’s truck rattled over the familiar potholes as the two men drove in silence for the last stretch. It was late May, the air thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and blooming wildflowers. Duncan stared out the passenger window, one elbow resting on the door, his expression unreadable.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Joey finally said, breaking the quiet. “Coming back here after all these years.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “Fifteen years. I still remember the last summer we spent here like it was yesterday. Mum cried for weeks after we left. She couldn’t even look at the place again.”
The Game Show
You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.
"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"
"Jason is like totally the hottest."
"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."
"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"
You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.
"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"
The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.
“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"
"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.
"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.
The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"
You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.
"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"
Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.
"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"
"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"
"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.
"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."
"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"
You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.
"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.
"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.
"No shame in that, brah!"
You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.
"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"
Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"
"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"
The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.
"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"
Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.
"Chlorophyll."
"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"
Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"
The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.
"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.
"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"
You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."
"Correct!"
"Woah bro, nice one!"
Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.
"What the…?"
The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…
"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"
The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"
"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."
But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?
"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."
You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!
"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.
"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."
You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...
"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.
"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."
The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...
"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"
"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."
"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"
"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.
The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?
"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."
"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"
"Dead lifts..."
"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."
The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"
"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."
Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?
"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.
You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.
"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.
"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."
Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.
"The answer is hips, bro."
"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.
As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.
"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.
Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind—Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.
When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?
"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.
Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.
Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?
A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.
The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."
"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.
"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.
"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"
The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"
The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.
"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."
Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.
The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.
With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.
"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.
And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…
A new job - Muscle growth ai sequence
"Hey Richard is that you?" Richard sighed, he had only just sat on the couch with a beer after a very long day and his roommate Trent was already bothering him. "Yep who else would it be?"
Trent lumbered in and starting digging around in his waistband, his huge biceps flexing as he rooted around. Richard grimaced and wondered what he was doing, to tell the truth they hadn't really spent much time together, they had become roommates out of convience not friendship. Richard needed another person to rent the apartment, his sister was friends with Trent who also needed a place. They had been courteous to each other but it turns out they had nothing in common. Richard was a data analyst who spent more of his day on a computer and in his free time gaming, while Trent was all about fitness and sports. Richard was careful with money and Trent had been short on the rent the last three weeks that was until today when Trent finally fished out a large wad of cash from the back of his jeans.
Accidental exposure.
Model's New Mustache
Constantly annoyed by his androgyny, David stumbles onto a spam ad that leads to his first facial hair and unknowingly condemns his latest overly masc ex to the twinkdom he's leaving behind.
Pretty standard role swap/masc theft! Twinky bottom to hairy top though much of the opposite changes happen off screen. At any rate, hope you enjoy this tale of Twink Theft! -Occam
And so began the same argument that has led to the end of each and every one of David’s previous relationships. Sure, he knows he’s beautiful. Angelic many of his one night stands and observers from afar frequently point out. He’s a model by default and his face card is perfect bait for men to just fall at his feet.
David frequently finds himself with men almost stereotypically masculine, alpha bros and DL hoes are always drawn to his androgyny. But rarely do they ever consider anything but his looks. When the cherubic man can no longer hold back his ire at being considered just a pretty face they fight and then abandon him for some other waifish twink. Leaving him feeling like nothing more than a soft-skinned doll for them to play with and abandon.
Curled up in the passenger seat of his current horndog fling’s car, David looks from underneath his tangle of perfectly coiffed curls as Mattias just stares down the open road. Glancing at the hairy jungles covering the man’s torso and pits, David yearns to feel the scratch of hair against his body. The closest thing he can ever experience to growing it himself.
For half a moment the model believes that perhaps Mattias is reflecting, thinking about their argument. Considering David’s point of view at all. When a hand drifts to adjust a bulge clearly visible in his pants it’s clear there’s only one thing on his mind. And David is certainly not going to let that happen tonight.
In the sun-dappled glow of the Madrigal casita’s ornate inner chamber, vibrant patterned ceilings swirling with greens and golds overhead. Camilo stood proudly in Mariano Guzman’s towering form, every inch of his sweat-slicked skin gleaming like fresh oil under the warm light filtering through the tall windows. His massive pecs rose and fell with each slow breath, the thick slabs of muscle so swollen and round they jutted out obscenely, dark nipples stiffening into fat nubs as a bead of perspiration rolled down the deep valley between them.
“Mmm, Carlos… you’ve been staring at me like that for a while now, haven’t you? Desnúdame con la mirada cada vez que me veas caminando por la plaza.”
Camilo's voice already turned into Mariano’s rich, velvety baritone, his full lips curling into a lazy, teasing smirk while one thick hand lazily raked through his dark wavy locks, flexing the cannonball bicep until it peaked like a mountain. The motion made his enormous chest bounce heavily, the wet slap of flesh audible as sweat flew. Carlos swallowed hard, cheeks flushing deep crimson, his eyes glued to the hypnotic sway of those glistening man-tits.
Carlos shifted on his feet, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath him as he tried not to let his gaze drop lower to the ridiculous eight-pack abs glistening with rivulets of sweat that disappeared into the waistband of loose trousers already tenting obscenely from the thick bulge of Camilo’s borrowed cock.
“I-I don’t know what you mean, Camilo… or, uh, Mariano? This is so weird but… Mierda, you look exactly like him,” he stammered, voice cracking with nervous lust while his hands fidgeted at his sides. Camilo chuckled low and deep, the sound vibrating through his barrel chest as he took a deliberate step closer, the heat radiating off his pumped body like a furnace.
“Call me whatever feels right, Mi amor. I shifted just for you—felt every muscle swell bigger, thicker, this fat cock getting heavier between my thighs the second I thought of helping you out." His fingers brushed Carlos’s arm, leaving a slick trail of sweat that made the younger man shiver visibly. "Feel how real it is? You finally living your biggest fantasy, huh?”
The air grew thicker with the musky scent of Camilo’s transformed body, a potent mix of manly sweat and raw arousal wafting from his pits and the deep cleft of his pecs as he leaned in, his stubbled jaw brushing Carlos’s ear.
“Tu cuerpo está temblando, Carlos… but your eyes keep flicking back to these big, juicy tits of mine. Go on, touch them. I know you’ve been dying to since you asked me to become him for you,” Camilo whispered huskily, his breath hot and ragged, a soft ahhh escaping his lips as he arched his back to push those massive, sweat-drenched pecs forward invitingly.
Carlos’s hand trembled as it rose, fingertips grazing the warm, slippery skin right over one fat nipple, feeling it pebble harder under his touch with a wet schlick from the slickness.
“Holy shit… they’re so fucking huge and soft yet hard underneath,” Carlos breathed, voice thick with awe and hunger, his own cock twitching visibly in his pants.
Camilo groaned softly, the sound low and throaty like as Carlos’s palm pressed firmer into the yielding muscle, squeezing the heavy pec meat until it bulged between his fingers.
“That’s it, squeeze ‘em harder… fuck, feels so good having this body all pumped and sensitive like this. Every touch makes my nipples ache, my balls feel fuller, this fat Mariano dick throbbing for you already,” he growled, hips rolling forward so the thick outline of his hardening shaft nudged against Carlos’s thigh with a heavy thump. The room’s colorful rugs muffled their shuffling feet as Camilo’s free hand cupped the back of Carlos’s neck, pulling him closer until their chests nearly brushed, sweat transferring in sticky strands. Carlos moaned quietly,
“Mmm… you smell so fucking good, all manly and sweaty,” his fingers now kneading both pecs in slow, reverent circles, thumbs flicking the stiff nubs until Camilo’s breath hitched in a sharp “hahh!"
Sweat continued to pour down Camilo’s chiseled torso in shiny trails, tracing every ridge of his abs and pooling in the deep navel before soaking into the fabric below where his massive cock strained, the head already leaking precum that darkened the material with a growing wet spot.
“Keep playing with them, Carlos… pinch those fat nipples like you mean it. I can feel my whole body getting hotter—just for you,” Camilo urged, his voice dropping into a filthy purr as he flexed his entire upper body, making every muscle pop and dance under Carlos’s eager hands.
The wet squish-squish of palms sliding over oiled skin filled the air alongside their mingled breaths, Carlos’s face now buried against the valley of those heaving pecs, inhaling deeply with a muffled mmphhh of pure bliss. Camilo’s hand slid lower, tracing Carlos’s spine teasingly, fingers dipping just under his shirt hem.
Carlos pulled back just enough to look up into those dark, smoldering eyes, his lips parted and glistening as another bead of sweat from Camilo’s brow dripped onto his cheek. “I’ve wanted Mariano—wanted you like this—so bad… but feeling it for real, all this muscle and heat… it’s making me so fucking hard it hurts,” he confessed breathlessly, one hand still groping a massive pec while the other dared to slide down the slick abs, fingertips brushing the waistband where the thick root of Camilo’s cock pulsed visibly.
“Nngh… yeah? Then don’t stop, baby. Stroke it through the pants first—feel how thick and heavy Mariano’s dick is because of you, ahhhh…” Camilo sighed, the word stretching long and needy as Carlos obeyed, palm cupping the massive bulge and rubbing slow, firm circles that made the fabric stretch tauter. The obscene schlick-schlick of precum-slick cloth filled the quiet room, their bodies inching ever closer in the colorful light.
The chandelier above cast golden highlights across Camilo’s glistening shoulders and traps as he tilted his head back slightly, dark wavy hair falling messily while another deep groan rumbled from his chest—“fuuuuck, just like that… Me encanta muchísimo.”—his hips bucking lazily into Carlos’s hand with wet, rhythmic slaps of skin on fabric. Carlos’s own breathing grew ragged, cheeks burning as he squeezed the throbbing length harder, feeling every vein and the fat head flare under his grip.
“It’s so big… bigger than I imagined, and it’s twitching like it wants out already,” he murmured, voice husky with lust, free hand still mauling the heavy left pec until the nipple stood out like a dark cherry. Camilo’s eyes half-lidded in pleasure, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as sweat dripped from his chin onto Carlos’s upturned face.
“Then pull it out, Carlos… ¿Te atreves a hacer eso?" Camilo teased, voice thick with building lust, his free hand now running through his own hair.
A fun assignment- Muscle growth ai sequence and story
Alan and Mac stayed after class as instructed by their politics and economics professor. Alan shuffled awkwardly with his books trying not to look at the mountain that was Mac, the jock was huge in height, weight and muscle mass. Alan wrinkled his nose as he got a whiff of sweat and body odour that was radiating off of Mac, he couldn't believe that they even attended the same college, let alone the same class. How was it that such a dumb mountain of muscle was allowed to coast along while people like Alan studied day and night. Alan had just spent nearly two weeks solid in the library writing his report on the power of words of authority while he assumed Mac must have spent it in the gym. Both men then turned to their professor, he beamed at them both. "Thanks for staying guys. I wanted to let you know that for the next assignment I'd like to pair you up for a debate. After reading both of your recent papers I think it would be enlightening for both of you to spend some time working together".
Alan almost gasped at the news but stopped himself.
Tech Amuck: Uploaded Uncle
Everyone wanted to be part of Connected Growth Innovations new project. Sure, there were rumors and unproven lawsuits concerning their previous endeavors, but what was the real danger? Everyone knew those fake claims were just publicity to play into their name CGI.
Their newest endeavor was centered on their Upload Helmets. Users could put themselves into a virtual world, created entirely by memory. Through this people could experience the world through another’s eyes, no danger of any mishaps. This meant people could even relive memories based on emotions. Parents could see how they yelled at their kids and looked like monsters. Boyfriends’ “jokes” about their girlfriends became exposed as personal bashing comedy routines. Simple arguments could directly be seen as misinterpreted by both parties incorrectly assuming. Intentionality. Once Again, CGI Labs had done the impossible and found a way to connect hearts and minds.
The Upload Helmet connected people to a virtual world that was entirely based off of a person’s mind. A way to visit a shared mindscape if you will. Of course, a single person could craft their own virtual world just to experience the out of body-state.
Keith Stewart was a huge fan of the Upload Helmet. Every day he was sending his consciousness off into a world that he could craft and explore. There were warnings not to abuse the product, but Keith was never known for being a great listener. He was in the artificial world, helmet on his head every day. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. His favorite thing to do was to recreate his home from his memory. A test of his skills as an architect. Each time he’d tried to add whatever he missed. Then he tried to expand upon his home adding rooms that didn’t exist. His home became a mansion, then he tried to expand beyond that, creating a city. A strain on his helmet as the server was only meant to create things for a short time. If someone’s memory took place in a bar, then their home wouldn’t be loaded up.
Lucky for Keith the final abuse of his helmet came, when he was surrounded by others at work. So, when he put the helmet on for a demonstration and it began to smoke, people were able to respond. Unfortunately, when they got the helmet off, Keith’s body was unconscious.
Put It In Coach
I don’t know what's happening to me. Coach had asked me to stay back after practice. I know I had fucked up practice, making most of my team run laps but I figured that was punishment enough. So after everyone got done and went on their way out of the lockerroom I was left tapping my feet hoping he didn’t just decide to bench me for the whole season. What I wasn't expecting though was to hear his whistle echo across the tiled floors and walls and my body go stiff immediately. Its like I lost control of my body, no matter how hard I tried to move, flex hell even think it was like molasses bro…. BRO? I don’t use Bro Bro… thats totally dumb bro shit BRO… I see Coach start walking around me, his voice is muffled. But I know I've been a Bad Boy Bro, Not listening to Coach’s plays, his orders. I was too distracted by the thought of the coach's cock… But Im st… bro i’m so fucking horny for his cock.. It makes me misbehave so much. And Bad Boys need to be punished when they misbehave, bad boys need to obey coach bro. Obey and be a good boy bro.
Good Boys always listen to coach. Good Boys are always horny for coach. Good boys’ holes are always ready for coach, good boys are always on their knees for coach.
_______________________________
Want access to more horny writing sooner! Patreon and Kofi Members get access first seeing it on discord! They also are gonna get to vote on future free stories and captions in the next few weeks!! Any and all support is appreciated
Your roommate had been growing a lot bigger lately.
Or were you shrinking?
It didn’t matter.
Before you finally noticed any of the changes, it was already too late.
As the size difference grew, you couldn’t help but feel submissive to him.
He joked about you being “ideal blowjob height”, and before you knew what you were doing, his dick was in your mouth.
“Oh damn wtf?! Aren’t you straight? Fuck it feels so good though, Good boy…”
Not that your roommate knew what he was doing either. He lovingly stroked your cheek as he pumped his cock in your mouth. He had fully given into the curse, enjoying every second of it. He had definitely gotten the better end of a deal he didn’t make, and he wasn’t going to complain.
As he came in your throat for the first time, you paused a second before eagerly swallowing his load. The first of many indeed, but special as it was the one to finalise your transformation. You belonged to your roommate. No. You belonged to your Master.
Quickie Mart
“Alright sir, your total will be $134.18 today. Cash or Card?”
“Neither. I usually don’t need to pay for things like this.”
I was befuddled by the forwardness, “I’m sorry sir, but you are going to have to pay for your groceries today. Cash, card, or please get out of my line.”
“I’m sure we could come to an… arrangement.” In the middle of the store he took off his thin tee shirt.
He flashed a charming smile as he flexed his muscles, his torso on full display.
“I’m sorry sir, this is very inappropriate. I am refusing service. Please exit the store.”
“What, no one’s looking besides you. It’s just you and me right now baby,” his voice had gone low, smooth as silk, “come on, can’t you cut me a deal?” He practically shoved his musky body in my face. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my forehead. “You do me a favor, I’ll do one for you.”
Something about this felt strange. My face was flush as my clothes began to feel tight against my body. My polo suddenly was too warm, too tight, too scratchy against my body. My pants felt close to bursting. Even though my dick was straining against its tight enclosure, begging to be set free, I felt the weight in my pocket more. My wallet was pressed tight against my thigh, a thick square almost squeezing out of my pocket. Unconsciously I had been tracing the outline. He had noticed.
“That’s it babe, pull it out.”
He shifted positions, placing his hand firmly on the wall behind me and began teasing. Treating me to a blast of his damp pits.
“Make your daddy proud.”
He was treating me like a child, “Please sir I-I”
“No please and begging babe. Just hand it over to me.”
I couldn’t resist any longer, “Ye-yes Sir.”
I was already holding the wallet. I fiddled for a card-
“The whole thing.”
I handed him my wallet. He flashed a winning grin as he pulled out my driver’s license.
“Awww, such a good photo of you babe.” He flicked the plastic back at me. The photo looked… wrong somehow. Too energetic. Too bright. But it was hard to focus. Under the heat of his presence and the heavy musk I was almost panting. He pulled out a green credit card.
“What’s my pin?”
I almost cried, “7352.”
“Good boy,” he swiped the card and took a step back. As the weight of him shifted I felt more relaxed, but somehow far emptier. “Young guys like you can’t be trusted with money anyways.”
A shiver ran down my spine, as my body stretched and settled. Energy pulsed through me. I hadn’t felt this way in years. “Would…would you like a receipt Sir?”
“No receipt. Thanks for asking. You’re such a good boy,” the words burned in my ears. I was sure I looked like a wide eyed fool, but I was waiting, hoping he would say…
“Oh, you can cum for me now.” He said it.
I felt a wave crash over my body as he said it. I ripped out of my shirt as I grasped for my dick, too late to stop the thick damp spot from forming on the front of my khakis.
“Hopefully that body reminds you of your Master.”
“Yes sir… thank you sir…”
“I will be keeping this.” He slid his wallet into his pocket, “And I expect to be able to use this whenever I need to.”
“Yes sir…” I watched as his beautiful body disappeared under his shirt again. Mine lay in tatters on the ground around me.
“Goodbye babe,” and with a dazzling smile he left.
“Thank you for shopping with us…” I shouted after him, far too loud and quickly.
As I looked around me, I couldn’t help but feel a deep shame and deep lust for what had just happened. My mind, body, and soul had realigned in just a few short minutes. There was only one question to ask myself,
“Shit… what am I going to tell my wife?”
A quickie I wrote this morning, let me all know if you like it. Thank you all for the support, notes, comments, reblogs, likes, etc.
