Invitation to Greatness: The Golden Army seeks those who are ready to leave behind the ordinary and embrace something extraordinary. The transformation into a member of the Golden Army is not just about joining a team—it’s about entering a golden world where unity, strength, and excellence define every action.
II. The Golden Transformation
The Moment of Change: The transformation begins the moment a recruit accepts the golden jersey. As the golden fabric touches their skin, they begin to feel the shift—a warmth spreading through their body, a sense of purpose and belonging taking root. Their old identity begins to fade, replaced by a powerful new connection to their golden brothers.
Becoming Golden: With the jersey comes a new name and number, symbolizing the recruit’s entry into the Golden Army. This is not just a change of appearance; it is a fundamental transformation of identity. The recruit becomes part of a collective, united by the golden thread that binds them together. As they pull the jersey over their head, they leave behind their former self, stepping into the light as a member of the Golden Army.
The Golden Embrace: Upon wearing the golden kit, the new recruit is welcomed with open arms by their golden brothers. This embrace seals the transformation, solidifying their place within the Golden Army. The recruit’s senses are heightened, their vision sharpens, and the world around them takes on a golden hue. They are now part of a world where every victory is shared, every challenge met with the strength of the collective.
III. Life in the Golden World
A World of Unity: In the Golden Army, every member is connected by an unbreakable bond. The world they inhabit is one of unity, where the success of one is the success of all. The golden world is a place where individual desires are aligned with the collective goal of dominance and excellence.
Brotherhood of Gold: As a member of the Golden Army, you are never alone. Your golden brothers stand with you, on and off the field. This brotherhood is your new family, bound by the shared experience of transformation and the pursuit of greatness. The golden world is one of mutual support, where every member pushes the others to be the best they can be.
The Power of Gold: In the golden world, power is not just physical—it is mental, emotional, and spiritual. The transformation grants every member the confidence and authority to lead, influence, and dominate. The golden kit is a symbol of this power, a reminder that they are part of something greater than themselves.
IV. The Role of the Golden Brothers
Mentorship and Guidance: New recruits are guided through their transformation by experienced members of the Golden Army. These golden brothers ensure that the transition is smooth, offering support and encouragement as the recruit embraces their new identity.
Recruiting the Worthy: As part of the Golden Army, each member is tasked with finding others who are worthy of the transformation. The power of the golden world grows with each new recruit, expanding the influence of the Golden Army. Through the golden embrace, members bring others into the fold, sharing the light of the golden world and strengthening the brotherhood.
V. Embracing the Golden Identity
The Golden Name and Number: Every member receives a new name and number, signifying their rebirth into the Golden Army. This identity is a badge of honor, representing their place within the golden world. It is a constant reminder of their commitment to the values and mission of the Golden Army.
Wearing the Gold: The golden kit is more than just a uniform—it is the physical manifestation of the transformation. Wearing it is an act of devotion, a display of pride in one’s new identity. The kit is worn with reverence, as it is the symbol of the golden world and the brotherhood within it.
VI. Spreading the Golden Influence
Transforming the World: The Golden Army’s mission extends beyond the individual. Members are charged with spreading the influence of the golden world, bringing new recruits into the fold and expanding the reach of the Golden Army. This is done through the golden embrace, a powerful act of unity that transforms others and integrates them into the golden brotherhood.
The Expansion of the Golden World: As the Golden Army grows, so does its influence. The world is gradually transformed into a golden realm, where excellence, unity, and power are the guiding principles. The golden world is not confined to the field—it is a way of life that permeates every aspect of existence.
VII. The Eternal Golden Brotherhood
A Lifelong Bond: The transformation into the Golden Army is permanent. Once you have joined, you are forever part of the golden world. The bond between golden brothers is eternal, unbreakable by time or distance. This brotherhood is your family, your support, and your source of strength.
Living the Golden Legacy: As a member of the Golden Army, you are part of a legacy that transcends the ordinary. You are part of a golden world where excellence is the standard, and unity is the key to success. The golden legacy is one of dominance, influence, and eternal brotherhood—a legacy that you will carry with you for life 💛
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.
"Avatar Mr Harris, is like a body for the computer assistant they have installed. Speaking of which do you think I could have one as well, it would help with scheduling and organising so much easy."
George scoffed "Johnny this programme was very expensive and cutting edge, the company isn't going to waste it on assistants. Now grab me a black coffee and a doughnut I have that meeting with the Europeans up on 78 in half an hour." George said dismissing Johnny and turning to look at his computer not noticing his assistant pouty face and whispered curse word as he went to fetch the coffee and snack.
George looked at the programme and lent closer to read the small text, at 58 his eyesight was only getting worse and being in front of screen all day wasn't helping. George read some text and barely understood most of the jargon but then read a word he had only learnt about moments ago. "Upload Avatar" George muttered and then his thoughts turned to what the IT guy had said about Higgin's new AI assistant, perhaps he could upload some hot twenty something bimbo with blonde hair and pigtails. George looked around as his cock started to stiffen in his pants, hearing a sexy dumb blonde every time would certainly make work more interesting. George then happily clicked upload and suddenly a sharp electrical shock ran through him, his computer screen turned a vibrant blue as a swirling portal like hole appeared. George's instincts were to pull away but he was quickly and violently pulled towards it and before he could even let out a yelp his whole body was thrown forward and his whole world began to spin.
George's whole vision went black and he felt like he was floating, he tried to shout but no sound emerged from his mouth, he tried to move but it was like he was embedded in rock. Then a white light flashed in front of his eyes and slowly his vision started to clear, he could see the window in his office, his filing cabinets, his office chair and his computer keyboard but something was off, the angle was wrong. George blinked more as he tried to search for his computer screen and what had happened to it and to him but, with the electrical buzzing around him, his new view and perspective George quickly understood why he couldn't see his computer. It was because he was now stuck inside of it and looking out at where he had just been sitting!
George tried to move again but his arms and legs stayed firmly down by his sides, the tried to scream for help but while his mouth opened and moved no sound emerged. George panicked he was like a mime trapped in a box except he was now a chubby 58 year business man trapped in his own computer! George's panic was then interrupted as a knock came from his office door and Johnny walked in holding the coffee and doughnut he requested.
"Mr Harris I have your coffee and I got you a selection of do- Oh, and you are not in here...great. The dick must have already gone to his meeting."
George was screaming for Johnny to see him, to help him but his muted lips did nothing to attract Johnny's attention as he dropped the coffee and doughnut on the side. George flailed against his invisible bonds but his body refused to move, he needed help desperately as he screamed until his face went red and then Jonny's face appeared in view, looking curiously at the computer screen where he was trapped. Johnny then came closer and sat down at the computer and George breathed a sigh of relief Johnny would see him and save him! This trapped nightmare would be over and he wouldn't be late for his meeting up on the 78th floor. However, George started to become worried as Johnny grabbed the mouse and started clicking but did not acknowledge George at all.
"Eurgh of course the asshole would make his AI assistant look like himself, what a fucking narcissist"
George tried to yell out, to explain that it was really him , he wasn't AI that he was trapped but his little sad expression and flapping mouth did nothing to attract Johnny's attention and he started to click on tabs and windows around George, his little electronic body feeling them around him and without reading he found himself knowing and sensing what the text said, it was like he was part of the computer, part of the network! George was bombard with a ton of information and he processed it all within moments all without his consent.
"Looks like IT did a good job setting him up." Johnny then looked to the office door and out the window to see if anyone was looking his way. "I'm sure Mr Harris wouldn't check if I take a copy of the programme home, but I ain't taking you Mr AI Harris" Johnny laughed as he clicked on the customise option.
George could sense the window that appeared around and even though he couldn't move to read it he knew exactly what it said, it was as his mind was connected to the computer. He could see the detailed description of his body, his face, his outfit and his overall impression where he was a little offended by the title of 'sale support role'. However, George quickly got over his offence as worry plagued him as he felt Johnny click on the appearance and began to edit, change and type.
Johnny typed away and spoke to himself "If I'm going to have my own AI I’m not having some chubby old guy, no thanks!" Johnny then began changing George's description and as he typed George felt something in him changing, something buzzing and electrical as his code started to get eaten up and rewritten to Johnny's liking. George tried to scream but his little open mouth was ignored by the rapidly typing Johnny. George squirmed as he could feel what Johnny wrote about the man being handsome and 20 years, young and fit. His hair being styled and neat, his eyebrows striking and his eyes now blue.
George winced as his felt his entire body buzz and change as the weight from his belly rapidly reduced and a strong flat stomach replaced it. The fat around his arms, legs and face also vanished and a smaller bulge of muscle appeared to give him a toned and athletic body, while his face buzzed with electricity as his eyes changed colour, his hair lengthened and thickened into a suave chic style as his eyebrows were shaped and plucked into line. George tried to shout again as his faced buzzed as he grew younger, his skin getting smoother, his jawline becoming more defined and masculine until he looked like a much young, more handsome version of himself. George would have been thrilled at the changes if he had been the one in control and not trapped and under the command of his assistants whims!
"That's better." Johnny said but it was obvious he still wasn't impressed or finished. "I think we need to get you out of that stuffy suit. I know how about..." Johnny said before trailing off and typing away.
George still tried to shout to Johnny even though he knew it was pointless, he had no voice, he had no say, he had no control! George could only whimper and he felt Johnny's changes to his clothing typed up beside him. Gone was the suit and instead it was slowly being replaced by an outlandish, bright and deeply homosexual outfit. George could feel his clothing being stripped away as his jacket faded to nothing and his expensive dress shoes shimmered and changed into big white trainers with neon stripes. His trousers receded exposing more and more of his legs until the stopped at his upper thigh, the material became shiny and pink and attracted attention to his bulge. While his shirt became see through as it turned to a mesh material, the bottom became cropped exposing his lower abdomen and a deep v appeared down the chest exposing his chest. Everything became tight and revealing and George felt exposed and vulnerable but could do nothing to cover himself up!
"Ooh looking hot!" Johnny said pleased with the next outfit George was sporting even though George was still desperately calling for help and getting no response. "Hmmm but now that your body isn't covered up it could use some improvements, I wonder how big I can make you"
George winced, what did Johnny mean by big? George didn't have to wait too long to find out as Johnny's typings went straight to his head and immediately began editing his body. It started with his height as he grew taller by an least another foot, then his muscles started to expand. George's back grew wider and his shoulders rounded as his deltoids surged with new mass, capping his frame like cannonballs. His biceps throbbed and inflated dramatically, veins snaking over peaks that rose higher with every heartbeat, while his triceps hardened into dense horseshoes beneath them. His legs grew just as rapidly and wildly as his quads ballooned outward as thick columns of striated muscle pushed his legs apart. Then came his chest and George now understood what Johnny was talking about when he wondered how big he would get, as his pectorals ballooned outwards and hung from his chest like tits. The massive mounds of muscle blocked his view looking down and in his mesh shirt, his hard nipples were impossible to hide. George desperately wanted to move he wanted to feel and see his new body, not just know that he had changed. He hated how his brain seemed to be directly connected to the computer and even though he wanted to shout to escape a new part of him wanted to tell Johnny about his spelling mistake and a better way to phrase his sentence!
"Damn those are some big titties" Johnny chuckled enjoying creating his own assistant, blissfully unaware of the turmoil George was going through. "Hmm while I like it, I do think I need to look at someone a bit more exotic on my home screen" Johnny said as he started to type carefully thinking more carefully about what he meant.
George once again yelled, his silent scream ignored by his engrossed and now slightly horny assistant. It was only one small change to his description but those few little words, 'muscular Brazilian' changed everything about George as immediately his brain was flooded with Portuguese and his English knowledge was greatly reduced. George's skin started to darken as a deep rich bronze tan raced from his head all the way to his toes, his hair turned jet black and thickened considerably. George could feel his nose widen and his lips plump up, while his pectorals seemed to expand even further becoming even more prominent and oversized. George found his mind buzzing as well as instead of memories of home he found himself remembering a tropical beach, volleyball, carnival and the sounds of the rainforest. George tried to shake his head as if to shake the new memories away but his mind continued to buzz as his new code replaced his family, friends and home with an entirely different set of memories of living in South America. George just wanted to cry, he wanted to be himself, he wanted to be free and no longer did he want to be tormented by Johnny.
For the first time Johnny seemed to notice something wasn't quite right about the muscular, Brazilian hunk he had created as he looked at his shocked and sad expression. Curious, Johnny clicked on another tab and began reading before finding what he was searching for "Oh now I see why you have that sad look on your face." Johnny said and for the briefest of moment's George had some hope, hope that Johnny had finally worked out it wasn't just a programme that it was his boss who was trapped and was silently begging for help for the last 10 minutes!
"The man is hard-working, dedicated to the company, will feel hurt and disappointed if he fails the user, needs to be working 24/7 with an intense love for work and giving 100% to the company. A perfectionist and detailed orientated workaholic. Jesus no wonder you are miserable, standing around must be killing you. Don't worry I don't think I need someone like that. In fact looking at that beautiful face and sublime chest I doubt you are going to help me with much work." Johnny chuckled as he moved his hand to his pants and adjusted his growing erection before typing again.
George wanted to scream as Johnny was no longer changing his appearance he was changing his very personality. Johnny started by erasing his eagerness to work, his perfectionism and his memory of all the knowledge of the company and soon it was replaced with gym routines, diets, locations of gay clubs, cocktails and gay club wear and fashion. George's mind swirled as he desperately tried to cling to his years of experience, the years he has spent working his way to the top but all of it began to slip away like it has never existed. George thought of his wife and kids but their faces now felt like images from an old dream. Instead all he could remember was eating plain chicken breast, working out his chest, chatting with other gym bro's, drinking to much and dancing until the early hours of the morning. George wanted to cry as his life was rewritten effortlessly into an entirely new person. George whimpered as Johnny typed up his new personality with words like 'bubbly, vapid, kind, sultry, arrogant, confident, show off'. George's mind began to slow as his jaw slackened and his stance relaxed. His terror and fear was pushed to the back of his mind along with any traces of the old him, who was trying with all his might to hold on but was losing. George felt his expression change as although he wanted to scream the new relaxed, vapid, vain him just smirked enjoying how much of his body he got to show off.
Johnny was now very pleased and now had one hand down his trousers as he touched his cock, while also looking at the door to make sure no one was close to approaching him and his himbo AI assistant. Johnny then moved the cursor over to the new George and to his delight found he could move his new assistant so he could see his new creation at all angles. George felt like vomiting as he was violently spun around on the spot, his face however also looking back out at the screen. George's panic and fear was concealed as the new Brazilian him who was more worried about his muscles than being trapped as an AI for his old assistant just smirked and flexed.
Johnny grinned as he looked at the back of his new creation and the cute little bubble butt that strained against the shiny pink hot pants.
Johnny then couldn't help himself, he had already given his new AI massive pectorals perhaps he could give him an ass that could rival their size. George was terrified and embarrassed as he felt his ass cheeks being to swell and expand, however the new him was thrilled as new thoughts of thongs and bent over ass selfies entered his head. George was fighting a losing battle as his cries for help, his humiliation were all confined to a rapidly shrinking area of his mind. When his ass cheeks had finished ballooning. each was now the size of basketball and wobbled obscenely as Johnny moved him around. Johnny was almost salivating over the man he had created and part of him was now wondering what to do with him, since he wasn't appropriate for work.
"What am I going to do with you...George? Eurgh I can't have you named after my boss!" Johnny pulled a disgusted face before tapping his fingers and thinking, then with a lightbulb moment he began typing. George could only scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" as his name was erased and so was the last of his control and the new him took over, the new himbo, vain, arrogant, show-off him took over. Rodrigo took over.
"Yeah you look much more like a Rodrigo and someone like you isn't going to be working in a silly office." Johnny smiled as his phone buzzed with the familiar notification sound that came from his dating app and suddenly Johnny knew what to do with Rodrigo.
Johnny then went into the inner workings of the AI settings and decided to give George or rather Rodrigo a new function. George could only whimper as his function was written deep into his very being. No longer would he be managing a team of accountants and setting up million dollar deals, no instead it seemed he would now being managing Johnny's dating life. George tried to fight back what was being written into his very code but it was pointless he had no control as Johnny rewrote his very purpose. 'Rodrigo's primary directive is to find attractive, muscular men from ages 18-50. Rodrigo will search all appropriate men's profiles, pictures and videos. Rodrigo will store and file all images and videos sent, organising pictures and videos and saving overtly sexual and adult content. Rodrigo will analyse images to find men with large penis's and large, shapely buttocks. Rodrigo will store and organise adults videos by type, length and fetish for example armpits, piss, farts and double penetration. Rodrigo will also search the internet for appropriate videos when requested by the user. Rodrigo will always present as sultry, sexual and horny willing to please his user with all requests.' Johnny smiled as his horny brain took over as Rodrigo would become his personal porn and hook up assistant, the best wing man a guy could ask for.
George just began sobbing as he realised what the rest of his life was going to be, he was going to be nothing for a gloried porn bot! A straight man trapped and watching, searching and organising hours and hours of gay porn and thousands of hours analysing men's bulges and butts. He was a smart, sophisticated, intelligent man now reduced to a pair of bouncy pecs and a fat peachy booty. George could already feel his body thinking of lewd poses it could stand in and out of no where a pink lollipop appeared and his new body stuck its tongue seductively and smirked a his new user and master.
"Fuck you are so hot Rodrigo, you first job is to find me a real guy that looks just like you" As Johnny moved the cursor and clicked the finish button, George Harris ceased to exist besides a tiny line of code trapped in the new himbo's head.
"Now let's see you in action big guy" Johnny then opened up the website for his dating profile and sure enough Rodrigo popped up. George was then barraged with images of men as he was forced to stare at their cocks and ass cheeks, analysing every single one. Looking closely at muscular men's physiques and faces to discern who Johnny would find the most attractive. However, George's disgust would never be seen as Rodrigo was thrilled at the bounty of beautiful men and had already found 8 that Johnny might like.
"Fuck all of them are so hot! How did I ever live without you Rodrigo?" Johnny smiled as he pulled out a pink flash drive from his pocket. "Now you are coming home with me, I need some action tonight and you are going to find me the perfect man."
George was sobbing and crying as he felt his entre being being sucked away and into darkness, taken away from his office, his life, his friends, his family all to become Johnny's new assistant where he would never get a raise and never get to go home.
The first few weeks were brutal for George as he was used endlessly and he organised over 500 hours of gay porn from the basic sex to the hardcore stuff. George had looked and watched hundreds of jerking cocks, dildo's in assholes and muscular men posing and flexing that his mind had almost started to snap at the thought of him watching this kind of content for the rest of his life. He programme would run continuously, meaning he never slept and never stopped, it was constant gay men for him every seconds, of every minutes of every day. George cried out for a break or even a change from the thousands of hours of porn he was forced to watch.
However, Johnny quickly found other programmes where Rodrigo could be useful. George was thrilled at the possiblity of being used for something else but it seemed that Johnny had been curious about a new adult fantasy role play game and he had just the right character to upload. Rodrigo was more than thrilled to flirt, kiss and fuck all the different characters but George on the other hand, he would never stop screaming when he had to spend the night with Gurt and Klugg the biggest horniest orcs on the internet.
The sun-drenched sands of Copacabana stood witness to a metamorphosis that defied every law of physics and quantum mechanics Peter and Tao had ever studied. These two devoted scholars, spending their final summer before their senior year volunteering as English teachers in Rio, were the epitome of the "library crew"—pale, slender, and blissfully unacquainted with the weight of a dumbbell. They went to the beach to enjoy their free day.
Peter searched his backpack and realized he had forgotten his sunscreen. As he wondered if their fair skin could survive without protection, a local vendor approached them. The man had an amused, almost mysterious smile on his face, suggesting he was offering something special. Carefully, he pulled a tube labelled “Amazonian blend” out of his basket and handed it to Peter and Tao. His gaze was piercing, as if he knew more about their unimpressive physiques and pale skin than they did themselves. “This is a special blend,” he said with a local accent, “a homemade recipe – it protects you from the sun and gives you strength.” Peter and Tao exchanged uncertain glances, but with no other options, they bought the tube.
The magic began with a lingering touch, as they began to apply the thick, fragrant cream onto each other’s bodies. What started as a chore became a slow, tactile exploration that felt dangerously unfamiliar to two men who had always considered themselves strictly heterosexual. Until this moment, their hands had only ever reached for the cold spines of textbooks or the soft curves of the girls they’d dated back home.
But as Peter’s hands slid over Tao’s narrow shoulders, and Tao’s fingers traced the delicate line of Peter’s spine, a confusing, electric shiver bypassed their logic. They felt a strange, pulsing heat radiating from the lotion—a warmth that began to melt the rigid boundaries of their "straight" identities into something far more intimate, primal, and undeniable.
“I am going to water,” said Tao nervously.
“Yeah sure,” reply equally nervous Peter. ‘What as that? I’m not gay…’ he though himself. “I’ll stay, watch over our things and get some tan.
Tao quickly stood up. With a soft, hungry smile, he quickly wandered toward the crashing turquoise waves of the Atlantic. Peter laid back on his towel; his eyes fluttering shut as the Brazilian sun began to bake the magic into his pores.
Under the searing heat, the science of the world dissolved into pure alchemy.
Inside Peter’s chest, a low, rhythmic thrumming began, like a samba beat echoing in his marrow. His posture, once hunched from years of poring over heavy textbooks, suddenly snapped straight. He felt a delicious, agonizing stretch as his skeletal frame expanded. His narrow shoulders began to widen with a tectonic shift, the bone and sinew thickening into a powerful, broad "V" shape.
He groaned as his pale, translucent skin began to drink in the light, deepening second by second into a rich, glowing mahogany. His thin, ginger hair began to coil and darken, transforming into thick, raven-black curls that felt soft and wild to the touch. Across his torso, the soft flesh hardened; his chest swelled into two massive, sculpted plates of granite muscle. Below, his stomach rippled and constricted, carving out a "six-pack" so sharp it looked chiseled from marble.
But the most intoxicating sensation was the surge of raw, masculine power blooming between his legs. His loose shorts began to shrink and tighten, the fabric morphing into a pair of minuscule, patriotic Brazilian flag sungas. As the swimwear retreated, his anatomy surged with a new, heavy vitality—a thick, proud fullness that strained against the thin lycra, announcing his newfound virility to the salt-thickened air.
Peter opened his eyes, and the world was no longer a blur. His glasses were gone, his vision now razor-sharp. He looked down at himself, his breath hitching at the sight of his own massive, bronzed thighs and the hard, vascular roadmap of his forearms. He felt electric, primal, and utterly beautiful.
Peter stood up on the burning sand, his breath coming in shallow hitches as he looked down at the stranger’s body he now inhabited. He ran his thick, bronzed fingers over his own chest, marveling at the way the massive plates of muscle jumped under his touch. He traced the deep, carved lines of his abdominals—a hard, rocky terrain he had only ever seen in anatomy textbooks. He felt a surge of intoxicating vanity; his hands slid lower, feeling the powerful, heavy weight straining against the thin fabric of his Brazilian flag sunga. For a man who had always been "the skinny nerd," the sheer mass of his own thighs and the thrumming vitality between them felt like a drug.
He was so lost in the tactile worship of his new self that he didn't notice the shadow falling over him until a low, vibrating hum of energy approached from the shoreline.
Emerging from the white foam of the Atlantic was a vision of masculine perfection that made Peter’s heart hammer against his ribs. A massive hunk, his skin the color of deep ebony polished to a high, metallic luster, stepped through the surf. Water cascaded in diamond droplets off a chest so wide it seemed to block out the sun. Every stride he took revealed the terrifying power of his tree-trunk thighs, which threatened to burst the seams of his tiny, crimson square-cut trunks. Size of his manhood did not help with releasing of the stress from the red fabric, but it added more tension.
Peter stared, his mouth dry. He felt an instinctive, primal pull toward the man—a magnetic attraction that his "heterosexual" mind couldn't even begin to process. This was a god of the beach, a predator of grace and muscle.
The stranger stopped just feet away, the salt water glistening on the thick, tight curls of his hair. He tilted his head, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face—a face with features so sharp and handsome they felt like a physical blow to Peter's senses.
"Pedro?" the man asked.
The voice was a deep, resonant baritone, a rich sound that seemed to vibrate directly in Peter’s chest, making his own new muscles quiver. ‘Right, Pedro is actually my name,’ Peter realized.
Pedro blinked, the recognition hitting him like a tidal wave. The eyes—behind the mask of this dark-skinned powerhouse, the soul was familiar.
"Tayo?" Pedro whispered, his voice cracking with awe.
The two of them stood there, paralyzed by the sight of one another. The "library crew" was dead; in its place stood two embodiments of raw, Brazilian virility. Pedro felt a heat rising in his blood that had nothing to do with the sun. Looking at Tayo’s massive, wet shoulders and the way his red trunks clung to his heavy, muscular form, Pedro realized that their old lives—and their old certainties—had washed away with the tide.
The sheer impossibility of it all—the leap from debating quantum mechanics in a dusty library to this raw, tectonic physical reality—hit them both at once. Pedro looked at Tayo’s massive, ebony-bronze chest and then down at his own burgeoning, sun-kissed muscles, and a bark of incredulous laughter escaped his throat. Tayo joined him, his new, deep baritone booming over the crashing surf as they shook their heads in disbelief. They were two scholars trapped in the bodies of titans, and for a fleeting moment, the absurdity of their transformation provided a much-needed release from the overwhelming surge of new sensations.
But the laughter didn't last. As their eyes locked once more, the air between them thickened, becoming as heavy and electric as the atmosphere before a tropical storm. The humor vanished in an instant, replaced by a suffocating, erotic charge that made the pulse in Pedro’s throat throb with a violent rhythm. He watched a single bead of seawater trail slowly down the deep valley of Tayo’s pectoral muscles, disappearing into the straining waistband of his crimson trunks, and Pedro felt a primal hunger clawing at his gut. The "heterosexual" certainties they had carried their whole lives were incinerated under the weight of this new, magnetic pull. The tension between them was no longer a spark; it was a physical weight, thick and undeniable, drawing their massive, heated bodies together until the space between them was nothing but a memory.
Pedro reached out, his thick, bronzed fingers tangling in the curls at Tayo’s neck, while Tayo pulled him close, his massive arm wrapping around Pedro’s waist, pulling their hard, sun-warmed bodies together. The friction of skin on skin, the scent of the sea, and the raw magnetism of their transformation became too much to bear.
In the middle of the crowded beach, surrounded by the rhythm of Rio, they crashed together in a deep, desperate kiss. As their mouths collided, the friction of their massive, wet chests grinding together sent a jolt of white-hot fire through their veins, shattering the last of their inhibitions. They felt the heavy, thrumming weight of their new masculinity pressing hard against one another, a silent, carnal confirmation that their old boundaries had been completely obliterated. In the salt-tinged heat of that embrace, the logic of their past lives was replaced by a singular, pulse-pounding truth: they were no longer just friends, but two handsome men bound by a hunger that only their new, powerful bodies could satisfy. Their final summer had just become the beginning of their life far more daring than any book could ever describe.
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.
"Avatar Mr Harris, is like a body for the computer assistant they have installed. Speaking of which do you think I could have one as well, it would help with scheduling and organising so much easy."
George scoffed "Johnny this programme was very expensive and cutting edge, the company isn't going to waste it on assistants. Now grab me a black coffee and a doughnut I have that meeting with the Europeans up on 78 in half an hour." George said dismissing Johnny and turning to look at his computer not noticing his assistant pouty face and whispered curse word as he went to fetch the coffee and snack.
George looked at the programme and lent closer to read the small text, at 58 his eyesight was only getting worse and being in front of screen all day wasn't helping. George read some text and barely understood most of the jargon but then read a word he had only learnt about moments ago. "Upload Avatar" George muttered and then his thoughts turned to what the IT guy had said about Higgin's new AI assistant, perhaps he could upload some hot twenty something bimbo with blonde hair and pigtails. George looked around as his cock started to stiffen in his pants, hearing a sexy dumb blonde every time would certainly make work more interesting. George then happily clicked upload and suddenly a sharp electrical shock ran through him, his computer screen turned a vibrant blue as a swirling portal like hole appeared. George's instincts were to pull away but he was quickly and violently pulled towards it and before he could even let out a yelp his whole body was thrown forward and his whole world began to spin.
George's whole vision went black and he felt like he was floating, he tried to shout but no sound emerged from his mouth, he tried to move but it was like he was embedded in rock. Then a white light flashed in front of his eyes and slowly his vision started to clear, he could see the window in his office, his filing cabinets, his office chair and his computer keyboard but something was off, the angle was wrong. George blinked more as he tried to search for his computer screen and what had happened to it and to him but, with the electrical buzzing around him, his new view and perspective George quickly understood why he couldn't see his computer. It was because he was now stuck inside of it and looking out at where he had just been sitting!
George tried to move again but his arms and legs stayed firmly down by his sides, the tried to scream for help but while his mouth opened and moved no sound emerged. George panicked he was like a mime trapped in a box except he was now a chubby 58 year business man trapped in his own computer! George's panic was then interrupted as a knock came from his office door and Johnny walked in holding the coffee and doughnut he requested.
"Mr Harris I have your coffee and I got you a selection of do- Oh, and you are not in here...great. The dick must have already gone to his meeting."
George was screaming for Johnny to see him, to help him but his muted lips did nothing to attract Johnny's attention as he dropped the coffee and doughnut on the side. George flailed against his invisible bonds but his body refused to move, he needed help desperately as he screamed until his face went red and then Jonny's face appeared in view, looking curiously at the computer screen where he was trapped. Johnny then came closer and sat down at the computer and George breathed a sigh of relief Johnny would see him and save him! This trapped nightmare would be over and he wouldn't be late for his meeting up on the 78th floor. However, George started to become worried as Johnny grabbed the mouse and started clicking but did not acknowledge George at all.
"Eurgh of course the asshole would make his AI assistant look like himself, what a fucking narcissist"
George tried to yell out, to explain that it was really him , he wasn't AI that he was trapped but his little sad expression and flapping mouth did nothing to attract Johnny's attention and he started to click on tabs and windows around George, his little electronic body feeling them around him and without reading he found himself knowing and sensing what the text said, it was like he was part of the computer, part of the network! George was bombard with a ton of information and he processed it all within moments all without his consent.
"Looks like IT did a good job setting him up." Johnny then looked to the office door and out the window to see if anyone was looking his way. "I'm sure Mr Harris wouldn't check if I take a copy of the programme home, but I ain't taking you Mr AI Harris" Johnny laughed as he clicked on the customise option.
George could sense the window that appeared around and even though he couldn't move to read it he knew exactly what it said, it was as his mind was connected to the computer. He could see the detailed description of his body, his face, his outfit and his overall impression where he was a little offended by the title of 'sale support role'. However, George quickly got over his offence as worry plagued him as he felt Johnny click on the appearance and began to edit, change and type.
Johnny typed away and spoke to himself "If I'm going to have my own AI I’m not having some chubby old guy, no thanks!" Johnny then began changing George's description and as he typed George felt something in him changing, something buzzing and electrical as his code started to get eaten up and rewritten to Johnny's liking. George tried to scream but his little open mouth was ignored by the rapidly typing Johnny. George squirmed as he could feel what Johnny wrote about the man being handsome and 20 years, young and fit. His hair being styled and neat, his eyebrows striking and his eyes now blue.
George winced as his felt his entire body buzz and change as the weight from his belly rapidly reduced and a strong flat stomach replaced it. The fat around his arms, legs and face also vanished and a smaller bulge of muscle appeared to give him a toned and athletic body, while his face buzzed with electricity as his eyes changed colour, his hair lengthened and thickened into a suave chic style as his eyebrows were shaped and plucked into line. George tried to shout again as his faced buzzed as he grew younger, his skin getting smoother, his jawline becoming more defined and masculine until he looked like a much young, more handsome version of himself. George would have been thrilled at the changes if he had been the one in control and not trapped and under the command of his assistants whims!
"That's better." Johnny said but it was obvious he still wasn't impressed or finished. "I think we need to get you out of that stuffy suit. I know how about..." Johnny said before trailing off and typing away.
George still tried to shout to Johnny even though he knew it was pointless, he had no voice, he had no say, he had no control! George could only whimper and he felt Johnny's changes to his clothing typed up beside him. Gone was the suit and instead it was slowly being replaced by an outlandish, bright and deeply homosexual outfit. George could feel his clothing being stripped away as his jacket faded to nothing and his expensive dress shoes shimmered and changed into big white trainers with neon stripes. His trousers receded exposing more and more of his legs until the stopped at his upper thigh, the material became shiny and pink and attracted attention to his bulge. While his shirt became see through as it turned to a mesh material, the bottom became cropped exposing his lower abdomen and a deep v appeared down the chest exposing his chest. Everything became tight and revealing and George felt exposed and vulnerable but could do nothing to cover himself up!
"Ooh looking hot!" Johnny said pleased with the next outfit George was sporting even though George was still desperately calling for help and getting no response. "Hmmm but now that your body isn't covered up it could use some improvements, I wonder how big I can make you"
George winced, what did Johnny mean by big? George didn't have to wait too long to find out as Johnny's typings went straight to his head and immediately began editing his body. It started with his height as he grew taller by an least another foot, then his muscles started to expand. George's back grew wider and his shoulders rounded as his deltoids surged with new mass, capping his frame like cannonballs. His biceps throbbed and inflated dramatically, veins snaking over peaks that rose higher with every heartbeat, while his triceps hardened into dense horseshoes beneath them. His legs grew just as rapidly and wildly as his quads ballooned outward as thick columns of striated muscle pushed his legs apart. Then came his chest and George now understood what Johnny was talking about when he wondered how big he would get, as his pectorals ballooned outwards and hung from his chest like tits. The massive mounds of muscle blocked his view looking down and in his mesh shirt, his hard nipples were impossible to hide. George desperately wanted to move he wanted to feel and see his new body, not just know that he had changed. He hated how his brain seemed to be directly connected to the computer and even though he wanted to shout to escape a new part of him wanted to tell Johnny about his spelling mistake and a better way to phrase his sentence!
"Damn those are some big titties" Johnny chuckled enjoying creating his own assistant, blissfully unaware of the turmoil George was going through. "Hmm while I like it, I do think I need to look at someone a bit more exotic on my home screen" Johnny said as he started to type carefully thinking more carefully about what he meant.
George once again yelled, his silent scream ignored by his engrossed and now slightly horny assistant. It was only one small change to his description but those few little words, 'muscular Brazilian' changed everything about George as immediately his brain was flooded with Portuguese and his English knowledge was greatly reduced. George's skin started to darken as a deep rich bronze tan raced from his head all the way to his toes, his hair turned jet black and thickened considerably. George could feel his nose widen and his lips plump up, while his pectorals seemed to expand even further becoming even more prominent and oversized. George found his mind buzzing as well as instead of memories of home he found himself remembering a tropical beach, volleyball, carnival and the sounds of the rainforest. George tried to shake his head as if to shake the new memories away but his mind continued to buzz as his new code replaced his family, friends and home with an entirely different set of memories of living in South America. George just wanted to cry, he wanted to be himself, he wanted to be free and no longer did he want to be tormented by Johnny.
For the first time Johnny seemed to notice something wasn't quite right about the muscular, Brazilian hunk he had created as he looked at his shocked and sad expression. Curious, Johnny clicked on another tab and began reading before finding what he was searching for "Oh now I see why you have that sad look on your face." Johnny said and for the briefest of moment's George had some hope, hope that Johnny had finally worked out it wasn't just a programme that it was his boss who was trapped and was silently begging for help for the last 10 minutes!
"The man is hard-working, dedicated to the company, will feel hurt and disappointed if he fails the user, needs to be working 24/7 with an intense love for work and giving 100% to the company. A perfectionist and detailed orientated workaholic. Jesus no wonder you are miserable, standing around must be killing you. Don't worry I don't think I need someone like that. In fact looking at that beautiful face and sublime chest I doubt you are going to help me with much work." Johnny chuckled as he moved his hand to his pants and adjusted his growing erection before typing again.
George wanted to scream as Johnny was no longer changing his appearance he was changing his very personality. Johnny started by erasing his eagerness to work, his perfectionism and his memory of all the knowledge of the company and soon it was replaced with gym routines, diets, locations of gay clubs, cocktails and gay club wear and fashion. George's mind swirled as he desperately tried to cling to his years of experience, the years he has spent working his way to the top but all of it began to slip away like it has never existed. George thought of his wife and kids but their faces now felt like images from an old dream. Instead all he could remember was eating plain chicken breast, working out his chest, chatting with other gym bro's, drinking to much and dancing until the early hours of the morning. George wanted to cry as his life was rewritten effortlessly into an entirely new person. George whimpered as Johnny typed up his new personality with words like 'bubbly, vapid, kind, sultry, arrogant, confident, show off'. George's mind began to slow as his jaw slackened and his stance relaxed. His terror and fear was pushed to the back of his mind along with any traces of the old him, who was trying with all his might to hold on but was losing. George felt his expression change as although he wanted to scream the new relaxed, vapid, vain him just smirked enjoying how much of his body he got to show off.
Johnny was now very pleased and now had one hand down his trousers as he touched his cock, while also looking at the door to make sure no one was close to approaching him and his himbo AI assistant. Johnny then moved the cursor over to the new George and to his delight found he could move his new assistant so he could see his new creation at all angles. George felt like vomiting as he was violently spun around on the spot, his face however also looking back out at the screen. George's panic and fear was concealed as the new Brazilian him who was more worried about his muscles than being trapped as an AI for his old assistant just smirked and flexed.
Johnny grinned as he looked at the back of his new creation and the cute little bubble butt that strained against the shiny pink hot pants.
Johnny then couldn't help himself, he had already given his new AI massive pectorals perhaps he could give him an ass that could rival their size. George was terrified and embarrassed as he felt his ass cheeks being to swell and expand, however the new him was thrilled as new thoughts of thongs and bent over ass selfies entered his head. George was fighting a losing battle as his cries for help, his humiliation were all confined to a rapidly shrinking area of his mind. When his ass cheeks had finished ballooning. each was now the size of basketball and wobbled obscenely as Johnny moved him around. Johnny was almost salivating over the man he had created and part of him was now wondering what to do with him, since he wasn't appropriate for work.
"What am I going to do with you...George? Eurgh I can't have you named after my boss!" Johnny pulled a disgusted face before tapping his fingers and thinking, then with a lightbulb moment he began typing. George could only scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" as his name was erased and so was the last of his control and the new him took over, the new himbo, vain, arrogant, show-off him took over. Rodrigo took over.
"Yeah you look much more like a Rodrigo and someone like you isn't going to be working in a silly office." Johnny smiled as his phone buzzed with the familiar notification sound that came from his dating app and suddenly Johnny knew what to do with Rodrigo.
Johnny then went into the inner workings of the AI settings and decided to give George or rather Rodrigo a new function. George could only whimper as his function was written deep into his very being. No longer would he be managing a team of accountants and setting up million dollar deals, no instead it seemed he would now being managing Johnny's dating life. George tried to fight back what was being written into his very code but it was pointless he had no control as Johnny rewrote his very purpose. 'Rodrigo's primary directive is to find attractive, muscular men from ages 18-50. Rodrigo will search all appropriate men's profiles, pictures and videos. Rodrigo will store and file all images and videos sent, organising pictures and videos and saving overtly sexual and adult content. Rodrigo will analyse images to find men with large penis's and large, shapely buttocks. Rodrigo will store and organise adults videos by type, length and fetish for example armpits, piss, farts and double penetration. Rodrigo will also search the internet for appropriate videos when requested by the user. Rodrigo will always present as sultry, sexual and horny willing to please his user with all requests.' Johnny smiled as his horny brain took over as Rodrigo would become his personal porn and hook up assistant, the best wing man a guy could ask for.
George just began sobbing as he realised what the rest of his life was going to be, he was going to be nothing for a gloried porn bot! A straight man trapped and watching, searching and organising hours and hours of gay porn and thousands of hours analysing men's bulges and butts. He was a smart, sophisticated, intelligent man now reduced to a pair of bouncy pecs and a fat peachy booty. George could already feel his body thinking of lewd poses it could stand in and out of no where a pink lollipop appeared and his new body stuck its tongue seductively and smirked a his new user and master.
"Fuck you are so hot Rodrigo, you first job is to find me a real guy that looks just like you" As Johnny moved the cursor and clicked the finish button, George Harris ceased to exist besides a tiny line of code trapped in the new himbo's head.
"Now let's see you in action big guy" Johnny then opened up the website for his dating profile and sure enough Rodrigo popped up. George was then barraged with images of men as he was forced to stare at their cocks and ass cheeks, analysing every single one. Looking closely at muscular men's physiques and faces to discern who Johnny would find the most attractive. However, George's disgust would never be seen as Rodrigo was thrilled at the bounty of beautiful men and had already found 8 that Johnny might like.
"Fuck all of them are so hot! How did I ever live without you Rodrigo?" Johnny smiled as he pulled out a pink flash drive from his pocket. "Now you are coming home with me, I need some action tonight and you are going to find me the perfect man."
George was sobbing and crying as he felt his entre being being sucked away and into darkness, taken away from his office, his life, his friends, his family all to become Johnny's new assistant where he would never get a raise and never get to go home.
The first few weeks were brutal for George as he was used endlessly and he organised over 500 hours of gay porn from the basic sex to the hardcore stuff. George had looked and watched hundreds of jerking cocks, dildo's in assholes and muscular men posing and flexing that his mind had almost started to snap at the thought of him watching this kind of content for the rest of his life. He programme would run continuously, meaning he never slept and never stopped, it was constant gay men for him every seconds, of every minutes of every day. George cried out for a break or even a change from the thousands of hours of porn he was forced to watch.
However, Johnny quickly found other programmes where Rodrigo could be useful. George was thrilled at the possiblity of being used for something else but it seemed that Johnny had been curious about a new adult fantasy role play game and he had just the right character to upload. Rodrigo was more than thrilled to flirt, kiss and fuck all the different characters but George on the other hand, he would never stop screaming when he had to spend the night with Gurt and Klugg the biggest horniest orcs on the internet.
With bated breath and blurry vision, Jeremy(?) stumbled over to the nearest mirror in the locker room. He looked at himself in the mirror while using the counter to hold himself up, and his jaw dropped when he saw his reflection.
“No, this wasn’t supposed to happen… Is that me?”
A couple of weeks ago, Jeremy Nguyen was just an average nerd with nothing particularly remarkable about him. He had a deep interest in all things fantasy-related. He graduated from college with relatively high marks and worked as a science teacher at his old high school. It wasn’t an exciting life by any means, but Jeremy was content with his simple, happy life.
Aside from his usual nerdy hobbies, Jeremy had also started regularly hitting the gym ever since the new year rolled around. Sure he couldn’t lift more than 10 pounds and got tired after only about 8 minutes of light cardio, but it was the thought that counts. Not that it really mattered to Jeremy anyway. He wasn’t interested in becoming a full-blown gym rat or anything like that. Jeremy only started exercising so that his doctor wouldn’t give him yet another lecture about his health during his yearly physical.
Jeremy pulled up to the gym one early afternoon. He normally went to the gym at night due to his busy work schedule as a teacher. However, thanks to an obscure local holiday, the schools were closed and he had the day off. Jeremy decided to switch up his usual routine and work out in the afternoon instead. He walked inside, did his warm-up stretching, and began his workout with some light hammer curls. The gym was surprisingly very packed that afternoon, especially compared to how empty it was at night. There were people everywhere!
As Jeremy continued his workout, he noticed his gaze kept coming back to one particular man just across the free weights area from him.
The guy was absolutely jacked from head to toe! Standing at 6’2” tall, he made a lot of other people in the gym look tiny by comparison. Jeremy watched with great awe as the muscular Adonis hit shoulders with dumbbells he could only ever dream of lifting off the ground, let alone work out with!
However, despite the man’s amazing physique, Jeremy wasn’t attracted to him. He never liked the muscular look in men. Wasn’t really his type at all. Yet at the same time, Jeremy couldn’t stop looking at him for some reason. The man looked vaguely familiar. Jeremy racked his brain but couldn’t place his finger on it. It was weird. He tried ignoring him and just focusing on his workout, but then the man did something that made him remember exactly who he was. Near them was an overweight man who was struggling to get through a rep with just the barbell. The man watched him from afar and sneered like it was the funniest thing in the world. It was that cocky smirk that made bad old memories come flooding back in.
The man’s name was Jared Taylor.
That name and the arrogant smile that came with it haunted Jeremy for most of his teen years. To put it shortly, they had the stereotypical high school jock bully/scrawny nerd relationship you see in movies and TV. Jared loved teasing and making fun of others. Especially quiet nerds like Jeremy who played Pokémon in class after already finishing their work. Needless to say, Jeremy hated Jared with a passion. He was thrilled to finally be rid of the bastard when they graduated and went their separate ways. Jeremy went to study chemistry while Jared continued playing for some college football team.
Jeremy never would’ve expected to see his former high school bully back in town. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like Jared recognized him (you would think he would after tormenting him for 4 years…) Plus, Jeremy always went to the gym during the nighttime anyway. He wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Jared Taylor ever again!
Or so he thought.
Much to Jeremy’s dismay, he kept seeing Jared every time he went to the gym. It didn’t matter if he went late at night or early in the morning before work, Jared was there— working out with some of the heaviest dumbbells the gym had to offer.
Jeremy tried shrugging it off as mere coincidence, but his patience grew dangerously thin with every passing day he saw him. Jared’s cocky smile. His dominating presence. His haughty laugh just screamed, “I’m bigger, stronger, and just overall better than you!” Jared was already bad enough in high school, but he had only seen to have gotten worse with age!
Then, on a random Saturday, Jeremy decided he had finally had enough. It was time someone stepped up and knocked the arrogant asshole down a peg or two. And who better to do it than the nerd he loved bullying every day?
And so, Jeremy devised a plan to rid Jared of the one thing he loved more than trolling: his muscles. Jeremy scoured through his massive collection of fantasy books and trinkets, searching for the magic he would need to pull off his plan. There were plenty of naysayers who didn't believe in magical powers, but Jeremy was never one of those muggles. He believed in magic ever since he was a kid and never stopped, even as he grew up.
After extensive searching, Jeremy finally found a very old book of spells from back when he used to play D&D. The book puffed out a cloud of dust as Jeremy opened it for the first time in forever. An eerie smile emerged on Jeremy’s face as he read up on a spell designed to reverse a character’s stats and build. It was exactly what he needed to get revenge on Jared.
Once he memorized how to perform the spell, Jeremy left for the gym that same night. Just as expected, Jared was there too.
Luckily for Jeremy, the gym was empty that Saturday night, save for about a dozen people. The fewer potential witnesses, the better.
Jared was busy hitting shoulders in the free weights area. Jeremy positioned himself so that he was just across from him in the cardio section. He had a clear shot of him. Once he was sure there was absolutely nobody watching, Jeremy set his plan into action. He used his fingernail to scratch the tip of his pointer finger until he bled out a couple of drops, then smeared it with his thumb and forefinger. Once that was done, Jeremy focused on his target and recited the spell.
Jeremy’s finger shined a brilliant red as he finished casting the spell. A beam of light shot out of him as soon as he recited the last syllable, heading directly towards Jared. Jeremy smiled maniacally, knowing he was finally going to get his revenge after years of torment, though unfortunately, his pleasure was only short-lived. His smile faded as he watched Jared bend over to pick up a dumbbell, causing the spell to miss its intended target. Instead, the light hit the mirror, ricocheted, and hit Jeremy square in the chest, knocking him off the treadmill.
God-DAMN IT!! How could I mess up such an easy shot!?
Jeremy writhed in agony. He couldn’t believe his plan failed just because of a little timing slip-up. Red with embarrassment, Jeremy forced himself to get up despite the great pain he was in. As he rushed over to the guy’s locker room to hide himself, the spell activated.
Jeremy held his arms to his stomach as an intense wave of nausea washed over him. A strange warmth was radiating from his torso. His walking speed slowed as Jeremy found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. Low groans and growls escaped his mouth as his chicken legs exploded with body mass growth. It felt like his legs were on fire! The muscle fibers in his legs broke down and grew back rapidly until he had legs as strong and thick as a horse. Confused at what was going on, Jeremy looked down and audibly gasped when he saw his upper body transforming right before his very eyes.
His chest puffed out as his pectorals grew and grew until he had a nice, firm set of daddy milkers. His shoulder span nearly doubled in length as the muscles in his back rapidly tore and regrew back within a matter of minutes. His arms thickened and hardened with muscle mass too. His once pencil-thin arms had become absolute cannons with biceps the size of melons and veins throbbing with strength. With a set of washboard abs to boot, Jeremy had become an insanely ripped bodybuilder— completely unrecognizable from his former skinny and weak nerd self.
“Nnnn… What’s happening to me…!?” Jeremy huffed out a moan as forced himself to keep moving. He powered through the transformation pain and made it to the locker room where he could be alone. With bated breath and blurry vision, Jeremy stumbled over to the nearest mirror in the locker room. He looked at himself in the mirror while using the counter to hold himself up, and his jaw dropped when he saw his reflection.
“No, this wasn’t supposed to happen… Is that me? And since when did I become so… Jacked?”
Jeremy’s shocked expression morphed into a grin as he inspected his new body. Although he was never a fan of the muscular jock look, his tone quickly changed now that he was the buff one admiring himself in the mirror. He was practically purring with delight as he ran his hands over his arms, savoring the feeling of new, firm muscle on his body. Jeremy's original nerdy personality began fading away with every flex of his new muscles, leaving space for his new cocky gym bro attitude.
Then, wanting to get an even better look at his body, Jeremy stripped down to just his underwear.
“Heheheh… Just LOOK AT MY MUSCLES BRO! I’M A GREEK GOD NOW!”
His voice boomed with newfound confidence as he spent well over half an hour just checking himself out. As he struck the double bicep pose, a sudden head pain brought Jeremy back down to reality.
“Huh? What the hell am I doing?” Jeremy thought to himself. He massaged his forehead as he thought about the answer to his own question. However, the more he thought about it, the more questions about who he was began to pop up.
“Who am I? What’s my name? What do I like? What do I dislike?”
He thought long and hard, but couldn’t find anything. It was like his own brain had been enshrouded in a deep fog. He kept thinking and thinking until for a brief moment, he had a glimpse of what seemed like an old memory. He was… Jeremy Nguyen? And he liked… video games, anime, and fantasy books—
He shook his head. There was no way that description was right. He wasn’t a fucking nerd. Far from it. He took a deep breath and tried remembering his identity again. This time, the correct info came flowing in like water.
His name was Isaac Nguyen and to him, working out wasn’t just a hobby but a lifestyle and a passion. He played football both in high school and in college, then dedicated his time and energy to bodybuilding once he graduated. His body was like a golden medal to him. It was his pride and joy, and he loved nothing more than getting a good pump and flexing in the mirror whenever he had the chance.
With his new identity securely established in his mind and spirit, Isaac stepped out of the locker room to finish his upper body workout for the day. As he made his way to the free weights area, he noticed some scrawny dude with glasses struggling to curl a 10-pound dumbbell. Isaac had to stifle a laugh as he walked past him.
“Heh, can’t even lift the beginner weight, what a fucking loser… Bet he spends all his time playing video games with his other dork friends. God, I can’t stand these kinds of dudes…”
As Isaac finished that thought, he ran into an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Oh shit, Jared! Where ya been, bro!?”
“Long time no see, man! Looking swole as always, big guy!!” Jared responded.
The two men pulled each other in for a bro hug. As they pulled away, Isaac felt himself hating the man he just shook hands with. It was weird. Like he had some sort of deep-rooted resentment against Jared. But that couldn’t possibly be right. Isaac and Jared were best bros since they joined the football team together back in freshman year of high school. They were basically the kings of the school back in the day!
Yes, that’s right… Isaac was a jock, just like Jared. He had always been one. Never a nerd.
Alex Gonzalez lived by one motto in life: work hard, play hard. Those four short words were all the young Latino needed to motivate himself every morning before work. Working in construction was no walk in the park, but it paid good money, and money was Alex’s second favorite thing in life (the first being women, of course).
The clock struck 6PM that Friday evening. As always, Alex was the first one to clock out and leave.
There was going to be a huge party at La Rana Mojada tonight. Alex knew he just needed to be there. He drove back to his apartment in record time and ran inside with great excitement, only to go into a coughing fit due to a strong smell assaulting his nose as soon as he walked in. The cause of the smell stood a few feet away from him in the form of his roommate Rico, who was already dressed to the 9s and ready to head out.
“Aye pa, what the fuck is that smell?” Alex said. Rico grinned before responding.
“It’s this new cologne that just hit the markets. Crown Legend. Shit’s expensive as fuck but I was able to snatch one up before they sold out again. Smells good, huh,”
“Yeah it smells alright but fuck man it’s too strong!!”
“You think so? I haven’t noticed, but hey, the bitches go crazy for Crown Legend! Check it, these two blonde chicks were all over me after they caught a whiff of me!”
Rico whipped his phone out and showed Alex photographic proof. The women surrounding Rico in the photos were gorgeous, with their glossy lips and massive racks. Alex couldn’t lie; he was impressed by his roommate’s game, maybe even a little bit envious too.
“So wassup, you’re coming to La Rana tonight right?” Rico asked.
“Yeah man. I just gotta get ready first. I’ll catch you down there, save me a shot alright.”
The two men dapped each other up and went their separate ways. Alex showered and then went to his room to get dressed for the night.
Alex couldn’t stop thinking about Crown Legend as he got ready. The cologne’s overwhelming scent made him dislike it. But despite its strength, it did smell pretty damn good. Plus, Alex couldn’t deny the success it brought with the ladies. The cologne already helped his roommate pull a couple of bad bitches. If it helped Rico, surely it would help him too.
As that last thought crossed his mind, Alex found himself unconsciously walking over to Rico’s room. He grabbed the blue bottle from the top of his dresser. Even from just the feel of the sleek bottle in his hand, Alex could tell it was very high-quality cologne. No doubt Rico spent a lot of money just to buy it…
Alex decided to give himself a quick spritz on his wrists. He went in for a quick sniff, only to go back for a deeper sniff once the scent filled his nose. The cologne had a luxurious scent that smelled of aged oud coupled with amber resin and a touch of citrus. All he needed was to get over the initial shock of how strong it was to realize how great it smelled. Alex wasn’t sure what got into him; he just couldn’t get enough of it!
Then, against his better judgment, he showered himself in Crown Legend. He sprayed it all over his neck, chest, and arms, only stopping once he was fully doused in the expensive cologne. Once he was satisfied, Alex put back the cologne bottle and returned to his room like nothing happened. He finished getting ready and then left for La Rana.
The party was already in full swing by the time Alex had arrived. Heads were turning the moment he walked in, though that was mostly because of the obscene amount of cologne he was wearing. Alex loved all the attention regardless. He walked over to the bar with a haughty strut, downed two shots of tequila like it was water, and proceeded to flirt with any woman who caught his eye. By the end of the hour, he was out on the dance floor with a beautiful, busty brunette as his dancing partner. Alex almost couldn’t believe how quickly he scored that night. His success cleared the last bit of doubt in his mind. Crown Legend was a game-changer!
As Alex danced and drank the night away, he began to notice something strange happening to him. Even though he was surrounded by some of the hottest women he had ever seen, he found himself eyeing some of the men in the club. He quickly corrected his line of sight back to a woman every time he caught himself checking out some dude. Yet despite his efforts, Alex just couldn’t resist the male eye candy all around him. Alex licked his lips as he watched with hungry eyes various men swaying their hips to the rhythm of the music, their skin glistening with sweat underneath the strobing club lights. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to get close to one of those men and—
“What the fuck’s going on with me…” Alex held a hand to his temples. The music was way too loud all of a sudden. The lights too bright. Desperate to escape the over-stimulating environment, he rushed to the bathroom and ran inside an empty stall. As he tried catching his breath, Alex noticed how hot he was. His clothes were clinging to his body with how sweaty he was. He decided to strip down to just his underwear to cool down, hoping it would help whatever was going on inside his mind and body.
Alex sighed. As he leaned against the bathroom wall, a certain moist sound coming from the neighboring stall perked up his ears. Like most men, Alex almost immediately recognized the fapping sound. He turned and saw some guy’s pants hanging around his hairy ankles. There was also a sizable hole covered up with toilet paper in the divider separating the two stalls. He must’ve missed these details due to how fast he ran in. Coupled with the stifled groan the guy just let out, it became all too clear what was going on.
Normally, Alex would’ve been disgusted by what he was witnessing, but that wasn’t the case this time. Instead, he listened to the sensual sounds of some guy stroking his cock like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. There was something exciting about meeting another man in a public bathroom. Alex could feel how fast his heart beat as he massaged his nipple, letting out a small grunt with every pinch he gave himself. The man groaned a little bit louder in response, encouraging Alex to join in on the fun. And so he did.
He took a step forward. His socks were now visible to whoever was in the other stall. A moment passed without either of them saying or doing anything else. Then, the man took the rolled-up paper out of the hole and leaned in, giving Alex a clear sight of both his lips and the bushy facial hair he had. The sight of another man’s mouth, ready and eager to please, pushed Alex over the edge. Before he knew it, a massive tent had already formed in his underwear. No longer able to hold back, Alex took off the last piece of clothes he had on and slipped his hard member into the hole. The man took him inside his mouth and began sucking away on his sensitive tip.
“Ugh? Oooohhhh…”
Alex threw his arms behind his head as the pleasure from the man working his way down his meat overtook him. He titled his head into his hairy armpit and sniffed it. The mix of his own body musk combined with Crown Legend was delightfully intoxicating, causing him to let out an obscene moan with every whiff.
The man had a warm, wet mouth and he knew how to keep a firm grip with his lips. The man took his time too, making sure to give every inch of Alex’s dick some attention before eventually taking Alex’s entire length down his throat. It drove Alex crazy every time the man’s thick mustache brushed against his own bush. He was moaning like a madman, pressing his hips against the stall divider, desperate to get his cock even deeper into the man’s throat.
“Arggg… Fuckkkk…”
It surprised Alex how much he enjoyed getting serviced by another guy. He was no stranger to getting head. He had received more blowjobs than he could even count! Yet this random, unnamed stranger was quickly on his way to taking the number one spot!
His.
“No… NO! STOP IT!”
Alex jumped away from the glory hole and rushed to get his clothes back on. The man yelped with surprise at how abruptly Alex had ended it.
“What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“NO! I ain’t gay!!”
“Are you sure? It seemed like you were really enjoying it—”
“Man, FUCK you!”
Alex threw his shirt on, then bolted out of there. He forced his way through the crowd of drunk people, only stopping when he finally got back to his car. He got in, drove as fast as he could back to his apartment, and hopped in the shower to wash everything off. Alex stood in the spray of warm water completely dumbfounded. He had been attracted to women and only women his entire life! The way he acted was just so… out of character for him. No matter how much he thought about it, he just couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly so attracted to men.
“Whatever. I’m never doing that gay shit again…” Alex swore to himself as he dried off with a towel. With only his underwear on, Alex stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway— where his roommate Rico was standing shirtless and still semi-drunk.
“Heyyy there… SEXY motherfuckaa…” Rico slurred his words as he spoke. Alex felt his nose twitch. There was a smell lingering in the air. Alex closed his eyes and focused on his sense of smell as he inhaled deeply. He could vividly smell the alcohol on Rico’s breath along with his sweaty body odor after a night of dancing, but there was another scent too. It was one Alex had become all too familiar with.
Crown Legend.
Alex took another deep sniff of the air, letting the cologne reignite his homoerotic desires, then let out a satisfied sigh. Rico smelled good, and Alex needed to get closer to him.
Alex closed the distance between Rico and himself and planted a firm kiss on his roommate’s lips. Rico kissed him right back. Their boorish grunts and deep groans filled the tiny apartment hallway as they made out like they were angry at each other. Alex pulled away to start licking and kissing his way down Rico’s body, beginning with the crane of his neck and only stopping once he was on his knees with Rico’s big, brown cock in his face.
“Nuuughhhh fuck yeah…” they groaned in unison.
Alex was experiencing sensory ecstasy. The sensual sounds of pleasuring another man with his mouth. The strong smell of Rico’s musk combined with the strong cologne. The feeling of another man’s cock filling up his mouth with every thrust. And finally, the salty, warm taste of swallowing his first-ever load as he drained Rico’s balls with his throat. Alex was red in the face and drenched with sweat by the time they finished. Hooking up with another dude was a pleasure unlike any other Alex had experienced, and it left him hungry for more.
“Hey, it’s only midnight,” Rico started. “We can still head out and fuck around some more. You down?”
“Fuck yeah I am, lemme go get dressed and let’s go!!” Alex replied. As he got up, Rico grabbed the bottle of Crown Legend from his room and looked at Alex with a devilish grin.
“Want another hit before we head out?” Rico swirled the bottle, causing the liquid fragrance inside to slosh around. Alex hesitated at first but quickly agreed when he remembered just how good Crown Legend smelled. The cologne had completely reworked his cognition from how much he had been exposed to it.
“Yeah, sure, just another little spritz or two wouldn’t hurt…”
There was no way in hell that Harold was going to do his presentations on the lawn. This conference was supposed to be prestigious, and all that he had seen so far was every so-called “real man” in the Astra Hotel running in terror from a group of deviants.
Harold had been a police officer in Detroit for decades, and even retired he knew he cut an imposing figure. Where the inimitable Pastor Blanco had failed, Harold had succeeded, forcing the staff to clean up the conference hall in the early hours of the morning, after the nightly freak party ended. The day’s discussions and meetings had been held in their rightful place again, and now it was Harold’s turn.
If only he could get the damn projector working properly.
While Harold had been on the force, everything had been microfilm and slides, even into the 2000s. The Astra’s conference hall contained such newfangled gadgets as an “HDMI port,” an “audio jack,” and the horrifically misnamed “Smart Board” that Harold had no hope of interacting with. Harold had been expecting that some of the young professionals attending the conference would be able to help him with setting up.
Alas, all the young cowards seemed to have fled the conference over the last few weeks, and so Harold had spent 15 minutes struggling with the technology before he turned to Blanco, his face purple with rage. “Get… me… the concierge,” Harold gritted out.
Blanco seemed about to protest at being ordered around like one of his lackeys, but then clearly thought better of it. Without a word, he fled the hall.
The door closed with an echoing bang. Without meaning to, Harold jumped as if he had been touched by a small electric shock. The small audience—not more than twenty, and yet more than half the people still at the conference—all jumped too.
Harold turned back to the podium where the mess of wires surrounded his ancient brick of a laptop, only to see that one cable was neatly plugged into a port on his device. Behind him, the large screen flickered to life, displaying his desktop background.
“Ah, that’s fine then,” Harold said gruffly. “Let’s begin, we’re behind enough as it is.” He launched PowerPoint exactly as the man at the tech support desk had shown him once and began the slideshow.
The screen went black, then flashed bright before the first slide came up. Harold could have sworn it had shown a picture of a smooth-skinned man in a rubber bodysuit, lying at the foot of someone in high heels. But there was no such image on his device, so he must have imagined it.
“The police and their policies are an important part of America and make ordinary life possible,” Harold began, following the notes he had written in his notebook. He went through the first few slides, on the glorious history of the American police force and how essential they were to the protection of real Americans, like him and the other attendees.
As he did, Harold felt himself beginning to get warm in his suit. He wasn’t the type for nervous sweating, but he found himself tugging at his collar, feeling beads of sweat run down his grey, buzzed temples. After the third slide, he took a moment to take a drink of water, and saw several of the conference attendees doing the same, or fanning themselves with paper and notebooks. Maybe it had been a mistake to close the doors.
“Please pay close attention,” Harold said, clicking to the next slide.
The slide was meant to show an image of Harold during his glory days on the force. Instead, for an instant, Harold was sure the picture was of some deviant in a rubber bodysuit, long socks, aviators, and a leather cap. Like a horrible fetishistic parody of his younger self.
He blinked, horrified, and the picture he was was as it was supposed to be, a younger Harold in his perfect police uniform. Somehow, he had imagined such a horrific image. Harold coughed awkwardly. “In my time on the force, my district…” he continued, rattled.
The statistics and policy changes relevant to Harold’s presentation seemed to swim before his eyes. He was sweating like a pig in this suit. It felt like there was something under the cotton and silk, something pliant and sticky against his skin. The audience seemed to be moving uncomfortably. Some were tugging on their dress shirts, trying to force air into the humid interiors.
Harold continued reading his notes. “Police put great attention on stepping on—I mean, stamping out—less desirable elements in the city,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Employee satisfaction reached an all time high when police were given free rein to fu—no, that’s pluck—potential criminals from their hiding places preemptively.” Why had he written that word?
But the idea was somehow enticing. That would have changed things in Detroit, Harold thought, as he kept on reading and clicking through slides. Walking into a raid lubed up and hard in a rubber—rubber? Yes, rubber—jockstrap, fucking sense into those deviant criminals’ asses… He tried to resist getting hard in his dress pants.
When he clicked to the next slide, it showed an example of exactly the kind of criminal Harold was thinking of. Tight rubber pants, his chest bare, giving fuck-me eyes to the camera.
“The criminal element—” Harold’s voice was hoarse for some reason. He coughed and continued talking about the inherent criminality of non-white men in America.
The men in the audience were leaning forward in their seats as Harold went through the next few slides. He knew that look. The attractiveness of the hedonistic lifestyle of a deviant criminal was getting to them. It was getting to him, too. He could barely remember where his discussion was leading.
No one in the hall heard the main doors stick as someone attempted to open them from the outside, but found them held fast by some force other than the lock.
The atmosphere had become close and humid. Harold could see some of the men palming their bulging groins through their pants. He wanted a taste of that. Pictures of men in rubber continued to flash on the screen, even though Harold wasn’t clicking on it to continue. Harold couldn’t tell if they were criminals or civilians anymore. Maybe they were just ordinary people. The images came faster and faster until the screen was a blur of rubber men.
Suddenly, the onslaught stopped. A video started to play. Two men, of very different skin tones, furiously kissing. Harold heard moaning from the audience as they started to imitate what they were seeing on screen.
Harold felt overwhelmingly warm, and started to unbutton his shirt. Had his hands always been so tan? As he worked, he tried to continue speaking. “In-in short, the police force… Oh god, the police force should totally fuck more, can you imagine? In uniform?” The pitch of his voice rose as his grey hair darkened to black. Graceful hands stripped away his shirt to reveal a translucent rubber tank top underneath. “Can you imagine if they put on some rubber booty shorts instead of those boring pants?” he continued.
The audience started to strip each other, following Harold’s example. The squeak of rubber on rubber sang out in harmony with smooth moans and gasps. Skin darkened and youthened everywhere as everyone let go of everything that had been holding them back for decades all at once.
Harold clicked to the next slide, knowing what was coming now. A man in boots and a rubber shirt, sniffing a black sneaker. “You gotta show your partner you appreciate all that sweat he’s been building up under his rubber!” Harold told the audience, hearing the licks and snuffles begin as men enthusiastically dove into each others’ armpits, groins, and abandoned shoes.
Hadn’t Harold had a water bottle? No, just the spare sneaker his husband had sent with him to the Astra Hotel this year. Giving the audience a moment to put his command into action, Harold gave the shoe a sniff, feeling as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders as his body tightened up into a tan, muscular physique.
He wanted to stretch out his long tongue into the shoe’s interior, but Harold knew that would spoil the musk, plus he needed to keep focussed on his presentation. Instead, he imagined giving his husband’s feet a nice tongue bath once he got home, giving his cock a squeeze through his sweat-soaked pants. Still sniffing, he wriggled out of the pants, revealing his black rubber shorts, rivulets of sweat still running down his sturdy legs.
Harold clicked to the next slide, the final moment of his presentation. A guy in a full bodysuit, his rubber toes extended to the camera. “Remember, it’s all about playing with power,” Harold called out, feeling his mouth slip around the English consonants. His mixed heritage, raised in a house where he spoke Lebanese, left him with a faint accent that came out specifically when he was horny. “You do what another man says because you trust him, and it feels so fucking good, right?”
There was a roar of assent from the crowd, drunk on their own lust. “Good boys,” Harold said firmly, and drank in the responding chorus of submissive groans. Leaving the slide up, Harold stepped down from the presenter’s dais back into the seating. He pulled his long rubber gloves back on as he went. Best to be prepared in case someone wanted to feel his arm up inside them.
One couple, a Chinese man and his little Black boy, had actually started fucking, the Black guy’s rubber pantseat unzipped so his tight ass could take his dom’s cock. An older Arabic man had his hands tied behind his back as he sat on the floor in a circle of men, all taking turns using his mouth. As he walked past, Harold tugged on the long ponytail of a Brazilian in a rubber shirt, enjoying the man’s groan as he kept bouncing on what must be a plug on the inside of his pants. They were all gonna have a good time until the non-rubber guys joined them for the night’s party.
The conference hall door burst open, and Harold turned to see some old white man standing there, surrounded by terrified hotel staff. Harold raised himself to his full height and crossed his gloved arms, showing off the bulge in his rubber shorts and the muscles in his translucent shirt. This was his place, and he was gonna protect it.
The hotel staff fled, and the old prude wasn’t far behind. Harold rolled his eyes and turned back to his fun.
Click here to see all of Virgo Season.
If you feel inspired, write a story set at the Astra Hotel and post it @ me to join in. Help me celebrate my birthday by turning more conference attendees into geared up gay kinksters.
When Oliver Queen declared he would protect his city, he meant it. He just didn’t realise that it would take over his life in more ways than one. There was Green Arrow, the vigilante, the side of him that he could compartmentalise. As long as he donned his costume and went out in the dead of night, then it was like that side of himself was something tucked away. Hidden. He could imagine both sides and keep it from interfering in his daily life, if not that, then who he was as a person. He had failed at both of those numerous times, but yet it still helped. It helped that he could separate the two.
But the Green Arrow wasn’t enough. Ever since a new organisation, Blackwatch, had reared its head, he had to take matters into his own hand. So that was how Oliver Queen found himself waiting patiently in his office—the Mayor’s Office. He had traded the boardroom for the city council, hoping that with this new organisation he could take on a two pronged front.
At night, he was Green Arrow, stopping shipments, dropping drug dealers and making sure anyone and everyone who failed Star City wouldn’t get another chance to do it again. He had been pushing himself, making more arrests and captures and intelligence than ever before. All the while in the position where he wasn’t ‘recovering from the island’ or running a company that ‘practically ran itself’. He had been stressed about keeping his daily life separate and yet now more than ever when he had the most important and busy position in his life, he found the lines blurring until there were moments where he could no longer tell where Oliver Queen ended and Green Arrow began.
If the mission was to save the city (a nice slogan by Felicity he had to admit), then what was the difference whether he was doing it as mayor or vigilante? There was no difference besides the method and that was exactly what tonight’s upcoming meeting was about. He had given up patrol for the night, both too tired and too tense to focus on anything else but what was tonight.
Oliver didn’t even let himself show it by pacing in his office, thinking of a plan of what to do. This new organisation was like a hydra, they had a limb spread everywhere and he wasn’t even sure if he could trust the city council.
Oliver checked the time. Almost midnight. His office wasn’t bugged, he knew that for certain. They would need total privacy. The office was built for it. It was an old place in an even older building, its walls were thick enough that sound did not travel and the wiring had been replaced twice over during his first months as Mayor because he knew it needed to be secure. There were countermeasures hidden beneath the desk and inside the walls.
Devices that scrambled frequencies and rendered microphones useless. If there were going to be any surprises tonight, then he already cut the head off that snake. And yet there was something in his head that told him he couldn’t be so sure. He told himself that there was still some way they could see inside his office, could detect his behaviour, could see any hint of nervousness. Blackwatch was quietly winning the war, consuming gangs, taking over the city like a rot. Oliver had to play chess and make sure they didn’t see any weakness.
When the door opened two minutes after midnight, Oliver Queen was staring outside the window at the skyline of Star City. The city was like a jungle, wild and untameable in essence but also in how it looked. Maybe it was his time on the island but he just saw everything as some extension of nature and in the dead of night, Oliver Queen could only see the buildings as tall trees, made of steel and illuminated by a thousand different campfires burning away in the windows. It also meant that as he turned to look at Cole Cassidy stepping into his office, he didn’t see a man. He saw a wild thing, not quite a beast but not human either, but still the same thing—predatory.
Cole Cassidy sauntered in like a cowboy stepping into a saloon, with Oliver supposedly playing one of the stunned men in his mind. He was dressed like he came for war, adorned in black from throat to boot. A tactical vest sat across his chest over a dark shirt rolled to the elbows, whilst the man wore a duster above, slightly lighter yet rain dark at the shoulders. Oliver could instantly see the plates that shifted beneath the vest, armour most likely, more than enough to stop a bullet. The man was unfortunately handsome, Oliver wasn’t going to hide facts. His square jaw was made sharper from the sharp facial hair that adorned it, merging with the thick moustache across his lip. His brown narrow eyes instantly fell on Oliver, raising one of his thick brown brows so high that it nearly touched the black cowboy hat atop his shaggy head. His nostrils flared, like the smell of detergent and cologne was offensive to him and without saying another word, he reached into his holster and pulled out a cigar.
Better than a gun I suppose, Oliver thought to himself.
“I’d rather you not smoke here,” said Oliver with a warning tone that translated his words to you better not smoke here. Cassidy tilted his head up, cigar in mouth, lighter in hand inches away as if calculating how angry Oliver would be if he lit up anyway. He took the cigar out of his mouth and returned both it and the lighter to his holster. Oliver nodded, satisfied, and then gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Cole grabbed the chair with his mechanical arm and pulled it closer to the desk before he sat down.
“So…here we are.”
“Here. We. Are.” Oliver punctuated every word, trying his best to hide how excited he was for the meeting. If it were true and he could strike up a deal with Cole, then he would be in with one of Blackwatch’s commanders and stop them before it was too late. He knew what Cole would want, to sell out the commander of Blackwatch so that Oliver could take him down and then Cole would swoop in and take leadership himself. All these criminals were always so shortsighted. The one advantage this supposed ‘Reaper’ had that Cole didn’t was the fact that Oliver didn’t know who he was. He had searched everywhere, used every resource, called on every ally and still, nothing. It was almost like Reaper wasn’t real. A man who could supposedly turn to smoke was just as elusive as his abilities. Tonight that would all change, Oliver thought that and he was sure Cassidy did too. “I heard you’re the man who is ‘always right’, so let me ask simply. Do you really have information on Blackwatch’s leader?”
“I do. And you’re right…I am the man who's always right.” Cole declared as he leaned back, opening his legs as Oliver could see the man’s bulge. The dark jeans that wrapped around Cassidy’s thighs pressed inward, outlining the man’s cock. Oliver pretended not to notice. Cole smiled. “The leader is…how do I put it…” He tapped his finger animatedly on his chin, each tap stirring an impatience within Oliver. Why could the man not just hurry up and say what he meant? Does he think this is some kind of game? Oliver cleared his throat after a moment. “Oh. Sorry.” The cowboy smiled at Oliver, as if only just realising he was there. “Lost mah train’o’thought.” The words came so quick it was either a rehearsed lie or embarrassment. Oliver didn’t think the cowboy let himself be embarrassed by anything. “Funny how that kinda thing can happen.”
At that, Cole stared at Oliver, enough to make the mayor realise the man hadn’t really been looking at him. The brown pools had been focused off to the side, raking up and down the mayor’s form, sometimes looking at his face but not directly at him. Not with his own eyes locked onto Oliver’s. When he did, a pale pink glow emanated from nowhere. The brown edges of the eyes suddenly darkened pitch black in contrast. As if the iris itself was injected with new colour, pink bloomed from within. Oliver did a double take. At first confused why the man’s eyes were glowing, then confused why he couldn’t look away when he tried to. His eyes felt magnetized, shaking, tearing his eyes away was the equivalent of rebelling against gravity.
“What…can…” Oliver blinked. Why had he suddenly sounded so quiet? He was the mayor, he told himself. He should have been focused, ready, this was important information. And yet all he could do was stare helplessly as the eyes drew him in. Much like how the outer edges of Cole’s brown looked pitch black in comparison, the rest of the world felt the same. The windows to the city darkened as if night could get blacker. The door to his office melted from mahogany to murkiness. Anything and everything that was not the cowboy’s face, his eyes, simply blurred, like he could only see the entire world as if it was out of the corner of his eyes. Oliver’s mind smudged like his vision. Thoughts were there, taking up space, but he couldn’t differentiate what they were or what he even wanted to say. All he could do was stare and comprehend that he was staring too long.
“Our leader’s a lot like you actually. Reaper. Grumpy and cocky sonofabitch,” Cole smirked wider and carried on as if nothing was wrong. Oliver blinked heavily, the only relief from staring at the eyes.
“Like…me?” The mayor shifted or at least tried to. But his body didn’t even risk movement. Completely focused on just staring. The words took a moment for him to understand. Like me? Does he know about The Arrow? He couldn’t…Could he? Even if he did, Oliver knew that The Arrow and the leader of some criminal empire were far from the same. “That…That’s impossible.”
“You sure?” Cole questioned quickly, surprising Oliver. Compared to him, it felt as if the Blackwatch agent was thinking twice as fast. “You sure you ain’t that kind of person?” Oliver blinked. He wasn’t sure why but he felt the same as if he had been asked something he didn’t know the answer to. All certainty slipped like the rest of the world into a blur, vague shapes and colours and ideas of what it could have been with none of the definitive definition. The uncertainty suddenly gave way to memories, short and clipped and few and far in between. Moments where he had to make the hard call. Times when he brutalised some thug as The Arrow. Days where the press pushed his buttons and had him snap at an intern. It was hard to think of the times when he showed criminals mercy or would apologise moments later to his staff. It was so hard to think at all. Oliver had no clue that his eyes began to slowly grow pink.
I…I…I don’t act like that. I do my best for the city, I help people.
“Well I…I do act like that, but only because my staff can be so incompetent when I try to do what I think is best,” Oliver’s words felt foreign to him, as if speaking another language. They sounded so close and so far away from what he actually wanted to say. But as if the conversation was a chess game, he felt like speaking was making a move. And he couldn’t take it back. He tried to speak, to correct, to explain, but he suddenly felt the urge to wait for his turn.
“Ah see that’s what I’m talkin’ about-”
No! No. That’s not…
“I’m…No I’m sorry I…” Oliver shut his eyes. Cole raised a brow as if that wasn’t what he anticipated. The moment the mayor did, his mind felt like it was at a standstill, on the edge of some unknown precipice, barely saved from falling. Oliver tried to focus, to think and could feel the words coming back. “Sorry I…”
“You okay?” The smile in Cole’s voice wasn’t hidden at all. “Here, why don’t you put yer feet up.”
At once Oliver did so, moving to lean back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. He did it without thought, an urge that he completely gave into. The moment the feet were crossed and on his desk, he blinked hard again. What was he doing? He thought to himself. He never sat like this before. Why would he? He wasn’t some cocky mayor that would be the type to have their feet up on their desk as they go ahead with their work? Especially not with a meeting as serious as this. Yet he couldn’t help himself. Somehow it felt right to do so as his mind warred with itself if that was even true.
“I-”
“Here partner, lemme help you get comfortable,” Cole came closer, one hand wrapped around one of his shoes. Before he knew it both shoes were suddenly off, revealing his bare pale feet. Oliver wanted to say something, how obviously wrong and inappropriate this was. But he thought about the pink glow and everything turned into a dream, where he could think about how wrong things were and yet they happened anyway. What’s he…What…doing? My feet…
The man suddenly wrapped a gloved hand over a foot. At once, some of the darkness spread from the gloves as a tan spread over the paleness. The toes slowly thickened. All the while the arches of the feet stretched longer, lengthening as they writhed beneath the leather coated fingers. As the tendons clicked into their new place, the cartilage and muscles of the feet expanded, stretching out so much that it was almost comical they even managed to fit inside the shoes they slipped out of, moments ago. There was a cartoonish growth that made Oliver unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The same way he knew Hulk movies weren’t really an actor growing gargantuan green feet to burst out of footwear, he couldn’t conceive what was happening to his own feet. The toes twitched and he could feel it, the way the big toe brushed against the skin of the others. They were his feet and yet he still couldn’t understand.
All the while the arches spread out, growing both wider and longer as if trying to outrun the tanned complexion that bloomed across them. It looked like coffee poured into water, spreading to all the skin over his feet. As they did, both feet grew warmer, a sweat forming a sheen as they itched with hairs that bloomed through the skin. Each hair felt like a pinprick where instead of pain, there was just pleasure. The more that they were underneath Cole’s touch, the more that the feet began to be kneaded, not just massaged but suddenly stretched. Oliver could only stare the same way he did when the man’s eyes glowed pink.
My feet…What…Why are my feet…
Something was wrong. Very wrong. Yet he couldn’t deny that the feet were also feeling good. More than that, they felt orgasmic. As his feet were being rubbed, a scent wafted from the toes, so thick that Oliver swore he could almost see it curdling. Then it hit him, the tangy thick scent of musk and suddenly his cock wasn’t just something vaguely stirring. It shot up. Hard. Outlined in his own suit pants as much as Cole’s was. He was entirely unaware that it was slowly growing thicker, pooling mass, like there was so much pleasure to be concentrated through his thick cock that it just simply needed the added space to keep growing.
“Wooowee,” Cole whistled. “And look at these big manly things huh? You got a nice big pair of manly feet.” As he spoke, Oliver blinked.
Big? Manly? He looked down at his feet to argue that he would never exactly call the pale and lean things large or manly. They were supposed to be size ten, lithe, with the skin having been drawn back so that the toes looked almost sharp and cutting. But instead he saw large thick feet, wide and hairy, reflecting his office light with a sheen of sweat and he blinked. Much like it was a dream, his mind accepted the way things were. Even though there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him otherwise.
“Yeah I got big manly feet,” repeated Oliver, unaware his voice came out in a monotone. He blinked. Stop…I think something’s wrong. “Keep on rubbing em.” Oliver didn’t recognise the words or voice that came out of him when he gave the command. Cole wasn’t exactly someone he respected but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go around not treating him with some level of respect. Yet there was a sudden excitement in being able to tell the man he wanted to get his feet rubbed and watching him do it. The seduction of suddenly being commanding.
“Cocky huh? Well as you wish Commander…”
Commander?!
Before he could do anything, Oliver moaned and thrust his feet forward even more into Cole’s grip. He suddenly could feel that pleasure racing through his feet and wanting to go down his calves. Then he could imagine it going down to his cock. One more whiff of the musk and the tan began to spread as Cole took charge even as he did what his ‘commander’ told him. He began rubbing Oliver’s feet. The tan squeezed out of the feet and spread down towards the calves with each deep knead.
At the same time Oliver’s cock was suddenly growing, throbbing and thickening without even touch. He didn't even realise that he had slipped down his boxers as if wanting to get more of a feel for it. Whilst the cock was growing larger, it started to darken itself.
A vein in the shaft became more pronounced especially as the dick widened in its girth. Foreskin grew back over the once circumcised head, just to be peeled back as the cock head itself was wet. Oliver started to imagine the musk as some kind of smog, travelling up his body. He was never the kind of guy who liked that scent, something he had to suffer on the island and another thing he wanted to get rid of after the gym (along with sweat). Yet now he couldn’t get enough of it as he kept taking deep huffs of the musk. All the while his body reacted in kind.
If you want musk? I’ll give you musk.
Oliver wasn’t quite sure if that was some deep gravelly voice in the back of his mind or some interpretation of what his body was doing. Perhaps both. But suddenly his chest grew even more hairy beneath his shirt and tie. A meaty and growing hand reached up to loosen the tie whilst the pits themselves grew dark and hairy, bushy with the amount that threaded on top of one another.
As they bloomed, heat collected within the pits and caused more sweat to drool down, just adding to the musk in a continuous cycle. The more of the musk he took in and sniffed, the more that Oliver was starting to feel that resistance in the back of his mind crumble. The island that he survived on started to turn into an island that he did missions on. His time with the bow was shifting as his hands did the same, the fingers not remembering the correct positions to pull back the drawstring and fire. But instead their aim was something more calculated, on the mechanical shotguns that fit in either hand.
More of the smog travelled up his body as it thickened and grew. His already muscular chest started to barrel out as Oliver writhed.
What the…What…happening…
“Shhh don’t worry Commander. I’m here to help,” Cole purred and the voice was like honey poured into his ears, thick and delectable. Oliver’s eyes fluttered as he forgot more and more, just huffing in that musk whilst one gloved hand wrapped around his cock. The moment the cool leather touched the warm brown skin, it was all over. His penis throbbed in the hand, already being pumped. If kneading the feet alone was enough to spread the tan, like it was something to be injected into the rest of his skin, then being pumped only did so faster. Oliver’s complexion turned tawny. “My, my Commander, look how hard you are.” The words slithered into his mind and the more that Cole called him Commander, the more he believed it.
Oliver’s chest continued to barrel out, not simply more muscular but belonging to a taller and more hefty body. As if his lean and tightly coiled self wasn’t so much built for survival and agility but for brute strength. His pecs widened slightly, being dragged across the chest whilst his ribcage pushed from within, expanding with every breath and every stroke and every moan.
The abs followed suit, losing some of their definition in favour of being more spacious, as even Oliver’s appetite changed, becoming something that was like his new self, more hungry. Cole continued to stroke, the next few pumps feeling like they were pumping up his ass which inflated. The bulbous cheeks finally tore off his boxers. Hairs grew on both of the cheeks as Oliver let out another groan, deeper and more guttural, as if belonging to a different voice entirely.
“Yes, keep doing that…keep serving your Commander,” Oliver grimaced as there was still a resistance, an unfamiliarity with what he was doing. Even still the results were undeniable as more pleasure pulsed through his arms. He hadn’t noticed that with Cole’s touch his suit was already morphing. Instead of being torn apart by his developing muscles and stretching body, the suit was merging together. The jacket and shirt formed the thick outer layer of a camo green hoodie, whilst his pants were left to be torn apart by thicker thighs. The more that they ripped, the more Oliver could feel the same happening to his resistance, his old life as The…The…
I…I can’t remember…
What was he even trying to say? His vigilante name or his job?
All that came to mind was Reaper and Commander. Neither of those could be right. Could they?
Yet they were the only answers he could find and they felt more right, the more that his thickening thighs tore through the threads of his suit pants and his ass finally ballooned out to rip down the middle.
“M-My pants-” Oliver surfaced again, getting out of the sea of new thoughts about Blackwatch and unfamiliar faces, people behind the codenames Sombra and Doomfist and reports he read. He quickly looked down, panting just in time to see his visage in the polished reflection of his desk. The pursed lips and smooth nose were shifting. The lips were growing wider, the nose sharper, the tanned cheekbones higher. The very shape of his face was morphing with each stroke. “W-What the?! What is happening to me?!” Cole merely chuckled instead of indulging in panic.
“Calm down Commander, just let your subordinate here do his job,” Cole said slowly and something in his voice made Oliver throb. A thick glob of pre-cum spilled out the tip of his cock and suddenly wrinkles appeared over Oliver’s brow as his birthday year was suddenly older. In fact he remembered his birthday on a different date.
“N-No s-stop you’re…you can’t…I…”
“Relax Commander…You’re Commander Gabriel Reyes…” Stroke. Leak. Another forgotten memory.
“N-no I’m…I’m not! I…I…” Oliver panted, trying to argue but his mind was coming up blank.
“Relax. After all Commander…You know I’m always right.” Something about those words made Oliver moan and throb and leak some more. He knew the man was always right. He was his subordinate. Of course he would hire a good subordinate that was always right. It was just like him. There was no way that he was going to waste time getting someone so incompetent, he thought. And the more that he thought, the more he realised how little there was to think about as his cock continued to be stroked.
“I…I’m…I’m…” His cock was so close, so ready to let go, if only he wasn’t holding back. But there was absolutely no chance that he could stop himself. All he had to do was let go. All he had to do was let the new memories surface. And like a strained rope that finally snapped, he let go. “I’m Gabriellllllll-”
The last of Oliver’s face shifted, a goatee quickly sprouting around his lips as a beard formed over his jawline. His hair darkened completely.
Seed spilled out of Gabriel’s thick musky cock, pearlescent ropes that shot out one after another as euphoria exploded within him like fireworks. His entire body was alight with desire and the orgasmic bliss that came from the expert hands of his subordinates as Oliver Queen let out one last yelp and then quickly faded into the cum that shot out of his cock, completely gone.
As cum continued to shoot out of the throbbing rod again and again and again, all that was left in Gabriel’s mind was space and with each wave of pleasure, he could fill that space with new memories.
He could remember the experiment, Soldier 76, Blackwatch. All of it surfaced together like the smog that he was made of and filled his mind, stretching to all corners of his brain and filling them with nothing more than Gabriel Reyes. Finally, after what felt like the fifth or sixth time he had shot his load all over his desk, Gabriel smirked down at himself and looked at his own gloved hands. He hadn’t even realised he had any other clothes on besides the green hoodie.
All Gabriel could do was laugh as he tensed the fingers and realised he was now in control of the body.
“Good job Cole,” Gabriel purred as he felt his arms, checking that he was all there. His smile widened in confirmation. “Looks like our next mission will be easy. Now…what do you want as a reward? More money?”
“No sir, you know what I want,” said Cole as he admired the sweaty and hairy muscle. “I want you sir.” Gabriel nodded.
“Lean against the desk and you better get ready. Let’s see if your hole is made for this cock,” replied Gabriel as he didn’t even wait for Cole to finish. He pushed the man against the desk and helped the cowboy pull down his pants and boxers, already satisfied to see his hole clenching. “Looks like you’re practically begging for me. Hold still.”
“S-Sir-” Cole spoke with an uneasiness of how fast it was going. And then he forgot about that and everything else when he felt how Gabriel’s thick meaty cock easily slid right into his cheeks, plunged there like a key to a lock. “Sirrrrrrr~”
“Fucking look at that. Fits perfect doesn’t it? Yeah and your tight hole feels fucking good,” Gabriel began to thrust. Hard. “Moan for me Cole.” That was a command Cole didn’t need as he was already a groaning and grunting mess with each thrust as Gabriel’s member already met prostate.
“S-Sir, oh fuck you’re so…so…”
“So what Cole?” Gabriel already knew the answer. “Say it.”
“So…dominant…Oh fuck…” Cole’s legs were already shaking as it was his turn to get wet, eyes threatening to roll into the back of the cowboy’s head. His hat threatened to fall off his head from how fast and hard Gabriel was thrusting into him, each throb expanding the walls of the cowboy’s anus.
“Damn right I am. I’m your Commander after all, now take it.” And Cole obeyed because he was no longer meeting with the Mayor. He was enjoying a private rendezvous with his Commander, the one and only Gabriel Reyes and there was nothing either of the men enjoyed more.
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The silence of the dojo was meant to be deafening, yet Hanzo's mind churned with a restless energy.
He sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, his broad, bare chest gleaming with a thin layer of sweat that reflected the dim candlelight. He breathed in the calming scent of sandalwood, but it did absolutely nothing to quell the inexplicable heat pooling in his lower abdomen. It infuriated him. His lifelong discipline, his strict routines... all thrown into disarray by that infuriating cowboy.
What angered the archer even more wasn't just the blatant flirting or the ambiguous encounters; it was the shameful, undeniable thrill that coursed through his veins whenever Cassidy pushed his boundaries. The mere thought of the gunslinger's teasing made his heart beat a fraction faster, a twisted excitement mingling with his frustration.
"Focus..." Hanzo muttered to himself, his deep voice vibrating in his thick chest. He forced his eyes shut, desperately trying to center his spirit.
The heavy thud of leather boots ruined his mantra. Cassidy strolled in, completely disregarding the sanctity of the dojo. Hanzo didn't even open his eyes.
"Do you truly have nothing better to do with your time?" Hanzo remarked coldly, his voice laced with practiced indifference as he refused to look up.
Cassidy chuckled, the playful, teasing lilt in his gravelly voice causing a slight frown to crease Hanzo's otherwise placid features. "Honor, redemption, duty... yada yada," the cowboy drawled, the sound of a striking match echoing slightly. "Gotta admit, darlin', hearin' the same old tune day in and day out gets real borin'. Ain't you tired of always playin' by the rules?"
While Hanzo kept his eyes firmly shut, determined to meditate through the cowboy's annoying monologue, a dark, predatory glint flickered in Cassidy's eyes. The lazy cowboy persona melted away into something far more calculating. From behind his back, he produced a smooth, bone-white mask, its hollow eye sockets staring blankly. Silently, his hands moved. Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered the heavy, cold object over Hanzo's face.
Hanzo opened his eyes to complete darkness, feeling the oppressive weight of the metal and bone clamped over his features. "Cassidy, this joke has gone far enou—"
He reached up to rip the prank off his face, but Cassidy's hands clamped down on his wrists. Hanzo tried to forcefully shove him away, expecting to easily overpower the cowboy, but he inexplicably found himself unable to muster his usual strength under Cassidy's grip. His thick biceps trembled, feeling strangely lethargic.
Panic flared. In a desperate bid to calm his racing heart and regain his focus, Hanzo took an involuntary, deep breath, drawing in the air trapped inside the mask.
It hit him like a physical blow. It didn't smell like cold metal. It was a concentrated, intoxicating stench of raw male musk and stale, heavy sweat. The dense pheromones clouded his mind instantly, making his head spin and his rigid posture slacken. The smell was so overpowering, so dominant, it bypassed his logic and went straight to his instincts.
"Wh-what is this...?" Hanzo mumbled, his voice heavily muffled and slurred beneath the thick mask.
Thick, viscous black mist began to seep from the edges of the mask, pooling around Hanzo's neck and creeping up his cheeks. Cassidy leaned in close, his broad chest pressing against Hanzo's bare, sweat-slicked back. His lips brushed against the shell of Hanzo's ear, his voice dropping to a seductive frequency that vibrated right through the archer's melting defenses.
"You're always wound up so damn tight," Cassidy whispered, his tone dripping with dark amusement. "Just relax. Drop those bullshit shackles for once. Let's do somethin' a little more... fun, sweetheart."
The seductive murmur vibrating against his ear sent a violent shudder down Hanzo's spine. Every rational instinct screamed that this was wrong. The oppressive, corrupted aura radiating from the mask, the unnatural lethargy invading his limbs, and Cassidy's highly irregular behavior all confirmed the creeping sense of profound wrongness. Yet, deep within his clouded mind, a twisted, inexplicable sense of safety and relief washed over him at the cowboy's proximity.
He had to fight it.
"Cassidy... what are you doing?" Hanzo forced out, his voice muffled and breathless beneath the bone-white faceplate. He strained his arms, desperately trying to pry the gunslinger's calloused hands off his wrists to tear the mask away.
But Cassidy's grip was like iron, locking Hanzo's wrists firmly against his sides. The cowboy simply shifted his weight, pinning the archer closer. "All that talk about redemption, all that strict discipline..." Cassidy drawled, utterly dismissing Hanzo's frantic struggles. "It's just an excuse to hide how badly you want to let go."
Cassidy leaned in closer, eliminating the last fraction of space between them. Hanzo gasped as he felt the cowboy's hot breath on his cheek, followed by the wet, deliberate drag of a tongue tracing the sensitive shell of his ear.
The sensory overload was paralyzing. Despite his desperate mental denials and the sheer indignity of the situation, Hanzo's body betrayed him completely. Blood rushed south with a vengeance, a heavy, aching erection straining against the fabric of his training pants. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the mask, grinding his teeth as he fought the overwhelming tide of pleasure.
"I am... a proud samurai... of the Shimada..." Hanzo panted, his words fracturing into a stifled moan as Cassidy nipped at his earlobe. "You understand nothing... of my honor..."
But his protests were losing their conviction. The black mist inside the mask was thickening into a suffocating smog, aggressively drilling into his ears, nose, and parted lips without his conscious realization. The dark vapor morphed into a physical, viscous black goo that oozed from the edges of the mask.
It dripped down his neck—unnaturally cold, yet burning like liquid fire against his skin. Hanzo's thoughts turned to molasses. The desperate urge to fight was drowning in a sea of infinitely amplified pleasure. "S-stop..." he breathed out, the command sounding pitifully weak. His arms trembled before giving out entirely, dropping limply to his sides in total surrender.
The black goo crawled over his broad, sweat-slicked chest and sculpted abdominals. Wherever the liquid touched, it hardened, weaving itself into thick, dark leather. It wrapped around his torso, binding his muscles in a tight, restrictive embrace as it formed a heavy, midnight-black trench coat adorned with sinister armored plating.
Seeing the archer's resistance crumble, a dark, predatory excitement lit up Cassidy's eyes. He didn't hesitate to take advantage. One gloved hand roamed over Hanzo's newly leather-clad chest, aggressively teasing a hardened nipple through the newly formed material. His other hand dropped south, brazenly palming the archer's straining bulge, feeling the slick dampness already seeping heavily through the fabric of his pants.
"Look at you," Cassidy whispered, his voice dripping with filthy amusement. "The stoic Japanese samurai, turned into such a desperate mess... whining and leaking like a little slut."
The sheer vulgarity, paired with the intense physical stimulation, ripped a loud, helpless moan from Hanzo's throat. His final, pathetic "stop" died on his tongue.
"Too quiet, darlin'," Cassidy mocked softly, watching the black mist burrow deeper into Hanzo's skull, fertilizing the dark seeds planted within. "What are you trying to say?"
Deep within the crumbling ruins of Hanzo's psyche, an inexplicable emotion began to take root. The absolute helplessness, the overwhelming lust, and his initial, burning anger coalesced into something entirely foreign. A sudden, chaotic inferno of rage ignited in his chest. He was being controlled? Manhandled and mocked by this insolent subordinate?
It was unacceptable. But the pride didn't feel like Hanzo's anymore. It felt distinctly like someone else's.
As this foreign rage boiled over, his body responded in kind, eagerly molding itself to fit the dominant entity merging with his soul. His sleek, disciplined muscles thickened, packing on a dense, raw masculinity. His chest and arms broadened with imposing bulk, shifting from an archer's lean grace to the sheer, intimidating mass of a seasoned commander. His skin flushing with a heavy, oppressive heat as it darkened into a rich, warm, dusky bronze.
The viscous black goo continued its descent, pooling past his waist to swallow his sweat-soaked training pants. The liquid leather hardened into tight tactical trousers and heavy combat boots, wrapping around the new, robust girth of his thighs and planting his broadened feet firmly against the floorboards. A potent, intoxicating surge of pure, dominant strength coursed through his heavy limbs. It didn't feel monstrous; it felt grounding, powerful.
He violently shoved Cassidy away, the force of the movement nearly knocking the heavy-set cowboy off his feet. The heavy black leather coat flared out behind him as he spun around.
"I said fucking stop!" he snarled.
He froze. The words echoed in the dojo, but the voice wasn't his. It was deeper, raspy, vibrating with a terrifying, dual-toned resonance that promised absolute violence. He stood paralyzed, utterly shocked by the vulgar words that had just spilled from his own lips.
Through the eyeholes of the mask—which now offered a crystal-clear, blood-tinted view of the room—he stared at the cowboy.
Cassidy didn't look scared. Instead, he stood there, chest heaving, looking entirely unsatiated and flushed with dark desire. A deeply submissive, thoroughly satisfied smirk played on his lips. He tilted his head, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute, eager reverence.
"Alright, darlin'..." Cassidy murmured, looking up through his lashes. "...Sir."
"I... what did I just say?"
The harsh echo of his own words jarred Hanzo's muddled brain. He stared blankly ahead, the deep resonance completely foreign to his ears. It felt so incredibly natural slipping off his tongue, yet it terrified him.
He looked down at his own body, his clouded mind struggling to process the sight. Thick, midnight-black leather tightly hugged his unnaturally broadened chest. "Was I... always wearing this?" he mumbled, his voice slurring under the oppressive weight of the mask. "I was just... I was..."
His train of thought derailed. A heavy, suffocating fog rolled over his memories. What was he trying to do just a moment ago? He couldn't remember. The burning urge to take the bone-white skull off his face had completely vanished, replaced by a hazy, lethargic confusion.
Cassidy didn't let the opportunity slip. The cowboy smoothly stepped forward, closing the distance between them as his hands immediately resumed their wicked work. Broad, calloused palms roamed over the newly formed leather coat, tracing the exaggerated contours of the archer's enhanced chest before sliding shamelessly down to stroke his throbbing crotch.
"Shh... don't overthink it, Sir," Cassidy murmured, his hypnotic voice cutting through the thick mental fog. "We were just getting to the good part. You and me, having a little fun... just like you wanted."
"No... I..." Hanzo tried to shake his head, but the intense rush of heat pooling in his groin made his knees weak. The sheer pleasure radiating from Cassidy's expert touch was undeniable. It felt too good, too right. But a fragile, stubborn shard of his old self still clung to life. "Am I... like this? I remember... I am a proud samu—"
"Commander," Cassidy interrupted firmly, cleanly hijacking the sentence. His tone shifted from teasing to absolute, devoted submission. "And it's high time you started enjoying the perks of your rank."
Before his broken mind could process the title, Cassidy dropped to his knees. The cowboy's deft fingers made quick work of the heavy zipper on the newly formed tactical pants. With a swift tug, the strained fabric parted, and his heavy, aching erection sprang free.
Instantly, a potent, overpowering wave of raw male musk and heavy sweat hit his nose.
He expected to feel disgusted, to feel the shame of a disciplined samurai exposed in the dojo. Instead, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him. He inhaled deeply. The scent... it was exactly the same suffocating, dominant stench that filled the inside of his mask.
Wait. His mask?
Suddenly, like a rusted gear finally snapping into place, a loud click echoed in the deepest recesses of his mind. The last frayed threads of his past identity simply dissolved into the intoxicating dark. It wasn't the mask's scent corrupting him.
That was HIS scent. The suffocating musk, the dark leather, the absolute demand for obedience—it all belonged to him. The pathetic, disciplined samurai named Hanzo faded into oblivion, crushed under the overwhelming weight of Gabriel Reyes.
A deep, rumbling groan of pure satisfaction vibrated in his thick chest as Cassidy took him into his mouth. The wet, slick heat was intoxicating.
"Fuck..." Gabriel rasped, Hanzo's precise cadence vanishing entirely, replaced by a deep, gravelly baritone.
His large hand instinctively reached up, pulling open the front of his heavy leather coat to aggressively grip his own thick, bare pectoral, feeling the raw power humming beneath the swollen muscle. His other hand shot down, thick fingers tangling into Cassidy's messy brown hair, forcing the cowboy's head down deeper against his groin with brutal authority.
"Hmm... your technique has improved, cowboy," he sneered, looking down at his subordinate through his mask. "Don't fucking stop."
But the Commander's patience for passive worship was famously short-lived. After a few more agonizingly good minutes of Cassidy's expert mouth, a primal, predatory instinct completely seized Gabriel. He forcefully pulled the cowboy off his aching length by the hair, dragging the heavy-set gunslinger up only to violently shove him down onto the hard wooden floor of the dojo.
His new body felt unstoppable—forged not for the agile precision of an archer, but packed with dense, heavy muscle that strained against the dark leather of his trench coat. He straddled Cassidy, his hips driving down to bury himself deep inside the gunslinger with brutal, unforgiving force.
"Ngh—Commander!" Cassidy gasped, his eyes rolling back as Gabriel fucked into him.
The intense rush of pleasure sent a violent jolt up Gabriel's spine, but as he continued to drive his hips down, a strange, creeping hesitation began to slow his ruthless pace. A lingering shadow clouded his mind, refusing to fully dissipate. The faint scent of sandalwood... the blurry, quiet shape of a dojo... a fractured, ghostly memory of two ethereal dragons floating in the periphery of his vision.
Gabriel stared down at his own thick hands gripping the cowboy's hips. A wave of sickening, sluggish dissonance washed over him, making his movements heavy and confused.
"Wait..." Gabriel mumbled, his deep voice trailing off into a hazy slur, his red-tinted gaze losing its sharp focus. "This... something is wrong. My honor..."
t wasn't a fierce fight for control. Hanzo's shattered psyche was already gone. This was just a weak, leftover reflex. The wiped archer was simply confused, blindly trying to figure out the heavy leather, the intense lust, and the new, massive weight of his own body.
Cassidy instantly sensed the Commander's sluggishness. He knew the ghost of the samurai was still lingering in the room. But instead of panicking, a wicked, controlling smirk spread across the cowboy's face. He wrapped his thick thighs tightly around Gabriel's waist, his boots digging into the back of the heavy leather coat.
"Well I'll be," Cassidy drawled, a teasing, filthy glint in his eyes. He deliberately bucked his hips upward, taking Gabriel even deeper, rubbing perfectly against his sweet spot. "Don't tell me the big, bad Commander is going soft on me already? Quitting halfway through the job?"
Cassidy reached up, his calloused thumbs brazenly rubbing over the Commander's leather-bound pectorals. "Come on, sweetheart... you gonna let a little daydream stop you from wrecking me? Or do I need to find a real man to finish the job?"
That perfectly timed physical friction, paired with the degrading, provocative taunt, instantly snuffed out the lingering ghost. The overwhelming surge of male hormones and dark, aggressive dominance roared back to life, burning away the last of the sandalwood-scented fog.
"I'll show you who's going soft, you insolent brat," Gabriel growled aggressively, his voice entirely devoid of hesitation. He violently pinned Cassidy's wrists above his head, his hips resuming their punishing, rapid rhythm.
The dojo echoed with the wet slaps of flesh, deep grunts, and the intoxicating stench of raw musk and sweat.
"F-fuck... Commander!" Cassidy cried out, his body arching off the floor as the pleasure pushed him to the edge. "Yes... fill me up... give it to me!"
"Take it all, you desperate slut!" Gabriel roared fiercely, his grip bruising Cassidy's hips as he buried himself to the hilt, emptying a massive, burning load deep inside the cowboy.
Heavy pants filled the quiet room. Cassidy lay spread-eagled on the floor, a thoroughly satisfied smirk on his flushed face. He playfully ran a booted foot up Gabriel's thick calf.
"Whew... quite the ride, Commander," he teased, wiping sweat from his brow. "Though I gotta ask... when are you gonna let my stubborn little boyfriend out for some air? He must be absolutely furious in there."
Gabriel looked down at him, an eyebrow raised behind the mask in genuine, dismissive confusion. He knew perfectly well who 'Hanzo' was—that uptight, ascetic archer his subordinate occasionally messed around with—but the idea that this absent man had anything to do with his current situation was utterly laughable.
"If you're still craving your tight-assed little boyfriend," Gabriel sneered, his deep baritone echoing with arrogant authority, "you can sort out your pathetic urges on your own time. I don't give a shit who you fuck when I'm not around. But when you are in front of me, your only job is to keep your Commander satisfied."
To drive the point home, Gabriel leaned back, spreading his heavy thighs wide. His thick cock, still slick with sweat and already twitching with renewed, dark desire, stood at attention.
The dominant demand was unspoken but crystal clear.
Cassidy stared at the corrupted Alpha he had molded, his smirk widening into a wicked grin.
Maybe I'll bring the archer back when I get bored of the Commander, he thought to himself.
But for now, the cowboy obediently rolled over and crawled forward on his hands and knees, eager to serve his Commander again.
I think the new style is incredible! I’m voting for fire 🔥 thanks for cooking these awesome ideas
The Legacy of Kazan, the Fire-Eater
Kazan, a great Firebender and Strongman. Legendary in the Fire Nation as a national symbol of Strength and character. Having founded the original wandering Circus, Kazan would tame wild Platypus Bears or terrible Armadillo Tigers with his barehands.
Securing his name in legend, Kazan tamed a Dragon, earning him the title of Fire-Eater. Yet that was many generations ago now, but Kazan remain well loved. His famous bracers becoming an artifact of much desire, carried by the Wandering Circus to this day and put on display for special holidays.
“Must be nice,” Jiro muttered, staring up at the poster. “People cheering when you walk into a room.”
Jiro had come a long way to see the Circus while it wandered the Fire Nation's shores. Despite being a man, Jiro was frightfully average. Neither tall nor short, big nor tall. Neither handsome or ugly. He was simply Jiro.
And yet... Jiro would gaze in awe at the many acrobats and benders, how their talents would bring them fame and acclaim. Even the especially beautiful or ugly would garner attention and he burned with envy.
Looking up at a poster of Kazan, his huge muscles, finely groomed beard and chiselled features, he felt someone shoulder check him out of his revelry: "What does a guy have to do to be noticed around here?!" he cried out, hauling himself to his feet.
He looked around for a moment, seeing the people who'd knocked him over rush over to a huge tent where already Jiro could hear the gasps and cheers of an enraptured crowd.
Jiro thought for a moment; "Maybe I could find something... while everyone's distracted." he thought impishly to himself. Sneaking under one of the tents, he made his way to where the performers were set up, moving from small tent to small tent until he saw one that caught his attention and grinning to himself, he made his way inside.
Once inside Jiro's eyes flashed seeing a well-cared for tent and a heavy chest shoved under a table. The lock had rusted open. Peeking inside, wrapped in dark cloth, lay a pair of enormous bracers — black and crimson leather, gold-rimmed, each marked with a curling flame insignia.
He lifted one with both hands. It was absurdly heavy.
“How did anyone perform in these?”
The bracer warmed. Sparks crawled over the flame symbol.
“Ow—hot!” he cried out in shock as much as pain, nearly dropping it in surprised, but curiosity held him. Joking weakly to himself, he slid it onto his forearm.
The bracer snapped shut and Jiro froze.
“Wait—”
The second bracer rose from the chest on its own, turning slowly in the air. Jiro staggered back, waving his hand.
“No. No, I’m not putting on the other—”
It shot forward, wizzing through the air and clamped around his other wrist.
Firelight exploded through the room.
Jiro fell to his knees, crying out. His fingers twitched, then thickened. Veins rose across his hands. The bracers burned like living metal, like something alive. Like Dragon's breath.
A voice rolled through the changing room, deep, commanding and... amused?
“Small hands.”
Jiro looked around wildly. “Who said that?”
“But they will do.”
In the mirror, his reflection shifted. Behind him stood the shape of the poster come alive: Kazan, he recognised him from the posters, huge and smiling, his eyes lit like embers.
Jiro scrambled backward, but his arms swelled heavier. His sleeves stretched tight around growing forearms.
“Haha! At last, The Fire-Eater returns to the stage,” the voice said.
“No!” Jiro grabbed the bracers and tried to wrench them off. “Get off! I’m not your performer!”
The bracers tightened in response. They had found their prey and weren't going to release it so easily.
His body jerked upright as if yanked by invisible strings. His shoulders broadened. His back pressed hard against his shirt until the seams began to split.
“A performer belongs to the crowd,” Kazan whispered carefully.
Jiro stumbled into a table, reaching for something to steady himself. His hand closed around a massive iron weight, one he had watched three men carry earlier that evening.
He lifted it without effort.
The weight dangled from his hand like a toy.
“That…” Jiro whispered. “That was impossible.”
“Not for me.” Kazan spoke, "I was the first to show strength as a virtue. To embolden the Fire Nation's flame and shine it everywhere I went. "
His jaw tightened. His brow grew heavier. In the mirror, his face sharpened, becoming stronger, harsher. He touched his cheek with trembling fingers.
“My face…”
“A strongman must be seen from the back row.”
His hair spilled longer down his shoulders, pulling back into a performer’s tie. Dark facial hair spread neatly along his jaw and chin. His chest expanded, tearing the remains of his shirt away. Body hair darkened across his broadening torso as the bracers dragged him toward the costume rack.
Red and black fabric whipped around him like liquid flames.
“No!” Jiro shouted. “I don’t want to go out there!” he said, internally berating himself for wanting more. For wanting to be the centre of attention instead of enjoying the side-lines.
His old clothes ripped apart and in its place a strongman’s performance costume wrapped around his waist, flame-marked and theatrical. He was larger now, powerful enough to shake the floor simply by stepping.
“You already are” Kazan said.
The room dissolved as Jiro's head spun. He found himself standing in an ancient circus ring under war banners and flame-lit towers. A crowd roared from the darkness.
“KAZAN! KAZAN! KAZAN!”
“No... That isn’t my name,” Jiro said, covering his ears.
Kazan stood across from him, enormous and calm.
“There is always a crowd.”
Visions burned through the air: ancient Fire Nation performers kneeling before Kazan; smaller men wearing bracers like Jiro’s; bodies swelling, fear turning to pride. Some bent iron. Some lifted stones. Some breathed fire before cheering spectators.
“Long before” Kazan said, “I trained firebenders beneath war banners and flame-lit tents. Weak men came to me trembling. I forged them into spectacle.”
“You changed them,” Jiro said, horrified.
“I burnt away their weakness. I forged their bodies and minds.”
Jiro backed away. “I’m not your student!”
Kazan smiled.
“No.” The word struck harder than a blow.
“You are my return.”
Jiro snapped. For one bright moment, he found his courage. He clenched his huge hands and shouted into Kazan’s face.
“I don’t care how strong you were! This is my body!”
The sound of the crowd dimmed, like it was some imaginable distance away.
Kazan raised one bracer-covered hand. “No,” he said. “It is the body the bracers remembered. The one the Dragon's burned into it."
The bracers ignited.
Fire surged through Jiro’s wrists, up his arms, into his chest and skull. The crowd’s chanting crashed over him like a wave. His shadow stretched across the ring, growing broader, taller, until Kazan’s shadow swallowed it whole.
Jiro’s mouth opened, he wanted to curse, to accuse, to say anything! But he couldn't. As if the fire was burning up all the words he was going to say. Instead, he felt other words coming, ones that weren't burnt up...
“I… I am…”
Kazan leaned closer... “Say it, say it now!"
Jiro’s fear cracked. His eyes burned. His posture straightened. His expression shifted from terror to triumph.
“I am…! KAZAN!”
The changing room returned.
The transformed man stood before the mirror, no longer shaking. His body was massive, brawny, hairy, and powerful. His hair fell long behind him. His beard was tidy and proud. The bracers glowed on his wrists as if they had always belonged there.
The circus master and two assistants peeked through the doorway.
“Jiro…?”
The strongman turned with a slow smile. “That boy has left the ring.”
The assistants recoiled. The circus master swallowed.
The man rolled his shoulders and started toward the tunnel, firelight rippling across his chest.
“Tell them Kazan himself performs tonight.”
In a blink that might have been a second or an eternity, he stepped into the great tent once more and The crowd gasped, then erupted.
Kazan spread his arms beneath the blazing lights, the background dim behind him, every eye fixed on his reborn form.
“KAZAN! KAZAN! KAZAN!”
He smiled wider.
“Louder.” he roared, and the crowd responded.
The bracers had found a body and The Fire-Eater had found his stage.
----
I wanted to spend a little bit more time on this one than usual. Better than it being just another King, I wanted to mix it up a bit.
I hope you enjoy and tell me which you'd like to see next!
⚠️CW⚠️ — gay sex, gay, public blowjob, Gloryhole, exhibitionism, Jason has a big dick, top Jason Duval, bottom male reader, bathroom sex, bareback, breeding, scent kink (armpit), body worshipping, almost caught, derogatory language used, ass referred to as cunt, and cumming hands free.
Word count — 7.1k
Summary — what was a random gloryhole hookup became a weekly occurrence. It was the usual session until the anonymous man wanted more.
Read before continuing — if you are younger than 18 or any of the warnings make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to turn around and leave. If there are no problems, you may continue.
It was late at night when you took your stroll, the sun having set along the horizon a couple of hours ago. The beaming sky and sweltering heat were replaced by darkness and cool, crisp air—somewhat damp and humid. The streetlights lining the area between the sandy beach and the hard concrete sliced the darkness, illuminating the sidewalk, while the beach remained in total darkness.
The once-packed businesses that lined the other side of the beach became vacant. The ambiance of people speaking, padded footsteps, and the occasional conflict ceased. You could hear your footsteps patting against the concrete and the faint, distant sounds of cars driving through Key Lento. The wind blowing caused the hanging palm trees to sway and rustle, and some sand particles from the beach dusted the sidewalk and your shoes.
Nightly strolls were the best, at times, if you avoided the more criminal and shady areas. The beach was probably the safest. You usually walked through the long stretch after working out at one of those twenty-four-hour gyms, or when you needed to get out, wanting to forget about your living situation and finances.
The sharp, salty, and fishy aroma of algae and other sources choked the air, enhanced by the cool air, which gave it a saltier, ozone-like scent. The smell didn’t bother you that much, but it was still putrid—an offense and assault to your nose. Your gaze moved to the empty, dark beach. While it wasn’t dirty per se, it wasn’t winning any of Leonida’s prizes or magazine titles as one of the state’s best beaches. Trash littered the grounds, embedded deep in the sand, but most of it has been cleaned by volunteers.
You saluted their efforts, unlike those rich bastards. They took an interest and decided to build marinas to dock their expensive yachts and boats, along with lavish resorts and homes, thereby gentrifying the area.
They always say that Key Lento was some sort of gateway to paradise, and apparently, they wanted to push the gateway further so people like you wouldn’t be allowed entry. You had a stable job, but due to the influx of wealthy individuals and real estate investment, you were barely above water. It felt like the ground was sinking beneath your feet, with your head inches away from being swallowed.
Rent and taxes were increasing, and your job wasn’t handing out promotions any time soon. The stress was getting to you, and this led to you relieving yourself with sex and walking at night. The walks did help, but sex was the ultimate relief you needed. Just the thought of dick made your pants feel tight, your dick chubbing in your underwear.
‘Shit, right now?’ you whined. You readjusted your pants, pulling at the fabric to free some space in your underwear. Thankfully, there wasn’t anybody out, otherwise you would’ve looked like a lunatic or some drug addict. You fiddle around with your pants, but it was temporary as your dick was filling the space, pushing the limits of your underwear.
Surveying the area, there weren’t many options to choose from to relieve your little predicament. The storefronts and restaurants were closed, meaning their bathrooms were as well. Then, your eyes fell on a conspicuous building in the middle of the beach. It was a sight for sore eyes, a beige brick building with a red-tiled roof and blue doors rose from the sandy expanses. It was a public bathroom and locker room. Perfect.
You didn’t hesitate, following the paved path with haste, your feet clamoring against the concrete as the beige building grew closer. Your dick bounced and throbbed, sensing that it was going to get the relief it needed. Pushing the blue door open, you were greeted with the typical public bathroom.
It was just as you expected—the metal stall doors, wide open, lined the grey-tiled walls, with urinals on the opposite side. The sinks sat beside the metal boxes with cracked, dirty mirrors; you could see rust chewing away at the metal pipes beneath the sinks. The buzzing of the light above was harsh, but it flickered and dimmed—probably needs maintenance. It kinda gave horror movie, killer vibes. Cleaning products mixed with the usual waste choked the air, another offense to your nose.
You sighed, groaning and tilting your head back. You didn’t want to be here, masturbating in some public bathroom on the beach, but you needed the privacy. It would do until you’ve dealt with your problem and return home. You peered into the various stalls, disgust visible on your face as you wondered if adult men were responsible for the mess cause there is no way a fully grown adult would do something like this.
The last two stalls were the cleanest, not as filthy as piss-stained tiled floors or shit smeared on the toilet bowl or seating—even on the stall itself. Stepping into the stall and examining the seat, you verified it was safe before closing and locking the metal door. You pulled down your pants and whipped out your throbbing cock. The piece of meat plopping out of your underwear, bouncing up and down, precum glistened your tip as it twitched with eagerness and the freedom of being out of its clothing cage.
Sitting on the seat, you gasped softly as the cold ceramic touched your ass cheeks. Your back pressed against the tank, your legs spread open and extended to the corners of the stall, as your hand wrapped around your sensitive cock. Muttering under your breath as a blooming warmth filled your body, muscles relaxing as you let your hand do the work, giving long, circular strokes.
Your breathing hitched, choking on your spit as you tapped your fingertips against the swollen tip, spreading the tiny split to show oozing precum. Using your free hand to scroll on your phone, you opened the Sniffies site—curious to see all the hot men and dicks in your area or from the nearby metropolis of Vice City. You used the site before; the easiest way to score dick and delve into some fantasy you wanted to try.
“Fuck… thats so huge.” You whined, slowing your stroking game to view the massive dick on your screen. It was 8.5 inches long with decent thickness. Looking through the profile and pictures provided, the guy was lean and cute, twenty-three years old, and straight-curious, but sadly, he was ten miles away. You would’ve loved to slobber on his dick, show him that a man knows another man’s pleasure.
Your area was a dry wasteland, drier than the Sahara Desert. Nobody was only online, but a profile piqued your interest. Not only was he the only one online, but he was surprisingly close. Clicking on the profile, there were no pictures, but information.
31m, 6’2, 215 lbs, 9” inches, muscular, dom top (breeder), straight.
‘Straight?’ you thought. It wasn’t uncommon for straight men to go onto these types of sites, wanting to have sex with men without vocally coming out to their loved ones, even going as far as to cheat on their wives, or they want to gaslight themselves into thinking that it's not gay as long as they’re not the ones being penetrated. Straight men confuse you. It's truly mind-boggling in their reasoning.
While you were deep in your thoughts, the man was coming closer. The distance was being slashed as the other guy was interested in getting his dick sucked.
Jason groped his massive bulge, squeezing his dick through his pants as he looked at your profile. The original plan was to go home and maybe pick up a hookup along the way to have a warm pussy wrap around his massive, throbbing dick. He needed some relief after nearly botching an operation and having his ass reprimanded by his employer. There were none, though, so he moved on to plan B.
He became aware of Sniffies from one of his colleagues. It was a gay hook-up site where gay and straight, even trans, men could find one another. The reason he was told this was that he wasn’t scoring any pussy and his distant, horny mind was interfering with work. He needed his balls to be drained, to have a hot mouth or pussy milk his dick. That’s when his partner suggested the site.
—
“That’s fucking gay. Why would I have another man suck me?” Jason bickered, taken aback by what was being said to him. There was no way in hell that he was going to fuck or stick his dick into another man. His dick was exclusively for pussy.
“Bro, I swear, he sucked my dick better than my girl. Plus, he gave me the feeling of anal!” the guy said, going into depth about gay sex and the sensational feeling and orgasm he experienced—the greatest bust in his life.
“Whatever, man, I’m not doing that gay shit,” Jason said, dismissing the other guy, but his dick throbbed at the thought. It's like his dick has a mind of its own; it doesn’t care if the hole or mouth belongs to a man or woman. It just wants to fuck.
“You're lost, dude.”
—
Despite being against the idea of having another man suck his dick, Jason hastily created a profile, adding some information but no pictures in case someone recognized him. He had to look up some terms used, but it wasn’t long before he was browsing the map. His neurons activated when he saw the various profiles. His dick jumped at the sight of another man’s ass, blood pumping into his massive piece of flesh as he scrolled through the man’s pictures.
Without shame, Jason dipped his hand into his pants, pushing past his underwear to stroke his dick. He walked and stroked, observing several profiles on the map, squeezing his dick and licking his lips whenever he saw ass. The filtering tool was heaven-sent, removing all the tops and showing the bottoms. Then, your profile popped up. You were the closest to him, and you were online—a green marker on the top.
“Fuck… that’s a fat ass.” Jason groans, looking up from his phone to see the approximation of your location via the map. Your profile showed you were close, inside a building on the beach. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for: a public bathroom structure.
‘Bingo’
You heard the bathroom door swing open, the hinges squeaking and producing an ear-shattering screeching sound that echoed in the empty bathroom. You jolted up, your relaxed body tensed. You sat up straight, no longer leaning against the tank as if you were in your room. Your legs closed and sprang back from the corners.
‘Why is someone here?! Is it that guy? Has to be.’ Your cock jumped at the thought of that man being here and his nine-inch dick. It has you drooling, your body physically reacting by producing saliva in anticipation of you getting your hands and mouth wrapped around it. How would it taste? How would it feel in your hands? Is he lying about his size?
The man’s heavy footsteps echoed, his shoes clicking against the tiled floors as his shadow came into view. You turned off your phone and held your breath. The stall door next to yours swung open, creating the same screeching before slamming closed. Your gaze followed his feet, and that’s when you noticed a huge hole cut out in the metal between the stalls.
‘Oh… OH’
You stumbled upon a gloryhole. This was a turn of events. You’ve seen glory holes in porn videos, but never in real life. The idea of sucking an anonymous man’s dick through a hole in the wall made your dick pump and your hole weep. Hearing the other man’s groans as you vigorously sucked and drained his dick—imagining his face twisted with pure pleasure as he pumped loads down your throat, feeding you his thick cum.
Your breathing became shallower, your hand returning to stroking as you tried to see the other side. Then a deep, masculine voice called from the other side.
“Suck my dick,” The anonymous man said. He didn’t give you time to respond before pushing his dick and balls through the hole. He wasn’t giving you an option; he was commanding you. There was no room for opposition as his dick stood tall and proud, clearly arrogant about its length and thickness. You could sense that he was a macho man from his tone, but by goodness, did his dick look appealing.
It's like you were hypnotized by it, salivating at the mouth, and your brain short-circuited and shut down as your instincts told you to suck it. Nine inches of meat and veined thickness, throbbing from the cold bathroom air and the expectation of a warm mouth sucking it. The flustered, red cockhead was leaking pearly beads of precum. Your eyes traveled down to see his dusted, heavy, egg-shaped balls.
Your night just got better.
Hastily kneeling on the bathroom floor, giving you a further close-up of this anonymous man’s massive cock. Everything about it screamed dominance and control—demanding your submission to it. Your mind is hazy with lust and need as you start to get to work on the man’s massive cock.
You gave experimental licks, dragging your wet tongue along the skin and veins. You could hear the man biting back his breathing, but that was gonna change. You moved your mouth to his heavy, sagging balls, sucking on them with vigor and with the intent to make him vocal. You wanted to hear those groans and moans, knowing that you were giving a straight man better head than his past partners or hookups.
Your head buried between his balls, his massive cock resting on your face as you serviced him. Your tongue swirled and pulled at them; you could feel how heavy and full his sack was in your mouth. You can tell he was backed up, his hot cum waiting to spurt out of his dick, eager to be milked.
As you sucked on them, a salty taste landed on your buds—must have been sweating in his pants all day. His pheromones were overwhelming, intoxicating even as your nose pressed against the source—buried deep in his sack. The musky and manly fumes are getting into your head, clouding your mind and senses.
You continued to inhale his delicious, musky scent, your eyes rolled back, making you want to stay in this position for the rest of the night. It was like you were caged by his scent, bound to kneel and suck for eternity—something you wouldn’t mind.
You continued to massage the man’s balls with your mouth, lathering them with your saliva and flicking the sacks. Your wish was granted as the man was becoming vocal. His heavy breathing and moans bounced off the walls as the straight, macho facade dropped.
“Yeah… keep sucking… f-fuck.” Jason’s breathing faltered as he let out deep, manly moans. He held onto the metal wall, amazed by how eagerly you sucked. More moans and groans choked out as you began to multitask, stroking his dick while sucking his balls. Your hand was firmly gripping and stroking his meat, a simple stroke, but you were purposefully milking him—squeezing strings of precum out of his slit and spreading it on his sensitive tip.
Jason didn’t want to admit it, but that bastard was right. This was better than anything he’s experienced before. You were a passionate and eager slut, going for his dick’s weak points. It felt like he was about to have a mind-numbing orgasm, and this was just you worshipping his nuts and stroking.
‘What would his mouth feel—’
You pulled back and didn’t wait to breathe as you wrapped your eager, wet mouth around the man’s shaft. The taste of his bitter precum hit first before subsiding as you bobbed your head up and down. Your tongue swirled and toyed with the slit, lapping and drinking the precum that oozed before shifting to the rest of his dick. You tightened your lips around his shaft, suctioning and hollowing your cheeks for better effectiveness. You could feel every ridge and vein as you took him deeper into your throat; the remaining inches were covered by your hand.
“Oh yeah,” Jason moaned, “That’s fucking good.”
“Mmmm,” you moaned back, happily taking the compliment. You were determined to rock this straight man’s world, drain his heavy balls, and give him the best earth-shattering orgasm.
You kept bobbing your head, taking as much into your mouth before stopping, cockwarming the anonymous man’s massive dick. The heavy piece of meat throbbed and gushed as it reveled in the warm, wet oral cavern. Jason felt like his dick was melting and being cooked, leading to more vocal responses and heavy breathing.
“Wish I knew you gays were this cock hungry… would’ve done this sooner,” Jason moans, his balls tightening and churning as he teeters on the brink of his orgasm. The only thing on the older man’s mind was to cum down your throat—reward you for your service with his hot, thick cum. He conjures the image of you swallowing his seed, kneeling and looking at him with your fucked out eyes.
You grinned. You had this straight man wither before you, his moans, groans, and praises filled your ears. It gave you a sense of control and dominance over him. He was like this because of you. His massive dick was hard and throbbing because of your mouth sucking the soul out of him. You were gonna have this man standing on his forefeet, toes clenching as his heavy sack was gonna be drained of his seed.
What an amazing feeling.
The feeling made your cock throb and ache. You wrapped your free hand around it and mimicked the way you were sucking. Long and deep strokes, spreading and lathering your cock with precum until it glistened in the fluorescent light. You shifted your knees to alleviate the stiffness, pulling back with a wet pop. You took deep breaths, your eyes half-lidded as you stared at the massive shaft—coated with precum and saliva, throbbing as it missed the warmth of your mouth wrapped around it.
You could hear he was disgruntled, asking with bated breaths about why you stopped and to wrap your mouth around his shaft again. You weren’t going to do that, instead opting to squeeze the flustered, swollen cockhead while mouthing and kissing the rest of his massive shaft.
“F-fuck… you love this dick, don’t you?” Jason moans. A deep, masculine laugh followed. Jason is aware of how magnificent and breathtaking his dick is. He was the whole package, physically wise: muscular, tall, and sporting a nine-inch dick—won the genetic lottery. He basked in the attention and admiration, purposefully going shirtless whenever he worked out, letting women ogle him, even men.
He didn’t mind men leering at him; he just didn’t wanna fuck them, until now.
“I do,” you replied, panting as you eagerly and desperately lick his dick before taking the shaft into your mouth. You moaned at the flavor and the heavy weight touching your tongue again. The vigor returned as you gulped and choked on every inch of the man’s shaft.
“Not gonna last much longer… be a good cocksucker… and take my seed—fuuuuuckkkk!” Jason roared out. He slammed his hips into the metal wall, pushing his dick further into your mouth as he stood on his toes. His body shook from the force, his backed-up balls unleashing weeks' worth of cum.
You could feel his dick expanding in your mouth, see his balls throbbing and tightening as he was pushed to the edge. The first shots of cum hit the back of your throat. You tried to swallow as much as you could, but your lungs were burning. You choked and pulled back, gasping for air, which soothed the burning sensation in your chest.
But the man’s dick didn’t stop cumming as his thick seed painted your face—shooting ropes of cum all over your face. After taking a couple of seconds to breathe and to reposition, you promptly took his dick back into your mouth. The flavor of his cum rammed into your taste buds as you could hear the man’s guttural moans echoing in the small space.
Even after Jason deposited his load, he was shocked to feel you continuing to bob your head. He stuttered out a weak moan, almost falling back as you squeezed his dick and balls, intending to drain the last few drops; you were sucking on it like a straw in a cold glass drink.
For three minutes, you sucked on his massive cock before pulling back, satisfied having drained a massive one. Jason’s dick lay flaccid, which still looked big despite being deflated. It was sad to see it pulled back from the hole. You could hear the rustling of clothing and hastened retreat. The stall door squeaked open with the familiar sound of shoes clicking against the tiled floor, growing farther.
“Thanks, man.”
That was the only thing the anonymous man said before leaving the bathroom. You were left in the bathroom stall, disheveled and sweaty, with your hand and the floor coated in ropes of cum. You weakly pushed yourself up, your knees flustered and ached as your skin dug into the rough tiled floor.
“Nasty, can’t believe I actually did this,” you mumbled, sitting on the toilet seat and yanking the cheap toilet paper from the holder. It was a fantasy to suck or fuck another man in public—in a discreet area, but it has the same adrenaline and risk that made your cock throb. Maybe you would’ve picked a more desirable location than a dirty bathroom on the beach, but you got to suck a massive dick.
That dick definitely and righteously earned its place as number one. The length and thickness, how it felt heavy and filled your mouth, and the flavor—you could keep sucking on it all day for the next fifty years.
But disappointingly, he was straight and most likely a one-time hookup. You should’ve expected something like this. You wiped off any remaining cum with the cheap toilet paper provided before leaving the stall to wash your hands. The room was quiet, other than the rushing sound of water going down the drain and your soft breathing.
Leaving the bathroom, you began your journey home. When you turned on your phone, the Sniffies website opened and loaded, showing you a new notification in your inbox.
“Name's Jason. Gonna need my dick sucked from now on.” The message reads, and below it was another picture of that massive dick.
Jason made you his official cocksucker.
…
It became a weekly, more like a daily occurrence.
Same bathroom and stalls, at the same time, but recently, morning and afternoon times were added. Jason was sticking his thick, massive cock through the hole, and you were quick to get your knees and worship that massive thing. Your warm mouth wrapped around it, eagerly sucking and choking as you wanted Jason to feed you his thick, creamy seed. You wanted to hear him let out those deep, manly groans as he unloads inside your mouth.
Never in a million years would Jason consider fucking another man, let alone getting his dick sucked. But after his encounter with you and how you sucked and gulped every drop of his cum down your gullet, he wanted more. Best blowjobs he’s ever received, his heavy balls being drained every day by an eager cocksucker. Your service also helped him with performance during an operation, earning praise and a bigger cut from his employer.
He was satisfied, but Jason wanted more. His dick and mind yearned for the feeling of another man’s tight ass wrapped around it. This need was further exacerbated by an extreme and fierce intake of gay porn and his partner babbling about how ass is better than pussy. You’re the best throat he’s had in years, and if your mouth is that good, he could only imagine what your ass feels like.
Your legs and cheeks spread open, your tiny rosebud eagerly waiting to be spilt. It wouldn’t be difficult to mount and fuck you into the ground. His dick leaked as he visualized the feeling and appearance of your tight anal walls clenching around his massive dick, pulling it deeper as he aggressively jackhammered your ass. He wasn’t going to stop until you were fucked dumb by his dick, nothing in your head, just moans and pleas for him to continue.
He was going to make this happen.
“Wanna fuck that ass.”
It was a simple, clear message, but it had you walking fast, quickening your pace as you didn’t hesitate to fulfill your own and his desire. Ever since you saw Jason’s dick through the gloryhole on that day, you wanted to feel it split your ass open and fuck you into oblivion. The length pushing into your tight, warm ass—deep thrusts as he rearranged your guts. The thickness spreading your anal walls, you could feel every vein and ridge grinding against your nerves, and his heavy balls slapping and mushing against yours. Despite being drained daily, they were still pumping huge loads—painting and filling your mouth with the thick goodness.
You could feel your hole aching and itching for Jason’s massive cock. The inside is burning and leaking for more, desperate to feel everything. The dildo you used beforehand might have been the reason for the aching sensation, and now, with the promise of being rammed by Jason, it demanded the real thing—rejecting the fake, silicon toy for the real deal.
You had been waiting for this moment. You didn’t want to bring it up in case it scared Jason away, and you’d lose access to easy dick and cum. At least, deep down, you had a hunch he’d come around eventually; they always do.
It was early in the morning, the sun having risen hours ago. You could see the once-closed businesses opening their doors and preparing for the day. There was a delicious, mouthwatering smell that mingled with the salty ozone aroma, the scent of food vendors, and the aroma of restaurants cooking their meals. There weren’t many people out, just scattered clusters along the sidewalk—no one on the beach.
Once you arrive at the bathroom, you do what you’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks: you wait for the accustomed sound. As you waited, a pit formed in your stomach. Your heart beat, and your breathing quickened, adrenaline rushing as an internal conflict took place. What if he chickens out, leaving you embarrassed and your time wasted? What if the wrong guy comes? Can you take it?
The big moment came when the door echoed the familiar squeaking and screeching. Footfalls clicked against the tiled floor, growing closer with each long stride. Then your stall closed and locked. You looked up, and your eyes were blessed with the sight of the sexiest man alive.
He had a polished yet rugged appearance—maturity that you liked. Light stubble dusted his chin and defined jawline, snaking beneath his nose. The rest of his features were covered. The wayfarer-style sunglasses blocked his eyes, but you could feel them boring into your being, predatory and hungry for what's coming next. He sported a backwards cap with strands of hair peaking out and sticking to his forehead.
That’s when you noticed he was sweating. Your gaze shifted to the rest of his body, taking in the eye candy that Jason was. His light-skinned complexion glistened with sweat, the fluid coating every nook and cranny. You made an educated guess about what he worked out before coming here. You zeroed in on his thick pectoral slabs; chest hair peeked from underneath his white tank top. You could make out the shape of his nipples—they were solid and pointy.
His tank top stuck to him like a second skin, giving you a full viewing pleasure of his ripped, sculpted body. His abs are etched deep and defined with bulging biceps and thighs as thick as trees. Everything about Jason was making you salivate and unimaginably horny—the itching was getting worse.
“Like what you see?” Jason teased, smirking as he peeled his sweaty tank top, revealing his chest hair matted with sweat. Your gaze followed the trail of hair, starting from his pectorals down the valley of his sculpted, defined abs. Your dick jumped when Jason peeled off his shorts, the belt clicking and clanking as he discarded it—tossing the garment to the side. His massive dick hangs between his thick, tree trunk thighs.
“Come on, don’t keep me waiting.” Jason grins, raising his muscular arm over his head, exposing his furry patch. Words stuck in your throat as Jason starts tugging his dick, the massive shaft growing in his hand.
You quickly stripped off your clothing, pulling and yanking at the fabric. Your heart was thumping, giddy with the anticipation of feeling Jason’s muscular body pressing against yours. The dream you’ve been having for weeks was coming true. You painted vivid images of Jason’s body, and he fit the description. You imagined running your hands over his shredded form, fingertips gliding over his coarse, scruffy hair, and feeling his warm, solid body molding against you.
Once your clothing was discarded, Jason paused his tugging and reached out to pull you closer. You let out a “oof” as you were pressed against the man’s solid, sweaty body. You could feel his dick throbbing against your thigh, pulsing from the contact of your relatively cold skin.
What caught your attention was Jason’s masculine funk. The man still had his arm over his head, letting his funk fill the air around you. It was making your head dizzy, causing it to swirl around in circles. Your breathing deepened as the heady scent filled your nose. Your body moved on its own, and without pause, you went in for that funk—burying your head and inhaling the sublime, heady mix of sweat and pheromones.
“Fuuucckk.” Jason exhaled, chuckling as he watched you worship his pit. You were something else. Hell, maybe he’s bisexual. He’s never experienced such depravity and eagerness.
You weren’t in control of your body as your primal instincts took over. You didn’t just sniff, you ran your tongue over the furry patch, licking and probing while your other hand kneaded Jason’s pecs. You began to thrust your hips, grinding your aching dick against Jason’s thick thighs—with him moving in rhythm.
“T-that’s it… keep g-going,” Jason stutters, letting out breathy and throaty moans. His free hand moves down to grope your ass, marveling at how it fills and spills through his fingers. Men have fat asses, too? Just feeling your ass in his palm was making his dick ooze precum—smearing against your thigh as he followed your eager rhythm. Your bodies moved in unison.
You licked slowly down his armpit, gliding your tongue to his hairy pecs as you wanted to feel every crevice of Jason’s body. Your dick throbbed from feeling Jason’s rough hands squeezing your ass—smearing fluids on his thigh. Soft moans escaped your lips, muffled by sucking and biting on his nipples. Jason tilts his head back, and another moan pulls from his lips. As much as he was enjoying this, he needed to be inside you.
“That’s enough. Now, how about you get my dick wet? I want to feel this tight ass.” Jason said, slapping your ass cheek, the skin rippling from the impact of his palm—the sound echoing off the tiled walls.
You didn’t hesitate, licking your way down his body, past his navel, following the happy trail to your happy meal. Kneeling before Jason’s ripped, dominant body, his dick came into your view, erect and standing proud, beads of sticky precum oozing, and his heavy, furry balls dangling. You took the massive thing into your mouth, lips tightening around it as it glided back and forth—holding and ramming your tonsils over and over.
Jason groans in ecstasy as he hears you slobbering and choking on his dick. Your wet mouth coating his thing with copious amounts of saliva, lathering and preparing it for penetration. He moved his hands to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair—guiding and holding you in place. Your mouth was enough to make him cum, but he held back. If it were any other time, he would’ve fed you his load, but not now.
“Bend over.” Jason grunts, gripping your hair and pulling you off his dick.
You took deep breaths, eyes locked on Jason’s massive, glistening shaft—admiring the sight. Every ridge was generously lathered, the cockhead flustered and pulsing. You overworked your glands to produce enough saliva for preparation; you should’ve brought lube. When Jason spoke again, you scrambled off the floor and gripped the toilet’s tank—presenting your ass to the man who’s gonna fuck you as if you were a virgin.
“Mmm, this is what I like to see.” Jason groans, his hand making contact with your ass, delivering another slap that rocks your body. He marvels at your ass before lathering one and then two fingers.
You gasped as you felt Jason’s thick fingers teasing your hole, rimming the tight ring of muscles with his tips. Your hands hardened their grip on the ceramic tank, holding onto the porcelain for stabilization as Jason worked his fingers—stretching and scissoring your hole. You could feel them pressing around your inner walls, bumping and poking the flesh. It felt so good, your ass clenching around the invading fingers at the thought of Jason’s dick replacing them.
“So fucking tight,” Jason growls. He could hear your whines and moans growing louder as his fingers touched and rammed into a certain area. That must have been the elusive sweet spot inside of men. He could see your legs wobbling and your dick flopping between your legs—thick strings of precum gushing out as your dick was painfully throbbing and flustered.
Then Jason pulled his fingers out, deeming you prepared for the main event. He watched your entrance pulsing and clenching around nothing, searching for something to fill it and eagerly drag it in. Your hole went from stretched and gaping to small and tight—incredible. He needed to be inside you immediately.
You let out a disappointed whine, but that was quickly shut down when you felt a thick, blunt head pressing against your tight sphincter. Jason gripped his massive cock with one fist, positioning and pushing the helmet through your entrance. There was some resistance before his massive shaft pierced the tight ring, his cockhead stretching your hole as a flash of pain consumed you.
“Oh, f-fuck… y-you’re so huge.” You cried, your fingers digging into the ceramic tank. If it were a cheap toilet, the damn thing would’ve shattered from the force you were applying. You stood on your forefeet, your legs and body shivering as Jason continued to push his massive cock until he was balls deep—his heavy sack mashing against yours.
The oxygen was knocked out of you, and drool dribbled out of your mouth as you choked on your saliva. Your chest heaved rapidly as you tried to calm down and relax. Your mind was racing, but the immense sexual pleasure clouded you. This man was making you feel like a virgin again.
Your asshole is being split open beyond belief, the burning sensation from the massive shaft grinding against your inner, pink walls. You could feel Jason’s dick breaching depths you didn’t know were possible.
“Shhiitt. Fucking tight. Feels like I’m about to cum.” Jason said, letting out a bellowing groan. His rough, meaty hands moved to your hips, gripping them with an iron hold. Jason withheld from thrusting, biting back so he doesn’t cum, but you were making that impossible. Your ass was massaging and tightening around him, pulling him deeper.
The pause was grueling. It felt tight, figuratively and literally. The tight, closed space of the stall was becoming unbearable. There was no sound besides labored breathing and soft moans. The pause ended when Jason pulled out, leaving the cockhead before plummeting back into your ass. The once quiet room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and moans.
Your eyes rolled back into your head from each forceful thrust—your dick flopping back and forth, slapping against Jason’s balls. Jason tilted his head back, groaning as this was the best sex he’s had in years. Your ass happily accepts his massive dick, seemingly learning the shape and size instantly.
“You like this dick inside this hot cunt?” Jason groans, slapping your ass with each thrust of his hips
“Y-yes! Feels so good.” You exclaimed, breathless with each thrust. Your dick is on the verge of shooting its load.
Then the bathroom’s entrance screeched open, the sound reverberating off the walls. Before you could react, Jason pulled you against his body—his sweaty, matted hair grinding against your back. He stilled his thrust and clasped his meaty hand on your mouth, ensuring total silence. You both listened to the clicking of sandals against the floors, followed by the familiar sound of piss streaming and hitting the urinal.
Jason didn’t care, though. This random stranger wasn’t going to prevent him from fucking your tight ass. He discreetly fucks you with short but deep thrusts. Your eyes widen before becoming half-lidded when you feel his free hand stroking your dick—each stroke mimicking his thrusts as he was determined to fuck your brains out.
He didn’t care that another man was a couple of feet away from them.
“Shhh. As much as I wanna hear those moans, I don’t wanna get caught—unless you want that.” Jason purrs into your ear, his voice low and deep. He never thought he’d be into exhibitionism, but the adrenaline was making his dick painfully throbbing inside your ass, signaling his impending orgasm.
“You want that?” Jason growls, disregarding the other man as he delivers a series of deep thrusts. Wet squelching and skin slapping grow louder—surely alerting the newcomer. Your moans were muffled by Jason’s hand, but you didn’t care, not with his other hand stroking your dick, tugging and squeezing the thing as he fully intended to make you cum.
Meanwhile, the other man was cleaning off his cockhead after relieving himself in the urinal. He bobbed his head side to side, jamming out to the music playing from his headphones. He was unaware of the debauchery happening a couple of feet away. That’s when he heard muffled groans and gruffing coming from the last stall. He shrugged it off as someone taking a dump—brave since it was a public bathroom; if it were him, he’d hold it in till he got home.
The groaning got louder, slicing through the stream of water from the faucet—even his headphones. Wow, that guy must be fighting demons. Probably constipation. Then he heard banging against the metal sheets, fists colliding in rhythm, and the signature groan ranging. It was getting kind of awkward. The poor guy was probably embarrassed about letting it rip.
“Good luck, dude,” the guy said, drying his hands and exiting the bathroom to continue his morning jog across the beach. He remained blissfully unaware that two men were having sex in the stall—the groaning and banging were products of their coupling.
“Finally, he’s gone… not gonna last much longer. Gonna breed this tight cunt.” Jason growls, removing his hand from your mouth. His thrusts became sloppy, but he continued to jackhammer your quivering hole. He’s since removed his hand from your dick, transferring it to your hips.
“P-please, shoot your load inside me!” you begged, tilting your head back to rest on Jason’s shoulders—arching your back to let him go deeper. Your prostate was constantly being rammed into, the cockhead hitting the bundle of nerves—setting your body ablaze as the message of pleasure travelled through you. You let your moans pour out of your mouth, no longer shackled by shame and Jason’s hand.
Jason didn’t get to respond when you overshadowed him with your bellowing moans. Your flopping dick burst, spraying cum all over the ground and toilet. Your thick seed flying up and down as you came hands-free. The orgasm left you exhausted, panting, and heaving as it felt like your soul was taken by the reaper. Jason held you close to him, pressing your sweaty bodies against each other.
“Oh fuck, I’m about to bust! Open that tight cunt.” Jason commanded as his dick was being suffocated. Your orgasm caused you to tighten around him, squeezing and milking him.
“Y-yes! B-breed…” you replied, completely out of it, but still hungry for Jason and his thick seed.
“Yeah, here it comes—yeah—yeah—fuuucckk,” Jason growls and groans, his body convulsing. He gave a few more thrusts, his heavy balls throbbing against yours as his big dick erupted in your ass. You could feel his dick throbbing before thick ropes of cum spewed from the slit, flooding your deepest recesses until his balls were drained.
You both were drained and exhausted. The smell of sex and semen choked the air. You both were panting, taking gulps of air. Jason kept his dick lodged deep inside you, preventing his seed from gushing out of your fucked hole. This was the best experience you both had. Jason is certain he can never go back; the damage was done, and he’ll gladly take it.
“Round 2? At my place?”
The End
Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! I hope y’all enjoyed this fic! This is probably the fastest I’ve completed one. I feel like I really captured Jason. God, I need that man. There is certainly more content for him. Mark Grayson may be next.
Special thanks to my proofreader: @sagethegaywitch
Enjoy my first transformation story. Just trying find the best usage of the newest tools which technology give us. I hope you like it.
The Rainbow Metamorphosis
The air in the bar was a heavy, intoxicating mix of expensive cologne and the rhythmic, thumping bass that I could feel vibrating in my very bones. As I stepped inside, I felt a familiar pang of self-consciousness. I was a large man with long, dark hair, and in this room filled with gods, I felt like a ghost. Everywhere I looked, stunning men moved with a predator’s grace, their bodies draped in provocative leather, mesh, and silk that caught the neon light. I felt soft, hidden under my layers of ordinary clothes, like a shadow trying to disappear in a room full of suns.
I drifted toward the bar, my heart racing. The bartender didn't ask for my order. He just looked at me with a knowing, almost predatory smirk. He reached for a bottle that seemed to hold captured starlight and poured a shot that defied logic—it glowed with a shifting, iridescent rainbow light, swirling like a miniature nebula. I hesitated for a heartbeat, my fingers trembling against the glass, then I downed it in one defiant gulp.
The Surge of Becoming
The effect was a violent, beautiful explosion.
First, I felt a strange lightness. My heavy, protective clothing simply evaporated, leaving me exposed for a split second before I felt the constricting, supportive grip of electric blue wrestling spandex. It materialized against my skin, clinging to me like a second, tighter layer of self. It was unapologetic, forcing me to feel the shape of my own body.
Then, a sharp, electric tingle erupted across my scalp. It felt like a thousand tiny sparks were dancing through my hair. I felt the weight of my dark locks vanish, replaced by a sudden lightness as they turned a piercing peroxide blond. I could feel the strands shifting, shortening, and molding themselves into a sharp, modern cut that felt aggressive and sophisticated. My face felt open, framed by a style that demanded to be looked at.
But the real magic was internal. A wave of intense, liquid heat flooded my core. I felt my soft edges begin to melt away—literally. In a matter of seconds, the weight I had carried for years simply vanished, leaving me lean and agile. But the emptiness was instantly filled with power.
My shoulders surged outward, broadening with a terrifying strength that stretched the blue spandex to its limit. My chest didn't just grow; it hardened into thick slabs of solid muscle that pushed firmly against the fabric. I gasped as I felt the skin of my stomach tighten and ripple, forming a rock-hard six-pack that felt like a shield of armor.
The transformation finished in my legs, but the surge of power didn't stop at my muscles. I felt a heavy, grounded strength settle into my lower body as my thighs thickened into massive, muscular pillars. The electric blue spandex groaned under the pressure, straining against my new, dominant physique. As my frame expanded, I felt a sudden, heavy shifting in my groin—a surge of growth that filled out the front of the suit with a bold, unmistakable bulge. The thin fabric, stretched to its absolute limit, left nothing to the imagination, proudly showcasing the raw, alpha reality of my transformation. I stood taller, my posture corrected by the sheer mass of my new muscles and the weight of my new self. I felt powerful, potent, and utterly undeniable.
The Recognition
I slowly raised my eyes to the mirror behind the bar, and my breath caught in my throat. I didn't recognize the powerhouse staring back at me. I was no longer a shadow; I was the light. My reflection was a masterpiece of raw strength and curated style. I flexed instinctively, watching the way the neon light danced over the blue spandex and my new, carved muscles. I felt a surge of pride so thick it was almost overwhelming.
Before I could even wrap my head around this new reality, I felt a large, warm hand settle firmly on my shoulder. The touch was electric. I turned, my movements now fluid and confident, to find a stunningly handsome man standing inches away. His eyes weren't just looking at me—they were devouring me, filled with an unadulterated hunger.
He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He simply stepped into my space, his gaze locked onto mine, and leaned in. He closed the final distance and pulled me into a deep, passionate kiss. As our lips met in the center of that neon-soaked room, the world around us blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. For the first time in my life, I wasn't just present—I was the center of the universe.
The summer twilight bled into the valley. Two college friends James and Frank finally arrived at the remote mountain cabin with their meager belongings, nothing but the clothes which they were wearing and valuables they did not want to put in the checked luggage, with weary sighs. Their graduation trip had started as a nightmare: canceled flights, lost luggage, and a grueling hike through the rain.
"At least we made it," James muttered, his blond hair plastered to his forehead. He was lean, almost boyish, with the soft frame of a student who spent more time in libraries than in gyms.
Frank, also lanky and clean-shaven with short dark hair hummed in an agreement.
They noticed that on the coffee table sat a bottle of sparkling wine and a paper card with a note. This created smiles on their faces.
James immediately took the bottle and started to open it. “This will cheer us up,” said James battling the wire muzzle hold the cork in the bottle.
Frank read the note. “Welcome to Bear Cabin. Enjoy this bottle and get strength! Get strength? A bit cryptic for a welcome gift,” Frank remarked.
As James gripped the cork, it didn't just pop; it exploded. A geyser of chilled wine drenched them both, soaking through their clothes. They both stood frozen, sputtering and blinking through the spray, before the absurdity of the mess broke the tension. They erupted into breathless laughter.
"Well, so much for a civilized drink," Frank managed to say, wiping a trail of sparkling liquid from his jaw.
The wine felt unusually thick, leaving behind a syrupy, herbal stickiness that made their skin tingle wherever it touched. Shivering slightly from the sudden chill, and with their wet clothes sticking provocatively to their thighs with every movement, they retreated to their separate rooms to wash away the sweet, fragrant mess.
The Shower
In his bedroom, James stepped into the steaming shower. He pumped a generous amount of soap labeled "Bear Strength." “Hmm, a special branding for this cabin,” he thought to himself. The scent was intoxicating—heavy notes of cedar, wild musk, and crushed herbs. As he lathered his pale, smooth chest, he felt a strange hum beneath his skin, a buzzing warmth that didn't come from the water.
Emerging with a towel around his waist, he found the dresser. He tried to see if it could contain any spare clothes. Apart from one lone pair of red boxer briefs, it was completely empty. “Why not? They look clean,“ thought James and he pulled them on; they were tight but comfy, framing his slender hips. Exhaustion hit him like a physical weight, and he collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep, unnatural slumber.
Down the hall, Frank washed with the same herbal products. In his room, he found only a pair of snug white boxer briefs. He pulled them on, feeling a sudden, restless heat radiating from his core. He laid down, expecting a nap, but his mind went dark the moment his head hit the pillow.
The Transformation
As the moon rose, the "strength" promised by the wine began its work. In James’s room, the air grew thick with the scent of pine. His golden hair darkened to a rich, espresso brown, growing longer and curling wildly. On his smooth chest, coarse dark hairs sprouted, spreading in a thick mat down to his stomach.
The silence of the room was broken by the unsettling, rhythmic creak of bone shifting against bone. James’s breath came in ragged hitches as his skeletal structure began to rebel against its own limits. His once-narrow shoulders didn't just grow; they seemed to explode outward, the clavicles lengthening with a series of dull, wet pops that resonated deep in his chest.
What were once soft, boyish shoulders rapidly hardened, the muscle fibers knitting together and layering over themselves until his deltoids rounded into heavy, granite-like stones that pushed his arms further from his torso. Simultaneously, his chest began to grow. His pectorals didn't just swell, they erupted, thickening into massive, anvil-thick slabs of solid muscle that met in a deep, shadowed valley down the center of his torso.
As the muscle peaked, a carpet of coarse, dark hair broke through the skin in a frantic prickle, swirling across his newly forged chest and reclaiming his body with a primal, masculine ferocity. Every inch of him was becoming dense, heavy, and undeniably powerful. Down below, the red fabric strained. His thighs surged with new mass, and his manhood thickened, creating a heavy, undeniable weight against the cotton. He had aged nearly a decade in an hour; the boy was gone, replaced by a massive, rugged "bear" of a man.
Meanwhile, Frank’s change was one of raw, masculine power. His dark hair began to recede, leaving his scalp smoother and balder with every minute passing. On his smooth face, a thick, rugged beard started to grow along his jawline, changing to dark and masculine.
A violent, electric heat surged through Frank’s extremities, and his once-lanky limbs began to fill out with a sudden, explosive force. It was as if his very DNA was being rewritten in real-time; his slender biceps began to peak and coil, thickening into heavy, corded ropes of muscle that strained against his skin. A dark, masculine forest of hair erupted along his forearms and shins, marking the end of his youth. His torso underwent a brutal reconstruction, the soft skin of his belly hardened, snapping into a rock-hard six-pack.
Above, his chest didn't just grow; it inflated with a primal density. His pecs surged forward, squaring off into two massive chunks of meat that felt heavy and immovable. Every breath he took seemed to push his ribcage wider, forcing his shoulders to flare out until he occupied twice the space he had minutes before. The transformation culminated in a frantic groaning of fabric. His white boxer briefs were now stretched to their absolute, translucent limit, the elastic waistband biting deep into his thickening waist. The front pouch, once loose, was now filled to burst, forced to contain the heavy, pulsing weight of his newfound size. Laying there in the moonlight, he no longer looked like a student. He looked like a monument of virility; a man carved directly from the ancient stone of the mountain itself.
The Awakening
The next morning, James woke up feeling heavy, powerfully heavy. He swung his legs off the bed. His thick, hairy thighs felt like tree trunks. He walked into the living room, his voice dropping an octave into a low, vibrating rumble as he called out, "Frank?"
Frank stepped out from the opposite door. Both men froze.
The silence was electric. James stared at Frank’s bald, bearded dominance—the way his white boxers struggled to contain his powerful legs and the massive bulge at his crotch. Frank couldn't take his eyes off James’s hairy, barrel-chested physique, his breath hitching at the sight of the raw, muscular bear standing before him.
Their voices were no longer the light tones of college friends; they were deep, primal growls.
"James?" Frank whispered, his voice vibrating in his own chest. "You... you look..." "And you look…," James rasped. They started laughing. They were in a disbelief at what had become of their puny frames during the night.
The air between them changed. The "hetero" friendship they had arrived with had evaporated, replaced by magnetic, carnal gravity. James stepped forward, his massive chest nearly brushing Frank’s. The scent of the herbal soap—now mixed with their own pheromones—was overwhelming.
James reached out, his large, calloused hand resting on Frank’s broad, hair-covered shoulder. The touch sent a jolt of pure electricity through them both. They looked down at each other's strained waistbands, the mutual arousal impossible to hide.
Their lips met in a crash of beard and heat, a desperate, hungry confirmation of their new forms. When they finally pulled apart, gasping, James gripped Frank’s waist, pulling him flush against his massive frame.
"My room," Frank growled, his eyes dark with intent, "or yours?"
The sun-drenched sands of Copacabana stood witness to a metamorphosis that defied every law of physics and quantum mechanics Peter and Tao had ever studied. These two devoted scholars, spending their final summer before their senior year volunteering as English teachers in Rio, were the epitome of the "library crew"—pale, slender, and blissfully unacquainted with the weight of a dumbbell. They went to the beach to enjoy their free day.
Peter searched his backpack and realized he had forgotten his sunscreen. As he wondered if their fair skin could survive without protection, a local vendor approached them. The man had an amused, almost mysterious smile on his face, suggesting he was offering something special. Carefully, he pulled a tube labelled “Amazonian blend” out of his basket and handed it to Peter and Tao. His gaze was piercing, as if he knew more about their unimpressive physiques and pale skin than they did themselves. “This is a special blend,” he said with a local accent, “a homemade recipe – it protects you from the sun and gives you strength.” Peter and Tao exchanged uncertain glances, but with no other options, they bought the tube.
The magic began with a lingering touch, as they began to apply the thick, fragrant cream onto each other’s bodies. What started as a chore became a slow, tactile exploration that felt dangerously unfamiliar to two men who had always considered themselves strictly heterosexual. Until this moment, their hands had only ever reached for the cold spines of textbooks or the soft curves of the girls they’d dated back home.
But as Peter’s hands slid over Tao’s narrow shoulders, and Tao’s fingers traced the delicate line of Peter’s spine, a confusing, electric shiver bypassed their logic. They felt a strange, pulsing heat radiating from the lotion—a warmth that began to melt the rigid boundaries of their "straight" identities into something far more intimate, primal, and undeniable.
“I am going to water,” said Tao nervously.
“Yeah sure,” reply equally nervous Peter. ‘What as that? I’m not gay…’ he though himself. “I’ll stay, watch over our things and get some tan.
Tao quickly stood up. With a soft, hungry smile, he quickly wandered toward the crashing turquoise waves of the Atlantic. Peter laid back on his towel; his eyes fluttering shut as the Brazilian sun began to bake the magic into his pores.
Under the searing heat, the science of the world dissolved into pure alchemy.
Inside Peter’s chest, a low, rhythmic thrumming began, like a samba beat echoing in his marrow. His posture, once hunched from years of poring over heavy textbooks, suddenly snapped straight. He felt a delicious, agonizing stretch as his skeletal frame expanded. His narrow shoulders began to widen with a tectonic shift, the bone and sinew thickening into a powerful, broad "V" shape.
He groaned as his pale, translucent skin began to drink in the light, deepening second by second into a rich, glowing mahogany. His thin, ginger hair began to coil and darken, transforming into thick, raven-black curls that felt soft and wild to the touch. Across his torso, the soft flesh hardened; his chest swelled into two massive, sculpted plates of granite muscle. Below, his stomach rippled and constricted, carving out a "six-pack" so sharp it looked chiseled from marble.
But the most intoxicating sensation was the surge of raw, masculine power blooming between his legs. His loose shorts began to shrink and tighten, the fabric morphing into a pair of minuscule, patriotic Brazilian flag sungas. As the swimwear retreated, his anatomy surged with a new, heavy vitality—a thick, proud fullness that strained against the thin lycra, announcing his newfound virility to the salt-thickened air.
Peter opened his eyes, and the world was no longer a blur. His glasses were gone, his vision now razor-sharp. He looked down at himself, his breath hitching at the sight of his own massive, bronzed thighs and the hard, vascular roadmap of his forearms. He felt electric, primal, and utterly beautiful.
Peter stood up on the burning sand, his breath coming in shallow hitches as he looked down at the stranger’s body he now inhabited. He ran his thick, bronzed fingers over his own chest, marveling at the way the massive plates of muscle jumped under his touch. He traced the deep, carved lines of his abdominals—a hard, rocky terrain he had only ever seen in anatomy textbooks. He felt a surge of intoxicating vanity; his hands slid lower, feeling the powerful, heavy weight straining against the thin fabric of his Brazilian flag sunga. For a man who had always been "the skinny nerd," the sheer mass of his own thighs and the thrumming vitality between them felt like a drug.
He was so lost in the tactile worship of his new self that he didn't notice the shadow falling over him until a low, vibrating hum of energy approached from the shoreline.
Emerging from the white foam of the Atlantic was a vision of masculine perfection that made Peter’s heart hammer against his ribs. A massive hunk, his skin the color of deep ebony polished to a high, metallic luster, stepped through the surf. Water cascaded in diamond droplets off a chest so wide it seemed to block out the sun. Every stride he took revealed the terrifying power of his tree-trunk thighs, which threatened to burst the seams of his tiny, crimson square-cut trunks. Size of his manhood did not help with releasing of the stress from the red fabric, but it added more tension.
Peter stared, his mouth dry. He felt an instinctive, primal pull toward the man—a magnetic attraction that his "heterosexual" mind couldn't even begin to process. This was a god of the beach, a predator of grace and muscle.
The stranger stopped just feet away, the salt water glistening on the thick, tight curls of his hair. He tilted his head, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face—a face with features so sharp and handsome they felt like a physical blow to Peter's senses.
"Pedro?" the man asked.
The voice was a deep, resonant baritone, a rich sound that seemed to vibrate directly in Peter’s chest, making his own new muscles quiver. ‘Right, Pedro is actually my name,’ Peter realized.
Pedro blinked, the recognition hitting him like a tidal wave. The eyes—behind the mask of this dark-skinned powerhouse, the soul was familiar.
"Tayo?" Pedro whispered, his voice cracking with awe.
The two of them stood there, paralyzed by the sight of one another. The "library crew" was dead; in its place stood two embodiments of raw, Brazilian virility. Pedro felt a heat rising in his blood that had nothing to do with the sun. Looking at Tayo’s massive, wet shoulders and the way his red trunks clung to his heavy, muscular form, Pedro realized that their old lives—and their old certainties—had washed away with the tide.
The sheer impossibility of it all—the leap from debating quantum mechanics in a dusty library to this raw, tectonic physical reality—hit them both at once. Pedro looked at Tayo’s massive, ebony-bronze chest and then down at his own burgeoning, sun-kissed muscles, and a bark of incredulous laughter escaped his throat. Tayo joined him, his new, deep baritone booming over the crashing surf as they shook their heads in disbelief. They were two scholars trapped in the bodies of titans, and for a fleeting moment, the absurdity of their transformation provided a much-needed release from the overwhelming surge of new sensations.
But the laughter didn't last. As their eyes locked once more, the air between them thickened, becoming as heavy and electric as the atmosphere before a tropical storm. The humor vanished in an instant, replaced by a suffocating, erotic charge that made the pulse in Pedro’s throat throb with a violent rhythm. He watched a single bead of seawater trail slowly down the deep valley of Tayo’s pectoral muscles, disappearing into the straining waistband of his crimson trunks, and Pedro felt a primal hunger clawing at his gut. The "heterosexual" certainties they had carried their whole lives were incinerated under the weight of this new, magnetic pull. The tension between them was no longer a spark; it was a physical weight, thick and undeniable, drawing their massive, heated bodies together until the space between them was nothing but a memory.
Pedro reached out, his thick, bronzed fingers tangling in the curls at Tayo’s neck, while Tayo pulled him close, his massive arm wrapping around Pedro’s waist, pulling their hard, sun-warmed bodies together. The friction of skin on skin, the scent of the sea, and the raw magnetism of their transformation became too much to bear.
In the middle of the crowded beach, surrounded by the rhythm of Rio, they crashed together in a deep, desperate kiss. As their mouths collided, the friction of their massive, wet chests grinding together sent a jolt of white-hot fire through their veins, shattering the last of their inhibitions. They felt the heavy, thrumming weight of their new masculinity pressing hard against one another, a silent, carnal confirmation that their old boundaries had been completely obliterated. In the salt-tinged heat of that embrace, the logic of their past lives was replaced by a singular, pulse-pounding truth: they were no longer just friends, but two handsome men bound by a hunger that only their new, powerful bodies could satisfy. Their final summer had just become the beginning of their life far more daring than any book could ever describe.
Here is a story inspired by @musclejedi-tameem. Enjoy.
Bodybuilding Competition
To everyone at the venue, James was merely "the guy who picks things." He was a ghost in a sweat-soaked black t-shirt, a lanky, 20-year-old college student working a side hustle to pay for his tuition. He spent his night weaving through the labyrinthine backstage of the American convention center, carrying heaps of pungent, oil-stained towels at a bodybuilding competition.
He was surrounded by modern-day gladiators—massive, hyper-masculine men coated in dark bronze tan and shimmering oils. James felt like he belonged to a different species. His pale, thin limbs and protruding ribs were a stark, almost fragile contrast to the mountains of engorged muscle he was paid to serve. He couldn't help but steal glances at them, his eyes lingering on the deep striations of their backs and the way the light danced off their heavy, rhythmic breathing.
When the grand finale began, the backstage fell into a sudden, heavy silence. The titans had departed for the stage, leaving James alone amidst the industrial crates and the intoxicating, thick scent of synthetic tan and musk.
There, abandoned on a scarred and oil-stained wooden bench, he saw them lying in wait. They were a pair of tiny red posing trunks, forgotten by some departing bodybuilder and shimmering with a deceptive lure under the relentless, rhythmic buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights. The fabric seemed to catch every stray beam of light, glowing like a hot ember in the industrial gloom
Driven by a sudden, primal curiosity and a desperate, gnawing ache to feel—even for a fleeting second—something other than the hollow weakness of his own lanky, invisible frame, James began to strip. He peeled away the damp "Event Staff" shirt that had felt like a shroud of insignificance, exposing his pale, thin ribs to the stale, musk-filled backstage air. With a trembling hand, he kicked off his worn sneakers and stepped out of his baggy cargo pants, standing vulnerable for a moment before sliding his legs into the slick, dangerously tight spandex. The material clung to him with an aggressive, skin-tight intimacy, its intense compression immediately forcing his posture to straighten as if the garment itself was demanding he command the space around him.
As he kept looking into the dusty mirror, the world began to vibrate. At first, it was just a quiet, internal hum, but it rapidly intensified into a deep, rhythmic pulsing that resonated through his entire being. It wasn’t just a heartbeat; it was energy, raw and primal, awakening deep within his muscle fibers.
He started to feel his thighs quiver beneath the crimson fabric of the trunks. The muscles twitched and jumped in time with an invisible drum, hungrily engorging with blood. Then, the sensation washed over his entire body. He was no longer the scrawny, wiry youth with a sunken chest and a tired face who had spent his shifts merely shadowing the champions in the wings.
His physique rapidly and fluidly took the form of an athletic statue. Bone vanished beneath layers of burgeoning, solid muscle mass. His shoulders rounded out into boulders, and his waist cinched tight. His once-narrow frame transformed into the perfect, symmetrical silhouette of an athlete.
But the transformation did not stop there but became tectonic. The muscles on his legs kept growing. His thin thighs suddenly thrummed with a heavy heat, the muscle fibers swelling and splitting until his quads became massive, feathered teardrops that strained against the red fabric. His calves knotted into hard diamonds. The heat surged upward, his waist narrowing as his core etched itself into a deep, granite six-pack.
Then came the chest and shoulders. James gasped as his ribcage expanded, his pectorals inflating into two massive slabs of hardened meat, so thick they met in a deep, shadowed valley in the center. His shoulders rounded out into massive, vascular boulders, forcing his arms to hang wider from his frame. His biceps peaked into hard mountains, mapped with thick, pulsing veins that throbbed with a new, aggressive life.
But it wasn't just his body. His soft, boyish face began to harden. His jawline sharpened into a rugged, heavy square, and his brown hair retreated into a severe, masculine buzzcut. The reflection looking back wasn't a 20-year-old boy—it was a mature, 40-year-old alpha male in the absolute prime of his life. His skin deepened into a permanent, professional bronze, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
Mentally, the shift was total. The shy, stuttering student was gone. In his place was a huge mature bodybuilder who understood the weight of his own power. He felt a heavy, intoxicating confidence settle in his gut. He wasn't there to serve anymore; he was there to be worshipped.
"James! What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be on stage five minutes ago!"
The backstage manager barked as he swung the door open. He didn't hesitate for a second. He didn't see someone who was picking towels just a few moments ago; he saw a veteran champion, a god of iron who had somehow been misplaced. He gestured frantically toward the stage.
James let out a low, guttural laugh. His voice was now a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated in his own massive chest. He didn't say a word. He simply straightened his colossal back, his lats spreading like wings, and marched out of the shadows.
As he stepped into the blinding, multi-colored stage spotlights, the roar of the crowd was deafening. James moved to the center of the stage, the small red trunks barely containing his newfound mass. He hit the pose, his traps rising to his ears, every fiber of his body straining and popping with hyper-detailed definition. The judges sat frozen, and the audience erupted in a feverish frenzy. That night, no one was looking for "the guy who picks things." They were all staring at the new king of the stage, a man who had finally stepped into the body he was always meant to command.
The desert wind howled across the Valley of Kings like the whisper of forgotten ghosts. Fine sand drifted across the excavation site, coating crates, ropes, and exhausted workers beneath a burning copper sky.
Edward Harrow wiped sweat from his brow as he stared down into the newly uncovered stairway.
“Another dead end?” asked Professor Whitmore from above, shielding his eyes beneath a wide linen hat.
Edward shook his head slowly.
“No…” he murmured. “This is different.”
The stone steps descending beneath the sand were untouched. Untouched.
That alone made his pulse quicken.
Most tombs had been looted centuries ago. Broken seals, shattered doors, empty chambers — that was the usual fate of Egypt’s dead kings. But this…
This stairway had remained hidden. Protected. Waiting. Edward grabbed his lantern.
“I’m going down.”
Whitmore frowned immediately. “Alone?”
“I’ll only take a quick look.”
“You said that last time.”
Edward smirked faintly. “And we found a priest’s treasury.”
The older man sighed in defeat. “Ten minutes, Harrow. If you don’t come back up, I’m sending the men after you.”
Edward nodded before beginning his descent. The deeper he went, the cooler the air became. Dust danced in the lantern light. Ancient silence pressed against him from every direction.
Then he saw it. A massive stone door. Still sealed. His breath caught in his throat. Across the black stone, golden hieroglyphs gleamed faintly beneath centuries of dust.
Edward carefully brushed sand aside with trembling fingers. His eyes widened as he translated the symbols aloud.
“Sacred is the resting place of…”
He swallowed.
“…Neb-Kha-Rê.”
Even speaking the name felt wrong somehow. Beneath it was another inscription that he traduced :
LET THE SLEEPING KING REMAIN UNDISTURBED.
Edward exhaled sharply.
“Good God…”
Behind him, one of the Egyptian workers who had quietly followed him suddenly stepped backward in fear.
“No,” the man whispered in Arabic. “No, effendi… cursed place…”
Edward turned.
“It’s superstition.”
The worker shook his head violently.
“The Black Pharaoh sleeps there.”
Edward almost laughed. Almost. But something about the air inside the corridor unsettled him deeply. The silence felt too heavy. Too aware. Still… discovery outweighed fear. It always had.
“Help me open it.”
Reluctantly, the worker obeyed. With enormous effort, they pushed against the stone seal. Ancient mechanisms groaned somewhere deep inside the walls. Dust exploded into the corridor.
Then— The door shifted. A freezing gust of air burst from the darkness beyond. Edward lifted his lantern. The chamber inside was enormous. Statues of jackal-headed gods lined the walls. Golden treasures glittered beneath centuries of dust. Tall black pillars disappeared into darkness overhead.
And at the center of the room stood a colossal sarcophagus of obsidian and gold. Perfectly untouched. Edward stepped forward slowly, awe replacing all fear.
“My God…” he whispered. “We found him.”
The worker behind him suddenly dropped to his knees.
“Please…” the man begged. “We leave now.”
Edward barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on the sarcophagus. On the carved face of the king resting upon the lid. Even in stone, Neb-Kha-Rê looked powerful.
Proud. Almost alive. Edward approached carefully, raising the lantern closer. The pharaoh’s face was strangely youthful. Strong jaw. Sharp cheekbones. A calm expression frozen in eternal sleep.
Then Edward noticed something else. The eyes. Golden gemstones embedded in the sculpture. And somehow… In the flickering lantern light… They seemed to shine back at him.
The worker fled.
Edward heard his footsteps echo frantically up the corridor.
But Edward remained.
Drawn forward by fascination stronger than reason. He placed one hand against the sarcophagus.
The stone was warm. Warm. His breath stopped. Then a deep rumble shook the chamber. Edward stumbled backward as dust rained from the ceiling. Far behind him, the stone door slammed shut with a deafening crash.
“No—!”
He ran toward it immediately, pushing desperately against the sealed entrance. It would not move. The grinding echo of ancient mechanisms filled the tomb.
Then silence returned. A terrible silence. Edward turned slowly. The chamber had changed. The torches along the walls were burning now. One by one.
Without flame-bearers. Without explanation. Golden light spread across the tomb. And at the center of the chamber… The lid of the sarcophagus began to move. Slowly. Heavier than thunder. Edward backed away in horror.
“No…” he whispered.
The lid slid aside completely.
Darkness filled the open coffin. Then— A hand emerged. Wrapped in ancient blackened bandages. Another followed. The figure inside slowly sat upright with the sound of cracking linen and ancient bones.
Edward could not breathe. The mummy turned its head toward him. Two glowing golden eyes opened in the shadows. Alive. The dead king rose from his tomb.
Edward could not move.
The dead king stood before him in the flickering torchlight, tall and impossibly thin beneath layers of blackened linen. Ancient jewelry hung from his neck and wrists, dull with age yet still magnificent.
And those eyes— Burning gold in the darkness. The mummy stepped out of the sarcophagus slowly.
Each movement sounded wrong. Dry. Stiff. The cracking of ancient bones wrapped in centuries-old bandages echoed through the chamber. Edward stumbled backward until his shoulders struck a pillar.
“No… no, this can’t be real…”
The creature tilted its head slightly, studying him. Not like an animal. Like a ruler examining a servant. Then the pharaoh spoke. His voice was deep and rough, as though dragged from the grave itself.
“Sekhem… ir neb… kha em set…”
Edward stared blankly.
“I—I don’t understand you.”
The king’s glowing eyes narrowed. He took another step closer. Edward’s pulse hammered violently in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to run. But there was nowhere to go. The sealed stone door behind him remained immovable.
The pharaoh raised one wrapped hand and pointed toward a stone table covered in dusty ceremonial objects.
Bowls. Oils. Folded linens. Edward swallowed hard.
“You want… what?”
Again the pharaoh spoke, slower this time.
“Akh-men… satep.”
Then he pointed at himself. At the hanging strips of filthy linen wrapped around his chest. Edward blinked.
“You… want help?”
Silence. But the king continued staring at him with cold authority. Edward hesitated before slowly approaching the table. His hands trembled as he picked up a bronze bowl filled with hardened perfumed oil.
The smell of myrrh and incense still lingered beneath the dust of centuries. He looked back toward the mummy. The pharaoh had not moved. Waiting. Watching. Edward carefully stepped closer.
Every nerve in his body screamed in terror as he stood directly before the ancient king. Up close, the mummy was horrifying.
The skin beneath the torn wrappings was dark and leathery, stretched tightly across sharp bones. Ancient resin glistened in the torchlight. The scent of old death clung to him beneath the incense.
Yet strangely…
There was something regal beneath the decay. Something beautiful.
Edward quickly pushed the thought away.
“This is madness,” he whispered.
The pharaoh slowly extended one arm.
An order. Edward obeyed before even realizing he had chosen to. He dipped a cloth into warm oil and gently cleaned centuries of dust from the king’s bandages. The mummy closed his glowing eyes.
A low sound escaped him. Not pain. Relief. Edward froze.
“You… feel this?”
The golden eyes opened again immediately. Sharp. Intelligent. Alive. The king spoke once more.
“Sha em.”
Edward did not understand the words… but somehow their meaning pressed into his mind. Continue. His breathing unsteady, Edward resumed cleaning the wrappings. As he worked, grains of black dust fell from the ancient linen onto the stone floor.
Slowly, carefully, Edward unwound one loosened strip from the king’s forearm. The skin beneath was no longer completely dead. He stared in disbelief. Beneath the withered surface, faint bronze flesh remained. Impossible flesh. Living flesh.
The pharaoh watched his reaction closely. Then, very slowly, the corners of the dead king’s mouth lifted. A smile. Edward’s stomach tightened.
“You were waiting,” he whispered.
The torches crackled softly around them. Outside the tomb, the world no longer existed. Only the king. Only the silence. Only Edward.
The pharaoh suddenly lifted one hand toward Edward’s face. Edward flinched instinctively, but the king merely brushed rough bandaged fingers across his cheek. A strange warmth spread through Edward’s body at the touch. His fear faltered for a moment.
The pharaoh spoke again, quieter this time.
“Ankhesu…”
Edward did not know the word. But somehow it sounded possessive. Affectionate. The king lowered his hand and gestured once more toward the oils and linens.
Another command. Edward looked toward the sealed tomb entrance one last time. Then back at the ancient ruler standing before him. The glowing eyes never left his. Slowly… reluctantly… Edward bowed his head.
“All right,” he whispered shakily. “I’ll help you.”
The pharaoh straightened proudly. As if obedience was the most natural thing in the world. Then he turned and sat upon the edge of the sarcophagus like a king reclaiming his throne. And Edward began tending to the dead.
The tomb no longer felt entirely cold.
Days passed beneath the earth — or perhaps weeks. Edward had long since lost count. Time dissolved inside the endless darkness of Neb-Kha-Rê’s burial chamber, measured only by dying torch flames and the rituals of service the pharaoh demanded each day.
Every morning began the same way. Edward would wake upon the stone floor beside the sarcophagus to the sound of the king’s voice.
“Ankhesu.”
The word no longer frightened him. It summoned him. Edward rose immediately, almost instinctively now, and crossed the chamber barefoot. The air smelled of incense, warm oils, and ancient dust.
Neb-Kha-Rê sat upright upon the edge of the sarcophagus like a patient god awaiting devotion.
And with every passing day… He looked less dead. The leathery decay beneath the wrappings had begun to fade. Bronze skin slowly emerged beneath strips of ancient linen. The king’s chest no longer looked hollow and corpse-like, but strong. Defined. Alive. Edward tried not to stare. Tried and failed.
This morning, the pharaoh extended one arm toward him in silent command. Edward bowed his head automatically before taking the bronze basin of heated oils.
“My king,” he murmured softly without thinking.
The words slipped out naturally. Neb-Kha-Rê’s glowing eyes narrowed with satisfaction.
“Good,” the pharaoh said slowly in accented English.
Edward froze.
“You… you speak English?”
“No.”
The voice was no longer dry and monstrous. It remained deep and ancient, but smoother now. Richer.
The king watched Edward carefully.
“You learn quickly.”
Edward lowered his gaze at once beneath that piercing stare.
“I do not understand what is happening.”
Neb-Kha-Rê tilted his head slightly.
“You serve.”
The simple answer sent an odd warmth through Edward’s chest. The pharaoh motioned toward the wrappings around his torso. Edward obeyed immediately, kneeling beside him.
His fingers carefully unwound another long strip of ancient linen. Dust drifted through the torchlight. Layer after layer fell away, beneath them… Muscle. Edward’s breath caught.
The pharaoh’s body was transforming before his eyes. Strong shoulders emerged beneath the wrappings. A broad chest. Smooth bronze skin marked with faint traces of ancient scars and ceremonial tattoos. The king was becoming young again.
Not merely alive. Beautiful. Edward quickly looked away. Neb-Kha-Rê noticed.
“You fear me less now.”
Edward hesitated.
“Yes…”
“Why?”
He struggled for an answer. Because you no longer look like a corpse. Because your voice no longer sounds dead. Because when you look at me, I cannot think clearly. Instead he whispered:
“I do not know.”
The pharaoh leaned closer.
“You will.”
His voice seemed to vibrate inside Edward’s chest. Edward resumed unwrapping the linen in silence. As more bandages fell away, he noticed another change. The king’s body radiated warmth now.
Real warmth.
His skin glowed softly in the torchlight like polished bronze. And his scent— No longer death. Now it was incense, cedar oil, myrrh, and something masculine beneath it all. Ancient. Royal. Dangerously intoxicating.
Edward swallowed hard. Neb-Kha-Rê suddenly reached forward and tilted Edward’s chin upward.
“Look at me.”
Edward obeyed instantly. The king studied his face closely.
“You change also.”
Edward frowned slightly.
“I… what?”
The pharaoh’s fingers brushed slowly through Edward’s hair. Dark brown strands slipped between ancient fingers.
“Different.”
Edward pulled back slightly and hurried toward a polished bronze mirror resting among the burial treasures. He stared.
For a moment, he did not recognize himself. His skin was darker than before, touched by a bronze warmth that had not been there days ago. The harsh paleness of an Englishman beneath the desert sun had vanished. Even his features seemed subtly altered. Sharper. Softer. His eyes looked darker beneath the torchlight.
“No…” Edward whispered.
Behind him, Neb-Kha-Rê rose from the sarcophagus completely. The sound of linen dragging against stone echoed through the chamber. Edward turned slowly. The sight stole his breath.
Much of the pharaoh’s body was now uncovered. Powerful legs wrapped only partially in ancient bandages. Gold jewelry resting against smooth bronze skin. His physique looked impossibly athletic, like the statues painted upon temple walls.
Only portions of decay still clung to him. But even those were fading. Neb-Kha-Rê approached him slowly. Not stiffly anymore. Gracefully. Like a predator.
“You belong to this place now,” the king said quietly.
Edward’s pulse quickened.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
The pharaoh stepped closer until only inches separated them. Edward should have retreated. He did not. The king’s glowing eyes held his completely.
“You hear my words more easily now.”
Edward realized with sudden horror that it was true. The ancient language no longer sounded incomprehensible. Pieces of meaning reached him naturally.
As if the tomb itself were teaching him. As if his mind were changing alongside his body. Neb-Kha-Rê lifted one hand and pressed it gently against Edward’s chest. A strange heat spread through him instantly. His heart pounded harder. The king smiled faintly.
“My servant awakens too.”
Edward should have resisted those words. Should have denied them. Instead… His knees weakened slightly beneath the pharaoh’s touch. And somewhere deep inside himself, beneath the fear and confusion… A terrible part of him wanted to kneel.
Edward no longer dreamed of England.
At first, he had clung desperately to memories of rain-soaked streets, crowded London clubs, warm electric lights, and civilized voices. Now those memories felt faded. Distant. Unimportant. The tomb had become his entire world.
Every corridor of black stone felt familiar beneath his bare feet. He knew where the incense jars were stored. Which braziers burned longest. Which oils Neb-Kha-Rê preferred upon his skin.
And every morning… He woke before the king. Edward rose quietly from the cushions laid beside the sarcophagus and crossed the chamber to relight the golden lamps. Shadows danced across painted walls while warm amber light slowly revealed the sleeping pharaoh.
Neb-Kha-Rê no longer resembled death in any way. He looked divine.
His powerful body rested against black silk and ancient linen like a living god carved from bronze. Gold jewelry adorned his wrists, throat, and waist. The last ceremonial wrappings remained only around portions of his legs and forearms.
The rest of him was magnificently alive. Edward stood silently for a moment, watching him. Admiring him. The realization disturbed him less each day. Golden eyes opened slowly. Immediately finding him.
“You watch me again,” Neb-Kha-Rê murmured.
Edward lowered his gaze at once.
“Forgive me, my king.”
The pharaoh sat upright slowly, studying him. Edward noticed the transformation in himself even more clearly now beneath that stare. His skin had deepened into warm bronze completely. The sharp paleness of an English explorer had vanished. His dark hair had grown longer, softer, nearly brushing his shoulders now.
Even his body felt different. Lean. Elegant. Less harsh. The king extended one hand lazily toward him.
Edward moved instantly. Without thought. He knelt beside the sarcophagus and pressed his forehead lightly against the pharaoh’s hand before taking it carefully.
The gesture shocked him only faintly now. Neb-Kha-Rê smiled.
“You learn devotion beautifully.”
Edward’s pulse warmed strangely.
“I only serve.”
“Yes.”
The king’s thumb brushed slowly across Edward’s cheek.
“And you enjoy it.”
Edward looked away immediately. But silence itself became an answer. Neb-Kha-Rê chuckled softly. The sound was warm now. Human. Dangerous.
“Prepare the oils.”
Edward obeyed at once. The morning ritual had become sacred. He heated perfumed oil over small golden flames while the tomb filled with the scent of cedarwood, lotus, and myrrh. Then he returned to the pharaoh carrying the bronze basin carefully in both hands.
Neb-Kha-Rê reclined against the sarcophagus while Edward knelt beside him. Slowly, reverently, Edward spread warm oil across the king’s chest. His fingers trembled slightly at first contact. The pharaoh’s skin was warm. Perfectly warm.
Firm muscle shifted beneath Edward’s touch as he massaged the oil carefully into bronze flesh marked by faint tattoos and old scars.
Neb-Kha-Rê watched him silently.
“Your hands no longer shake.”
Edward swallowed.
“No, my king.”
“Why?”
Edward hesitated before answering honestly.
“I am no longer afraid of you.”
The pharaoh’s glowing eyes narrowed slightly with pleasure.
“And what do you feel instead?”
Edward’s breath caught.
He focused desperately on the oil across the king’s shoulders. But Neb-Kha-Rê’s gaze remained fixed on him. Demanding truth. Finally, Edward whispered:
“I… do not know.”
The king leaned forward slightly.
“You do.”
Edward could feel heat rising beneath his skin. Neb-Kha-Rê lifted one hand and slid his fingers beneath Edward’s chin, forcing him to look upward.
“You hunger for purpose,” the pharaoh said softly.
Edward’s chest tightened.
“You hunger to belong.”
The words struck painfully deep because they were true.
The outside world had stripped Edward down to ambition and loneliness long ago. Endless expeditions. Endless searching. Always chasing discovery without ever truly belonging anywhere.
But here… Inside the tomb… Every moment had purpose. Every breath served the king. And some terrible hidden part of him craved that certainty. Neb-Kha-Rê slowly released him.
“Continue.”
Edward resumed his work quietly. He massaged oil into the pharaoh’s arms, shoulders, and powerful back while torchlight flickered across bronze skin and gold jewelry. And all the while, the king spoke. Stories. Ancient histories.
Names of forgotten cities swallowed by sand.
Wars. Temples. Priests. Lovers.
Servants buried alive beside their rulers so they might continue serving in eternity. Edward understood every word now. Perfectly. The realization no longer shocked him.
The ancient language lived naturally inside his mind. Sometimes more naturally than English. Neb-Kha-Rê noticed it too.
“You no longer translate in your thoughts.”
Edward froze slightly.
“No…”
“You hear as one born here.”
Edward stared downward silently. The king leaned closer behind him.
“And soon,” Neb-Kha-Rê whispered near his ear, “you will think as one born here.”
A shiver ran violently through Edward’s body. Not entirely from fear.
Later that evening, Edward stood alone before a polished obsidian mirror. He barely recognized the man staring back. Dark eyes. Bronzed skin. Long black hair framing elegant features no Englishman should possess. Even his posture had changed. Softer. More graceful.
He looked… Egyptian. A quiet sound behind him made him turn.
Neb-Kha-Rê stood in the doorway of the burial chamber. Bare-chested beneath layers of gold. Beautiful and terrible in the torchlight. The king approached slowly until he stood behind Edward’s reflection.
“You resist less now.”
Edward stared into the mirror.
“I try to resist.”
“But you fail.”
The pharaoh’s hands settled slowly upon Edward’s shoulders. Warm. Possessive. Edward closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
Neb-Kha-Rê lowered his head slightly beside Edward’s ear.
“And does that truly upset you?”
The silence that followed answered everything.
The tomb was silent except for the sound of breathing. Warm breathing. Living breathing.
Edward sat upon the stone floor beside the sarcophagus while golden torchlight flickered across the chamber walls. The air smelled richly of incense and perfumed oil, thick enough now that he barely remembered the scent of fresh air.
Neb-Kha-Rê stood before him. Magnificent. The last remnants of death had vanished completely. No trace of decay remained upon the pharaoh’s body now. Bronze skin gleamed beneath gold jewelry and layers of white ceremonial linen draped low across his waist. His tattoos curled elegantly across powerful shoulders and arms like living symbols beneath the firelight.
Only the glowing gold of his eyes still hinted at something supernatural. Something eternal. Edward looked up at him with parted lips. Not with fear anymore. With devotion. The realization no longer horrified him as deeply as it should have.
Neb-Kha-Rê studied him quietly for a long moment before speaking.
“Come here.”
Edward obeyed immediately. Bare feet crossed cold stone as he approached the king and knelt automatically before him. The movement required no thought now. No hesitation. Neb-Kha-Rê rested one hand against Edward’s dark hair.
Long black strands now spilled well past his shoulders, soft and glossy beneath the torchlight. Nothing remained of the neatly groomed English explorer who had first entered the tomb.
The pharaoh slowly threaded his fingers through the transformed hair.
“You wear this form beautifully.”
Edward lowered his eyes.
“My king…”
Neb-Kha-Rê tilted his chin upward gently.
“Do you still dream of your old life?”
The question lingered painfully.
Edward tried to summon the image of London. Rain. Books. Voices. His colleagues. His own face.
But the memories felt weak now. Pale and distant, like fragments from another man’s life.
Slowly, Edward shook his head.
“No.”
The pharaoh smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Neb-Kha-Rê turned toward a low table beside the sarcophagus. Upon it rested a golden blade. Thin. Curved. Sharp enough to reflect the firelight. Edward stared at it uncertainly. The pharaoh picked it up carefully before returning to him. Then he spoke a single command.
“Kneel lower.”
Edward obeyed instantly.
His heart began pounding harder as he bowed his head. Neb-Kha-Rê gathered a handful of Edward’s long dark hair gently in one hand.
“You no longer need this.”
Edward’s breath caught. For one brief moment, some tiny remnant of his old self stirred uneasily. But then the pharaoh’s warm fingers brushed slowly across his scalp. And the fear faded. The blade touched his head. Softly. The sound was almost hypnotic.
Shhhk.
Long strands of black hair slid down Edward’s shoulders onto the stone floor. Another slow stroke. More hair fell. Edward closed his eyes. Something deep inside him loosened with every passing motion of the blade. Not pain. Release. Neb-Kha-Rê shaved him slowly, reverently, like a sacred ritual.
Locks of dark hair gathered around Edward’s knees while the pharaoh’s fingers guided his head with possessive tenderness.
“You served me faithfully,” Neb-Kha-Rê murmured quietly above him.
Another stroke.
“You abandoned fear.”
Another.
“You accepted your place beside me.”
Edward trembled softly. Not from humiliation. From warmth. From belonging. More hair fell away until cool air brushed against newly exposed skin. The pharaoh’s hand glided across the smooth portions of Edward’s scalp as if admiring his work. Edward shivered at the touch. A low pleased sound escaped Neb-Kha-Rê.
“Yes…”
The blade continued carefully. Slowly. Until finally the last remaining strands slipped silently onto the black stone floor.
Neb-Kha-Rê stepped behind him. Edward remained perfectly still. Breathing unevenly. The pharaoh spread warm oil across both hands before smoothing it slowly over Edward’s freshly shaved scalp.
The sensation sent a deep tremor through Edward’s body. Gentle hands polished his bare skin lovingly, possessively. Edward leaned unconsciously into the touch. Neb-Kha-Rê bent close beside his ear.
“Who are you?”
Edward opened his mouth. And froze. The answer should have been simple.
Edward Harrow. Explorer. Englishman. But the name felt wrong. Empty. Distant.
Neb-Kha-Rê’s fingers caressed his smooth scalp again.
“Who are you?” the king repeated softly.
Edward’s breathing deepened.
“I…”
Nothing came. Panic flickered briefly inside him. Then the pharaoh knelt before him and lifted his chin.
Golden eyes held him completely.
“You are mine.”
The words sank deep into him like warm honey. Edward’s resistance finally broke. Not violently. Not suddenly. Quietly. Like the final crumbling of ancient stone. Neb-Kha-Rê smiled gently.
“Let me remind you your name”
Edward stared upward silently, his chest rising and falling harder.
The pharaoh rested one hand over his heart.
“Khepri.”
The ancient name echoed through the chamber. And instantly… It felt right. Not new. Remembered. Khepri lowered his gaze immediately.
“Yes, my king.”
Neb-Kha-Rê’s expression softened with unmistakable satisfaction.
“There is no Edward now.”
The name sounded foreign. Meaningless. Khepri barely understood why hearing it once would have mattered.
Neb-Kha-Rê stood and crossed toward a carved chest near the sarcophagus. From within, he withdrew folded linen garments. Simple white cloth. Soft. Elegant. The clothing of a royal servant.
The pharaoh returned and held the garments before him.
“Remove these.”
Khepri looked down at the dusty explorer’s clothes he still wore. Suspenders. Sweat-stained shirt. Foreign fabric from another world. For the first time, they felt deeply wrong against his skin. Obediently, he removed them piece by piece and laid them aside.
Neb-Kha-Rê dressed him slowly himself. The white linen wrapped lightly around Khepri’s hips and chest. Gold cuffs closed gently around his wrists. A thin collar rested against his throat. The pharaoh adjusted the fabric carefully before stepping back to admire him. Khepri looked down at himself. No trace of the explorer remained. Only the servant. Only the devoted companion kneeling before his king.
Neb-Kha-Rê approached once more and placed one hand lovingly atop Khepri’s smooth shaved head. Khepri closed his eyes instantly. The touch filled him with indescribable peace.
“My beautiful servant,” the pharaoh whispered.
Khepri smiled softly. And deep within himself… He knew he had never wanted anything more than this.
The tomb had become timeless.
No sunrise reached its halls. No wind stirred its corridors. Beyond the sealed stone entrance, the world of men continued somewhere far above the desert sands, but down here, deep beneath the earth, only eternity remained.
And Khepri no longer cared. He moved silently through the burial chambers carrying warm oils and fresh incense, his bare feet whispering across black stone floors polished by centuries.
The tomb belonged to Neb-Kha-Rê. And Khepri belonged to the tomb. The young servant paused beside one of the great painted walls, staring at the ancient figures illuminated by torchlight.
Now he understood them completely. The kneeling servants. The bowed heads. The expressions of serene devotion painted onto their faces.
Once, those murals had frightened him. Now they felt comforting. Familiar. Because he finally understood the truth:
Neb-Kha-Rê had never been meant to awaken alone. A king required a servant beside him in death just as he had in life.
And now… Khepri had taken that sacred place. Forever. A warm voice echoed softly behind him.
“Khepri.”
Instantly, the servant turned and bowed his head.
“My king.”
Neb-Kha-Rê approached slowly through the golden shadows of the chamber. He looked magnificent beneath the torchlight — powerful bronze skin adorned with gold, white linen draped elegantly across his body, glowing eyes fixed entirely upon his servant.
Khepri’s chest warmed immediately beneath that gaze.
The pharaoh stopped before him.
“You were thinking.”
Khepri lowered his eyes modestly.
“Yes, my king.”
“What thoughts?”
Khepri hesitated only briefly.
“That I am where I belong.”
A quiet smile touched Neb-Kha-Rê’s lips.
“Yes.”
The pharaoh lifted one hand and rested it atop Khepri’s smooth shaved head. The servant closed his eyes instantly. The touch still overwhelmed him every time. Warm fingers slowly caressed his bare scalp with deep possessive tenderness. Khepri leaned unconsciously into the contact, breathing softly. Neb-Kha-Rê admired the reaction openly.
“You love this.”
Khepri smiled faintly without opening his eyes.
“Yes, my king.”
“And why?”
Khepri answered honestly.
“Because I am yours.”
The words came naturally now.
Without shame.
Without fear.
Neb-Kha-Rê’s fingers glided slowly across the back of Khepri’s head before tilting his chin upward gently. Golden eyes met dark ones. The pharaoh studied him for a long moment. No trace of the English explorer remained anymore. No Edward. Only Khepri.
Bronzed skin glowed warmly beneath the torchlight. His shaved head and elegant linen garments made him look exactly like the servants painted upon the ancient walls around them.
Beautiful.
Devoted.
Perfectly obedient.
Neb-Kha-Rê’s expression softened with unmistakable affection.
“My faithful servant.”
Warmth spread deeply through Khepri’s chest at the praise. The pharaoh leaned closer, pressing a slow kiss against his forehead. Khepri exhaled shakily.
Even now, such tenderness from the king made his entire body tremble with happiness.
“You please me greatly,” Neb-Kha-Rê murmured.
Khepri lowered himself immediately to his knees before the pharaoh. The movement was effortless now. Natural as breathing.
“I live only to serve you, my king.”
Neb-Kha-Rê looked down at him proudly.
“And you serve beautifully.”
The king guided Khepri gently upward again before leading him deeper into the burial chamber toward the great black sarcophagus resting at its center. The ancient coffin no longer resembled a place of death. Now it resembled a throne. A sanctuary.
Golden fabrics and soft linen surrounded it. Warm incense smoke curled lazily through the chamber while torchlight reflected against polished obsidian walls.
Neb-Kha-Rê reclined against the edge of the sarcophagus and opened one arm toward him. Khepri immediately settled beside the pharaoh, resting close against his warm body. The king’s arm wrapped possessively around his waist. For a long moment, neither spoke. There was no need.
The silence between them no longer felt oppressive. It felt intimate. Eternal. Neb-Kha-Rê slowly stroked Khepri’s smooth scalp again while the servant rested peacefully against his chest.
“You no longer fear eternity,” the pharaoh said softly.
Khepri smiled faintly.
“No, my king.”
“Why?”
Khepri lifted his eyes toward him.
“Because eternity with you is a gift.”
The golden eyes of the pharaoh softened. Neb-Kha-Rê touched his cheek gently.
“My beautiful Khepri.”
The servant’s heart swelled painfully with devotion. Some distant fragment of memory stirred faintly for only an instant — another life, another name, another man beneath the desert sun.
But it faded immediately beneath the warmth of the king’s touch. Unimportant. Forgotten. Neb-Kha-Rê drew him closer and kissed him slowly, tenderly, while torchlight flickered across gold and black stone. Khepri melted against him willingly. Completely.
The pharaoh’s hands rested possessively upon his servant’s body as the silence of the tomb embraced them both.
Above them, kingdoms would rise and collapse into dust. Languages would vanish. Empires would die. But deep beneath the sands of Egypt… The pharaoh and his faithful servant remained together.
And Khepri knew with absolute certainty that he desired nothing else for all eternity.
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