[forthegaze123]

"Oh, poor young lad. Are you here alone? Where are your friends?"

"They're not my friends. They played a prank on me and left me here all alone. Once again sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I really need a place to stay for now. And maybe some clothes too, if you don't mind."

"Well, I do mind... How about I give you something a little more comfortable?"

[pixellads]

Bro, that dude should ditch the swim pussy squad and hit up the bodybuilding beasts instead—his massive fuckin' dong bulge would fit right in without draggin' shit down!

[pixellads]

That’s not a bulk, that’s an Irish growth spurt sent by the gods.

[pixellads]

Left for vacation one guy. Came back tanned, thicker, stronger—chest hair included. Sun did its work. So did I.

[pixellads]

I trained past the point where validation matters. Respect comes automatically when your presence does the talking.

[transformhim]

The light clicked on, keys were tossed on the chest of drawers by the door, Thomas gasped and gaped at the titanic man sprawled on his sofa across the room.

“Startled you?” He purred in a deep, Eastern European accent.

Thomas paused and then choked out an impressed chuckle, pointing a finger towards the backpack, “So who’s it this time? Exchange student? New in your department?”

“Maybe. Maybe just some piece of ass I saw stumbling around campus. Does it matter?” He cockily flexed for himself, indulging in his huge size, taking heavy deep breaths intermingled with soft moans, teasing Thomas.

Thomas and Professor Navarro—Juan to Thomas now—had been going steady pretty much since the first month Thomas had his upper level religion class in his 3rd year. Juan was always so charming and intelligent to Thomas, not to mention he rocked a tight Latino silver fox look, and Thomas was always an attentive and passionate student, plus his short but stacked bod he’d maintained from his wrestling years in high school had always attracted its fair share of admirers. Including from his professors. Needless to say, visits to Professor Navarro's office hours quickly transitioned first into heavy petting, then followed by mutual suck sessions right there in the religious studies hall.

Since then, Juan and Thomas had turned their taboo situationship into a full blown relationship, with much more openness after Thomas finally graduated. But it had only been within the last two months since Juan—through his more esoteric studies—discovered that spell (hex, really, but who’s worried about precision of language when you’re dealing with possession incantations). Even in the short two months since the discovery, he and Thomas had taken insane advantage of it. Both Juan and Thomas had stuffed themselves into a village’s worth of people since then—other men, women, students, grad assistants, and professors alike, a small mob’s worth of men at the townie bars, into each other’s bodies (too many times to count really)—but this was easily Juan’s most massive find to date.

Juan continued to admire himself, relishing in the ridiculous scale of his borrowed body, flexing and copping a feel all over himself through hot and heavy pants of breath. Thomas had trouble catching his own breath, squeezing his thick hog that was forming a spike in his gym shorts at the sight, soaking his briefs in sweaty pre and coaxing Juan to tease him further.

Juan sighed and brought his massive hands down together to his crotch making an O with his hands and bunching up his stiffening package over his shorts making an obscene bulge, then waggled the copious bunch of meat at Thomas.

"You want I should stretch your hole wide open like pig, да?" He purred deeply again, really leaning into his borrowed Eastern European accent. “Come, let me taste, красотка.”

Thomas huffed another giggle and dropped his bag, swiftly moving over to the couch and basically falling on top of Juan's enormous form, immediately linking lips with him and exploring each others mouths and tongues. Thomas rutted his cock against Juan’s chiseled torso while Juan sucked face and took greedy firm fistfuls of Thomas’s ass. Suddenly, Juan manhandled Thomas up higher to his face, yanking down his shorts and briefs, burying his face into Thomas’s fuzzy bush and taking licks down his throbbing pole, while Thomas steadied himself with his hands around Juan’s buzzed head. Juan went to work swallowing deep gulps of Thomas’s chubby boyfriend cock, as Thomas gasped in deep satisfied moans of ecstasy.

Suddenly, after riding cresting waves of pleasure inside Juan’s mouth, stampeding quickly towards cumming, a devilish thought hit Thomas. Maybe even a risky thought, but that made it so much hotter—and fuck, could it be hot…

Between the noisy gulps and slurps he was making, Juan could also hear the first few syllables of that familiar incantation being whispered between whiny gasps. Juan immediately understood what was happening. Greedy fucker, Juan thought with a grin and intensified his assault on Thomas’s dick, pushing his man ever closer to unloading while he hurried out the last of the lines. Thomas panted urgently the last few syllables as he felt his balls hitch and his head vibrate as he flooded Juan’s gullet with spooge.

Simultaneously, as he voided his nuts into Juan’s new thick neck, Thomas felt the familiar sucking pull, as he began his plunge into his lover once again. Only this time, he felt a triple-fold hurricane wind of tightening pleasure pervading his goo-ifying body, sloshing around and through his own fresh load. He felt something—someone—with him there in the churning, throbbing vessel he was invading, and he knew within a second that it was Juan there he was sliding against, thrusting against, grinding against, melding into. Their body thrashed there on the couch, flexing and grunting involuntarily, humping against the air, their whole frame pulsating and cracking bigger while their clothes came loose at the seams, their cock hiccuping into thicker and longer extremes.

Thomas and Juan churned and twisted more into each other, squeezing into each other with such erotic intensity until—…

Their eyes shot open to the bright light in the same second as their neck cracked higher, forcing their shared body into its 7’8”, 430 lbs behemoth finality, also the same second their 13 inch coke can cock and orange sized nuts began gushing and spitting out a liters worth of hot, gooey jizz into the sweating, matted forest of his heaving barrel chest.

“HOHOHOHOHOOOOLY FUUCKKKKK,” he roared.

[the-transformation-hub]

Lost & Found: The Jockstrap

(Sharing a TF I wrote for @reddarkfox222)

You were just leaving the Student Wellness Center after putting in your best effort to bulk up. You had been doing pretty well at making it a habit but you were really wishing there was some sort of cheat you could do to speed things up.

As you were nearing the double glass doors of the exit, the guy in front of you had something fall out of his gym bag. Without thinking, you scooped it up and were just about to call after him when you realized the thing you were holding was kind of damp and a bit musky. You look down and realize you had unthinkingly picked up this man’s jockstrap.

You spotted the garbage and were about to toss it when something deep within you made you pause and quietly pack it into your own bag. After that, you went about your boring day of classes and didn’t think about it again until you began your homework that evening.

You tried so hard to concentrate but you kept thinking about the jockstrap in your bag and how sexy the hairy muscular football player that dropped it was. You stare at your notes for a couple unproductive minutes when at last you can’t resist it anymore and run to your bag and snatch it out.

It’s still a bit damp and the musk emitting from it is ripe but in a way that begins to make you so horny that your cock begins to get hard. Timidly, you lift it up to your face and take in a deep inhale. You can almost feel the musk as it penetrates deep into your lungs. ‘God, this scent is intoxicating’ you think to yourself as you take another whiff before you head back to your desk to resume your studies.

For a couple minutes you manage to put in some real effort to complete your homework but are interrupted by a tingling sensation across your body. Goosebumps don’t seem to be the case here as it feels more intense and the tingling quickly becomes a sharp pins and needles feeling. You’re so distracted by the feeling that you don’t even notice as chest hair begins to form and slowly curl its way through the neck opening of your t-shirt. Your armpits begin to itch as well while your pit hair gets longer, thicker, and sweatier.

The sensation makes you give up on homework for the night and you head to you bed. Along the way you decide to grab the jockstrap again because what’s the harm in another sniff? You don’t even bother to take off your clothes before hopping on the mattress, jock in hand, and begin the take deep inhales while you play with your hard on beneath the zipper of your pants.

Laying there all gooned out, you don’t notice as your cock begins to elongate and gain some heft. You just assume it’s still getting hard because of how turned on you are right now. You do however, notice the tingling sensation down there as your shaft begins to become hairy and a thick dark bush of pubes sprout at the base of your cock.

You can’t take it anymore and you begin to strip your clothes off revealing all the new hair growth along your body. Your arms and legs have a nice black carpet of hair and your stomach has a tidy little treasure trail leading down to your cock. That’s when you finally notice that your dick has miraculously gained 3 inches in length making it a whopping 8 inches long. The length isn’t the only thing shocking as it’s also about as thick as a beer can now.

It’s a good thing you stripped too as you’re about to need a whole new wardrobe. As you stroke your new fat cock you see the skin on you stomach start to churn like waves rollling across a see of pink. The churning starts to ease as thick washboard abs begin to form their way up your abdomen creating a six pack that you could never have imagined being there before. It doesn’t stop there though, your pecs start to swell and inflate under all of that new chest hair as they gain muscle mass and your nipples harden at the feeling of pleasure this is all bringing you.

You grab the jock and inhale deeply again as you begin stroking your cock even harder. The changes start coming on faster too as your feet go from a size 9.5 to 12 inches. Your calves expand as well as your thighs, the look of them is so astounding that it almost reminds you of the marble statues of nude male forms that you’ve seen in museums except a lot hairier!

You feel a bit of precum on your cock and instinctively move the jock down to wipe it up and then continue your bait sesh. As you stroke, you see your arms begin to bulk up as your biceps and triceps start to bulge out from your arms and the veins in your arms began to strain as if ready to pop. The ecstasy of this sudden growth is finally too much and loads of cum burst from your new thick hairy cock, drenching your chest hair and even the bedsheets.

The transformation leaves you exhausted and you pass out from finally having achieved release. When you wake in the morning you head to the bathroom and admire the muscular form you see looking back at you with its thick cock twitching in anticipation of another go. You head back to your room to get ready for the day before realizing that none of your clothes fit anymore. You see the jockstrap on your pillow and don’t even hesitate to grab it and slide it on. The fabric hugs your cock perfectly and the straps frame your hairy muscular ass like it’s a prized oil painting. ‘Thank god I found that jockstrap’ you think as you give the straps a playful snap ‘it’s the only clothing I have that fits.’

[raxero-malemetamorph]

The Creek

The afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of the ancient woods as Mike and Steve hiked deep into the wilderness. Both thin, lanky college students with narrow shoulders and smooth skin. Walk towards the camp site deeper in the forest where they want to spend a night.

As they walked, the conversation naturally drifted from upcoming university exams to their frustratingly stagnant love lives.

"I'm telling you, man, it's a curse," Mike sighed, adjusting the straps of his heavy blue backpack. "Another semester, and I still haven't figured out how to talk to girls without sounding like a total dork."

Steve laughed, adjusting his green beanie. "Join the club. We're just too scrawny to get noticed, Mike. We practically blend into the background."

Mike glanced around at the thick, shadowy forest. "Hey, by the way... this area is called The Bear Creek, right? Are there actual bears out here? Should we be worried?"

Steve grinned mischievously, nudging his friend. "Nah, don't worry. If there are any bears out here, they’re probably just gay bears looking for a good time."

Mike snorted, rolling his eyes as they approached a rushing river.

To continue their trail, they had to cross a deep, churning body of water over an incredibly flimsy wooden footbridge. Mike took the lead, stepping cautiously onto the creaking planks, while Steve followed closely behind, holding onto the guide ropes for dear life.

Without warning, a sharp CRACK echoed through the gorge. The brittle wooden bridge snapped clean in half under their weight. With a collective gasp, both boys plummeted directly into the freezing, deep water below.

The shock of the icy current knocked the breath from their lungs. Gasping and shivering violently, they struggled against the flow, their heavy, waterlogged clothes dragging them down. Adrenaline surging, they fought their way toward the riverbank, dragging themselves out of the water and collapsing onto the muddy shore, completely drenched and gasping for air. Realizing they couldn't hike back in freezing, wet clothes, they decided to set up emergency camp right there in a small, sheltered clearing away from the water.

Between two large trees, they strung up a makeshift clothesline and hung their wet jeans, jackets, and shirts to dry. Stripped down to just their underwear, they built a roaring campfire, sitting close to the flames on damp logs, desperately trying to stop their violent shivering.

As the heat washed over them, Mike looked up at Steve and froze. His eyes widened in absolute bewilderment.

"Steve... dude, what is that on your face?" Mike pointed a trembling finger at his friend's jaw.

Where Steve’s skin had been completely smooth just minutes ago, a thick, dark stubble was rapidly breaking through his skin. Down on his chest, fine, dark hairs were sprouting and multiplying right before their eyes.

Startled, Steve gasped, "What are you talking about?" He quickly raised his hands, his fingers brushing against his face. His jaw dropped as his palms scraped against the rough, coarse texture of a freshly growing beard.

"No way..." Steve whispered, but as he stared back at Mike, his voice caught in his throat. "Mike... look at yourself!"

Now it was Steve’s turn to point. Mike looked down at his own chest. His heart hammered against his ribs as he watched dark, thick curls of hair rapidly spreading across his sternum and down toward his stomach. A heavy shadow of stubble was darkening his own jawline, itching with an unnatural, magical warmth. They stared at each other in sheer disbelief, terrified yet strangely mesmerized by the inexplicable phenomenon overtaking them.

Driven by a sudden, internal surge of heat, both boys stood up from their logs. They watched in absolute awe as their bodies began to violently reshape.

The thin, frail frames they had known their entire lives were stretching and expanding. Beneath their skin, thick, powerful muscles began to ripple and carve themselves out. Mike’s chest swelled outward, his biceps bulging into thick knots of power, while his abdominal wall hardened into a chiseled, rock-solid core. Steve underwent the exact same explosive growth, his shoulders broadened significantly, his back widening into a thick V-shape, and his thighs thickening like tree trunks.

"Steve... look at us," Mike growled out. The words felt incredibly heavy, a deep and rumbling vibration that shook his own ribcage. "My voice... what is happening to my voice?"

Steve looked up, his eyes widening as he heard the sudden change, and tried to speak a reassurance. But as he opened his mouth, his own voice cracked and plunged down a full octave, settling into a thick, guttural baritone that practically vibrated the air between them.

"I don't know, man," Steve rasped, his new booming tone echoing off the surrounding trees like a low thunderclaps. "We sound like... Look at your chest, Mike. We're turning into giants."

The vocal shift was profound; their words now carried a heavy, roaring resonance that felt entirely primal, matching the immense physical power of their newly transformed frames.

But the transformation didn't stop. The strange, magical force pulsing through their veins grew even more profound, pushing far past mere athletic fitness and into a territory of raw, massive bulk. Their bodies began to expand with an unstoppable density, their skeletal frames widening to support an immense weight of solid power.

Mike watched in sheer fascination as his waist thickened and his torso widened, taking on a very robust, stocky, and powerfully thick-set shape. Beside him, Steve’s neck surged in size, blending into massive traps that sloped down to shoulders now as wide as a barn door. Every inch of their previously lanky frames was being filled out with heavy, dense mass. Their chest muscles swelled so immensely that they formed deep, shadowed clefts down the middle, while their abs packed into thick, blocky slabs of armor.

This explosive growth put an incredible strain on the only clothing they had left. The flimsy fabric of their underwear was forced to stretch to its absolute physical limits, the seams groaning as the material became incredibly tight and strained against their newly thickened, tree-trunk thighs.

As their bodies changed into giant muscle bears, the primal surge of testosterone triggered an intense, physical awakening below the waist. Right before their eyes, their male organs began to expand and thicken rapidly, filling out with heavy, throbbing heat. The fabric stretched painfully taut across their crotches, unable to conceal the heavy, prominent, and massively enlarged bulges that now pushed hard against the strained material, proudly marking the completion of their transition into ultimate, dominant manhood.

Concurrently, a dense, primal coat of dark, natural body hair completely carpeted their bodies, covering their massive chests, thick bellies, heavy arms, and powerful legs in a rich, masculine fur. Their facial features hardened; jaws became wider, browlines more dominant, and their newly formed, full beards grew thick and rugged. In a matter of minutes, the two scrawny college boys had completely vanished. In their place stood two massive, imposing muscle bears.

They stood close to each other by the roaring fire, breathing heavily, overwhelmed by the intoxicating aroma of musk, woodsmoke, and raw testosterone. The shock of the transformation slowly melted away, replaced by an intense, heavy wave of erotic attraction that pulsed between them. They had never looked at each other this way before, but now, seeing the raw, hyper-masculine perfection of the other, desire completely took over.

Mike reached out, his thick, hairy hand trembling slightly as his fingers brushed against the massive, hard contours of Steve’s newly grown chest. He traced the deep groove of his pectorals, amazed by the sheer density of the muscle beneath the thick fur. Mike let out a low, guttural growl of approval, stepping even closer until their massive chests brushed together. Steve raised his own heavy, muscular arms, wrapping his hands around Mikes thick biceps, squeezing the rock-solid mass with a brilliant, breathless smile.

The unbearable erotic tension that had been building between the two newly transformed giants finally snapped like the dry twigs beneath their bare feet. Driven by a pure, primal instinct that bypassed all logic, Mike stepped completely into Steve’s personal space. The heat radiating between their heavy frames was intoxicating. Mike leaned in, his gaze locked onto Steve's lips, and captured them in a fierce, passionate kiss that instantly set their desires ablaze. The scratch of their newly grown, thick beards meshing together added a rough, intensely masculine texture to the embrace, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to their cores.

Steve didn't hesitate for a single second. The last remnants of his old, hesitant college self vanished completely, replaced by the confident hunger of a massive muscle bear. He eagerly and aggressively returned the embrace. Opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, he wrapped his newly powerful, fur-covered arms around Mike’s thick, solid waist. His large hands gripped the heavy muscles of Mike's lower back, digging into the dense, warm flesh.

With a low, guttural groan that rumbled from deep within his chest, Steve pulled their massive, hairy bodies tightly together. The impact was electric; their immensely swollen chests crushed against one another, and their heavy, strained crotches pressed hard together, the friction of their prominent bulges sending a wave of intense heat through their underwear. They lost themselves entirely in the raw sensuality of the moment—enveloped by the roaring heat of the campfire, the musk of their heavy sweat, and the overwhelming, intoxicating reality of their new, ultimate masculinity.

[manlyhairymen]

[hairyobsessionss]

Hairy Furry Men

Hairy Male Obsession 34 000+ followers thank you

[wolfsclothing6]

What a Change

The bar was dimly lit, loud with chatter and music, but all he could focus on was him.

The guy at the end of the bar—the type he’d always been drawn to. Big, broad shoulders that stretched the seams of his flannel shirt, a thick beard framing a face carved like it belonged on some rugged lumberjack fantasy. He was the kind of man who looked like he belonged on a camping trip, not nursing a beer in this hole-in-the-wall joint.

And he was alone.

Perfect.

Darren downed the last of his whiskey, a confident grin spreading across his face. He’d been working on a spell for this exact moment, something bold, something risky. A possession spell. It had taken weeks of practice, but now the moment was here. He didn’t just want to flirt with this guy—he wanted to be him.

Just for a little while.

He muttered the incantation under his breath, heart pounding as the world seemed to shimmer for a split second. His vision blurred, and then—

He opened his eyes.

The weight of the man’s body was intoxicating. The solid bulk, the scratch of the beard, the calloused hands gripping the bottle of beer. Darren—now in his body—smirked, running his tongue over his teeth and savoring the taste of the brew.

This was amazing.

He was about to test the waters, maybe lean into the curious glances from some guys across the bar, when his vision swam again.

Something was wrong.

Memories—thoughts that weren’t his—started pouring in. Kids laughing. A wife’s voice calling out. A rush of emotions that didn’t belong to him. duty, responsibility.

“Shit,” he whispered, but it wasn’t his voice anymore. It was deep, gravelly, familiar and alien all at once.

Panic set in. He tried to reverse the spell, murmuring the words, but nothing happened. The spell didn’t just bind him to this body temporarily—it had merged them. The man’s memories, his personality traits, his life—all of it had stitched itself into Darren’s mind.

It was permanent.

And then came the real kicker. The wife. The kids. The heterosexuality.

He sat frozen, gripping the beer bottle so tightly it almost shattered. Images of kissing her, holding her hand, tucking the kids in at night—they felt real. They were real. He couldn’t tell where his old self ended and this new identity began.

But somewhere deep down, that spark—his spark—was still there.

A guy brushed past him at the bar, and Darren felt his heart skip a beat. The attraction didn’t vanish. It was still there, buried beneath layers of this new identity. The thought hit him like a truck:

He was both.

He loved his wife, his kids. He cared about this life. But he also still loved men.

Darren—or whatever his name was now—downed the rest of the beer in one gulp.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “this is going to be interesting.”

[raxero-malemetamorph]

Immersive Research

This story is inspired by @rowdy317 Enjoy it!

Mark pushed up his round glasses, feeling beads of nervous sweat gather on the bridge of his nose. As a PhD anthropology student, he was accustomed to silently observing from the sidelines, so he wondered why this assignment should be any different. He wore an oversized, itchy wool sweater and brown corduroy pants that nearly engulfed his hunched figure. His dull, academic attire acted as armor, helping him blend into the library and remain unnoticed among the archives, but today he must do a field work.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door of the pub "Bear Town". The air hit him like a physical wall—scents of hops, cedarwood, and the unmistakable, muskier aroma of men. Everywhere he looked, there were "bears": massive, bearded men in flannel and leather. Clutching his leather notebook to his chest like a shield, Mark felt painfully small. He wasn't just an outsider; he felt like a different species entirely.

He navigated the sea of denim and fur to the bar. "A pint of lager, please," he squeaked, his voice barely audible over the deep rumble of laughter. As the bartender poured, Mark gathered his courage. "I'm... I’m doing research on the local gay bear community. Do you know anyone who might be willing to talk to me? For science?"

The bartender offered a knowing, slightly amused grin. "Research, huh? I'll see who’s feeling talkative. I’ll send it to you."

Mark nodded and retreated to the deepest shadow of a solitary high-top table, his knuckles white as he clutched his leather notebook like a physical barricade against the room’s overwhelming masculinity. He sat stiffly, adjusting his round glasses and clicking his pen, desperately trying to inhabit the clinical persona of a PhD student documenting the "Socio-dynamics of Subcultural Spaces."

But beneath the stifling, scratchy layers of his oversized wool sweater, the professional mask was already beginning to crumble. His heart hammered a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs, driven not by academic excitement, but by a shameful, hungry envy that made his throat tight. As he peered over the edge of his paper at the sea of flannel, denim, and raw muscle, he realized the leather-bound pages were merely a hollow prop to hide a devastating truth: he hadn't come to "Bear Town" to observe these men from a safe distance; he was drowning in a desperate, silent prayer to finally shed his skin and become one of them.

"Is this the field office? I hear someone wants to know what it means to be a bear." The voice was a tectonic shift, a deep, gravelly vibration that Mark felt in the table’s wood before he heard it. Mark looked up and froze, his breath hitching. Standing before him was the physical manifestation of his entire thesis: Jeremy holding a bottle and two shot glasses.

Jeremy was a muscular bear in its purest, most overwhelming form. His shoulders were an impossible expanse, broad enough to eclipse the pub’s amber lighting and cast Mark into total shadow. A thick, dark, meticulously groomed beard framed a jaw radiating raw power, while a tight black tank top strained against the immense, heavy slabs of his chest. Jeremy stood a full head taller, peering down with eyes that danced with a dangerous, playful mischief. To Mark, trapped in his baggy wool, Jeremy wasn't just a research subject; he was a tidal wave of masculinity that made his academic detachment feel like a fragile, pathetic shield. Mark’s pulse hammered, his scientific curiosity instantly submerged by the sheer, visceral weight of the man’s presence.

Jeremy set two thick-bottomed shot glasses onto the dark oak of the table.

"To make the talking easier," Jeremy rumbled, his voice like a physical weight pressing against Mark’s chest. He leaned over, his massive biceps bunching as he poured the clear content of the bottle into the glasses. The scent hit Mark instantly—raw, sweet, and dangerously potent, smelling of high-proof grain and the dark, hidden cellars of the countryside.

Mark didn’t protest. In fact, he found he couldn't. He was caught in the gravitational pull of Jeremy’s gaze, a captive of the sheer, unadulterated masculinity radiating from the man. He reached out, his slender, pale fingers trembling as they closed around the glass. Next to Jeremy’s thick, scarred knuckles, Mark’s hand looked like it belonged to a different species entirely.

"Cheers," Jeremy whispered, a ghost of a smirk playing behind his beard.

They tilted their heads back in unison. As the liquid hit Mark’s tongue, his eyes widened behind his round glasses. It wasn't just alcohol; it was a volcanic force. It scorched a trail down his throat, a searing line of heat that felt like it was branding him from the inside out. When it reached his stomach, the sensation intensified, exploding outward like a miniature sun. Suddenly, the chilly, nervous dampness of his skin was gone, replaced by a thrumming, electric warmth. The "miniature sun" began to send rays of heat into his limbs, making his fingertips tingle and his toes go numb. For the first time since entering Bear Town, the roar of the crowd didn't sound like a threat—it sounded like a heartbeat. Mark gasped, his breath coming out in a sharp puff of steam, and he realized with a jolt of primal fear and exhilaration that the heat wasn't stopping. It was spreading into his muscles, into his bones, and deep into the roots of his very being.

"You know," Jeremy said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate hum. "A real bear never feels the winter. We have a coat of our own. It keeps the heat right where it belongs—pressed against the muscle. That’s why we can get away with just a tank and some shorts, even when the air turns to ice."

As Jeremy spoke, the "miniature sun" in Mark's stomach flared into wildfire. The heat became an unbearable itch beneath his heavy wool sweater. Mark reached for his collar, feeling a sudden, frantic need to shed his layers. To his bewilderment, the scratchy wool didn't just feel tight. It felt like it was dissolving. In a blur of shifting fabric, the bulky sweater vanished, replaced by the thin, cool pressure of a ribbed white tank top. His corduroys shortened and transformed, molding into a pair of rugged denim shorts that felt light and liberating against his skin.

But the transformation wasn't just in his clothes.

A fierce prickling erupted across his jaw, a thousand tiny needles of pressure pushing through the surface. Mark gasped, his hand flying to his face. Where there had been smooth, pale skin, his fingers now met a dense, coarse hair. A beard—thick, dark, and perfectly masculine—had erupted from his face in seconds.

The sensation spread downward. Beneath the cotton of his new tank top, he felt a frantic, tickling growth. He looked down, his eyes widening behind his glasses as dark, virile hair began to sprout across his chest, curling hungrily over the neckline of the tank top and dusting his forearms in a layer of dark velvet. He felt... primal. He felt covered, yet more exposed than ever.

"I... what is happening?" Mark whispered, but the voice that came out wasn't his. It was deep, a rich baritone that vibrated in his own throat.

Before he could process the change in his voice, his bones began to ache with dull, heavy pressure. He felt a sudden, dizzying lurch in his perspective. The high-top table, which had felt like a barricade at his chest, seemed to sink toward his waist. He felt his spine lengthen and his legs stretch. He was surging upward, gaining several inches in a matter of heartbeat.

Jeremy didn't move. He stood there with a slow, deeply satisfied smile spreading through his beard. He watched Mark with the pride of a predator who had just seen a cub find its teeth. "Nicely done," Jeremy rumbled, his eyes sparkling with dark, welcoming heat. "That moonshine had a kick."

"There’s all kinds of bears in this world, Mark," Jeremy continued. He stepped even closer, the heat radiating from his massive body now met by the heat rising from Mark’s. "Some guys like bears to be soft and cuddly. But me? I’ve always had a hunger for the ones who carry weight. I like a man who looks like he could snap a log with his bare hands. I like masculine strength."

As if Jeremy’s words were the final catalyst, Mark felt a violent surge of growth. His joints popped and settled with a heavy, satisfying thrum. He felt his spine straighten and lengthen until the last few inches of height difference evaporated. He was no longer looking up; he was looking Jeremy directly in the eye.

Then came the pressure. It was the sensation of a bow being drawn to its limit.

Mark’s chest surged forward, the white ribbed fabric of his tank top screaming under the strain as it was forced to map the heavy, rock-hard plates of his new pectorals. His shoulders didn't just broaden. They became massive, carving an imposing new silhouette into the pub's amber light. His arms, once thin and frail, thickened into oak-tree limbs, his biceps peaking with a raw, functional power that made his skin feel tight and electrified.

He looked down at his legs, his breath hitching in his throat. The denim shorts, which had been loose moments ago, were now dangerously tight. His thighs had expanded into massive pillars of muscle, the rugged fabric digging into his skin, highlighting the sheer mass of his quads.

The transformation reached his groin with a heavy, pulsing heat. The dark, wild pubic hair that had erupted across his lower belly surged downward. He felt a dramatic shift as his anatomy thickened and grew, filling out the denim with a heavy, unmistakable weight.

Even his face had been rewritten by the moonshine. His jawline was now a sharp, rugged edge of bone beneath his new beard. His features became denser and more imposing. The round glasses, once a sign of his nerdiness, now sat perched on a face that screamed primal authority.

Mark stood there, his breath coming in deep, heavy heaves that made his massive chest rise and fall like a bellows. He didn't feel like an observer anymore. He didn't feel like a student. He felt the weight of his own power, the solidity of his new form.

He was a bear. A muscular, powerful, full-blooded bear. And as he looked at Jeremy, the shock in Mark's eyes was slowly being replaced by a dark, confident fire. Jeremy’s smile widened, his eyes racked over Mark’s transformed physique with predatory approval.

"There he is," Jeremy whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I knew you were in there somewhere."

Inside Mark’s head, the frantic academic was silent. The thoughts that had raced through his mind just an hour ago—theories on subcultures, observations on masculine performance—had been replaced by something far more visceral. He wasn't thinking about his thesis. He was thinking about the weight of Jeremy’s hand, the intoxicating musk of cedarwood and sweat radiating from the man beside him, and the way the blood felt as it pumped through his own heavy, thrumming muscles. He didn't want to observe this world anymore; he wanted to consume it.

Jeremy leaned in close, his thick beard brushing against the side of Mark’s face, a soft, masculine friction that made Mark’s skin tingle. "You’ve got the look. And you’ve definitely got the spirit," Jeremy whispered, his deep voice vibrating in Mark's ear. "But you’re missing one last experience. The one thing you need to truly understand what it means to be a bear."

Jeremy reached up, his thick, warm palm cupping Mark’s neck, his fingers tangling slightly in the hair there. The gesture was possessive and incredibly tender. He pulled Mark toward him and pressed his lips to Mark’s. Mark didn't hesitate. He was into it. The spark of the moonshine ignited into a forest fire as their beards intertwined, the coarse hair scratching pleasantly against their faces. Mark reached up, his own powerful, heavy arms wrapping around Jeremy’s neck, pulling the larger man closer until their muscular chests were crushed together. The kiss was deep, passionate, and tasted of raw spirit and hidden desires.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Jeremy’s eyes were dark with clear, burning intent. "I live just around the corner," he rumbled, his hand still holding Mark’s neck with a gentle, firm grip. "Want to continue the research at my place?" "Lead the way," Mark said, his voice a confident, gravelly baritone.

[gaytamorfosi]

Age progression 2

Adoro come cambia le dimensioni del pacco

[maningup]

Gods Reborn: Ares

A/N: Come on, I wouldn't actually leave you all hanging like that.

Ares. Mars. Call him what you will, the title was always the same: The god of war. He wasn’t mad. He wasn't angry. He was fucking pissed. All of his power was confined and frozen in a small statue of his visage. Strong, powerful, spear-ready, armor shined: Pure masculinity. At least his form of it. He was sure Apollo’s version was either surfer or fuckboy. Ares knew at least that much about this era. His divine-self, turned statue, had been discovered and lauded as a lost artifact, where he was promptly put on display at a museum. All the god could do was watch people come in and out, families, couples, tourists, students. All day, every day. Funny what gods learned about humans when forced to spend time observing them.

Despite the many men who passed by, young, old. None ignited the spark of Ares’ soul. He waited patiently, watching and learning. The soul of THE Ares would surely command attention. However, no man in his presence could commandeer others the god desired. There were family men, cheating boyfriends, jocks, and athletes. But where was the fighting spirit? His patience got chipped away, a god of war, a god of action could only be still for so long. If the fates would not deliver his soul, he’d find it himself.

It was a Friday, when the class came to tour the museum. Loud, and bored as the many classes before them. Blank faces. Zero interest in Greek culture. Ares' godly vision spotted one of the teens in the back, tripping a smaller classmate on the ground. Now that was worthy of the god of war. The teen was a jock, perfectly built, muscles showing through his clothes. A tight black shirt that read ‘Just let me do you.’ with a white check under it. A sexual innuendo no doubt even if Ares couldn’t decipher the cultural meaning. The kid he had put on the ground got up limping his way to the front. The limping student looked a bit younger than his peers, as if he’d skipped a few grades. It mattered not; Ares knew his time was coming. The class passed him by, but he knew he’d see the jock again.

20 minutes later the students had broken out into groups to explore the museum, no one was coming by the Ancient Greek section, just as Ares had intended, subtly compelling them away.

“So cool,” He heard a high pitch voice whisper out. The student who had been knocked to the ground earlier had come back. No muscles, no height. This was a boy, not a man. Ares couldn’t believe how muted his power was, unable to keep such a weak individual away. The student approached him, eyes locked on his form, studying him with interests beyond aesthetics.

“There you are you little shit.” The jock had his arms on either side of the door frame. His biceps were bulging, ready to pounce, he cracked his finger with a smirk on his face. Ares couldn't believe it. The boy had led the jock here like a fly to honey. The jock came charging in, a blitz to get to the boy before the teacher could know. The boy ducked, swerving past the jock more limber than the young man expected. Speed over power Ares could respect that. But thinking was for Athena. Ares had what he wanted. He summoned all his power and raged against the tricksters’ spell, it fought well to hold him in, but he was the god of war and just needed a crack. The spell gave ever so slightly and Ares stuck. A facsimile of his helmet appeared over the jocks face as Ares began to pour his divinity into it.

“What the?” The jock tried to pull it off, but Ares wasn’t letting go. He wanted out! The tiniest sliver of his divinity poured into the jock. Ares was immediately infused; he could sense the struggle to get the helmet off. Divine power flowed into the bicep feeding them a diet of Ares’ aggression. The jock’s body eagerly sapped it up, as Ares divinity went to reclaim his soul. The young man’s body stretched to a taller height. His biceps inflated. Ares’ best gift was flooding into the jock’s cock, stretching it further and swelling his testicles. A strained gurgle came from the jock’s stomach. Ares sensed it. The jock wasn’t processing the divinity correctly. The young man couldn’t handle even a fraction of Ares. The six pack abs the jock had earned bowled out into one unified belly. Divinity, converting into layers of fat on the muscled body. His jeans split open as thighs quaked out. His shirt no longer existed from his upper body’s savagery upon emerging. A split red fabric appeared over him, a mockery of Ares’ own uniform and not properly hiding the gift Ares had bestowed, very evident in the shrinking green briefs.

This wasn’t his soul. 

And fate was punishing him for trying to forge an escape. Especially one so ungraceful.

The smaller student hadn’t left the room when Ares made his move. He watched the whole thing happen. He ran back up to his enlarged bullying trying to assist with the helmet. Ares could not believe how foolish the small student was. If even the jock’s arms couldn’t remove it, how would he.

“Matt, I think it’s the statue!” the small student stated.

“Please, just help me, Harland.” A husky voice asked as the student nodded. With a strange look of determination, Harland seized the statue in his hand. Ares felt the flare of his soul. The god had no chance to pour his divinity into the boy because his divinity was being sucked out. Harland, the fucking smallest attendee, was manipulating, Ares’ divinity with ease. That was Ares' soul alright. Harland forced Ares’ divinity into his body, even taking it from Matt’s though his new form remained. Filled to the brim, a light erupted from Harland.

The young body bulked with divine life; it depended on it. Ares' power stamped his strength into the form by making Harland’s musculature rise to that of warriors. His pecs became powerful slates, hair covering them and swirling around his nipples. Down it flowed into the gutters being carved to form his abs. Markings appeared across his body, he was the man of a new age. His boyish features melted with the aid of Ares’ divinity, revealing the fighter buried underneath. Follicles traversed his face to give him a proper beard, sealing his new manly form into place. He pulled his sword from the ether as a stephanos formed on his head. His beloved blood lust red wrapped around his nude waist perfectly.

Ares, the god of war, was back.

[ninihcb]

Boy to man

[ai-ultram0th]

A jock discovers that they don't call it "MuscleDaddy Beach" for no reason!

[hairymaletf]

Getting harder to resist, eh, big guy?

[ai-ultram0th]

A nerd finds a way to warm up in those cold weather!

[ultram0th]

"Dream Guy 2": Alter a variety of traits to create your dream guy!