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[pawsnsaws]

Putting whipped cream on my puppy's nose and face and then making him try and lick it off while he wags his tail and isn't allowed to use his paws<3

It'd be so cute watching him dumbly lap at himself and try to get it in his pretty mouth

Is this anything...

[pawsnsaws]

i need to control my pretty puppy, dumb him down until he doesn't even know how to think for himself.

feed him, push treats into his mouth and close his jaw for him, or push his face into his dog bowl until he's full. hold a glass to his lips.

put him in the tub and fill it with bubbles, wash his body, and kiss his shoulders while I clean behind his floppy doggy ears. every time he tries to do something himself, i gently scold him or smack his face just hard enough to remind him he's a pet, not a person.

keep him in a fluffy sweater, his ears and tail, a collar and leashed, always held in my hand or tied to my belt.

clicker-training him into being obedient, making sure he doesn't try and act up or not listen. getting him stupid with over the top praise, which makes his brain numb<3

[caenypoo]

forcemasc but it's roughhousing with your cis best friend after you come out. you have to deal with him teasing you with words like, "c'mon, this is just how boys mess around," and "is that all you've got? hit me like a the man you are," as he straddles your hips and holds your hands down.

he leans down and whispers, "we're just boys being boys. you can take it, right?" he asks, while he deliberately grinds his hips against yours as if trying to provoke you, and it works.

you struggle to escape his hold, but finally manage. you both toss and turn on the floor until you eventually end up on top. you attempt to restrict him in the same way he did to you, pushing your hips down onto his.

he looks up at you with a mischievous grin, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. "there we go..." he mutters as he moves his hips upward slightly.

“that’s my boy.”

nine in the morning btw… what am i doing w my life 🧍🏽.

[freshineyes]

stop resisting, this is how men play!

[freshineyes]

I can squirm all I want but holding the pressure on my wrists makes me feel more like a man

[pawsnsaws]

Need to get him so stupid he doesn't even consider himself human anymore.

Need to put paws mits on him so he can't use his fingers, after all, pups don't have hands!!

A tight collar with his name on the tag, or maybe it'll say "Dumb Mutt." Attatched to a leash ill always hold. Can't have a dumb puppy running off on his own!!

A pretty bone gag in his mouth so he can't talk, since pups just bark and yip and whine<3

A soft set of ears and a tail which he always has to wear, to the point he feels naked without wearing them. He'll wiggle his hips and wag his tail whenever I tell him he's such a good boy.

Keep him in a kennel, i decide when he can come out, making him eat out of a doggy bowl with only his mouth, training him every day with a clicker. Making him get dumber and dumber until being my pet is all he really thinks he is. Cause it is<33 His job is to be my pretty spoiled pup xx

[occamstfs]

Pre-Homo Sapience

Devolution story at last! It's not everyone's cup of tea I imagine but I think this turned out quite well! Hair growth, mental corruption, muscle growth, and loss of self ahead!

Thanks to all who offered suggestions! Went back to a prompt from one of my older follower celebrations! This story came quite naturally, as it were, haha! Enjoy! -Occam

If they didn’t want him to touch the thing they shouldn’t have simply left it out in the open like that. Chris knows such instructions are typically a given in a museum, but staring at the cut on his hand he is indignant and wishes there was at least a sign up. Surely it should be in a case or something. Feeling the warm blood start to trickle down his palm he looks up at the artifact and almost feels it calling out for him to touch it again. He raises his non-cut hand as it is magnetically drawn to the prehistoric piece before shaking it off and going to get first aid.

Chris plays coy with the volunteers, not wanting to out himself as either a scofflaw or irresponsible dullard. His desire to prevent this from happening to another museum goer fades to the back, well behind his need to appear like a man who wouldn’t try to grab an object older than the written word. To that end he is desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn’t bizarrely drawn to the object, though as the stone shard graces his mind once more the desire to hold it in his hands returns.

After getting his cut bandaged up Chris opts to remain discrete and toss a note in their suggestion box. En route there however he passes the stone shiv and finds it encased in a glass box, one that the cut on his hand proves could not have been there minutes ago. He hand stings as he clenches it and he races up to inspect the display. There’s yet another drive by his hands to grab at the piece only to be met with a cold bump against the glass. Nearby a student eyes him suspiciously and Chris nervously laughs, embarrassment clear on his face.

He takes a picture to research the object later, hopefully to find the root to whatever weird compulsion is affecting him. As soon as he snaps the picture he feels a hot flash, his forehead suddenly  burns as he is overcome by a harsh fever. Through the sudden headache and slight delirium from his still rising temperature he stumbles out of the museum and to his car. Chris’ body goes on autopilot as he barely maintains consciousness on the drive home. Slamming the door behind him he just makes it to the couch before passing out, the last image before an empty unconsciousness being the all too alluring artifact clutched in his bleeding hand. 

Sun streams in through the windows alighting the clothes strewn about the floor having apparently been discarded while he was asleep. Chris stretches and loudly yawns as a sunbeam shifts to land on his face. Blocking the rays as he rubs his eyes and groans, he scratches at his stomach and looks down shocked to have slept in the nude. Covered in dried sweat he stumbles into the kitchen to get a glass of water, reaching for a pitcher he sees the bloody bandage on his hand and the events of yesterday afternoon come rushing back to him.

First Chris sets a thermometer going, fingers crossed he can call out. While that’s on he sets to remove the bandage, where he discovers that whatever oddities happened yesterday are not done with him yet. The cut is completely healed. Rubbing the spot where it should be he finds rougher skin, slightly darker than the rest of his pale palm. Quite the opposite of his standard experience with scars but hey he’s no doc. He grumbles to himself that he’d better not have gotten some ancient sickness from that stupid rock before starting his coffee brewing and sitting down to research said artifact before work.

Chris prides himself on the ease with which he usually scours the internet for information. Though to find anything concrete on this, by all accounts, indistinct piece of ancient detritus is a more difficult mission than he was prepared for. His eyes glaze over as he grows bored from staring at barely significant rocks and pottery sherds. He scratches at his jaw finding he could do with a shave before going to pour himself some coffee. He chews on his lip as his mind struggles to put any two thoughts together in his mind on the matter.

On the way back to the desk he takes a sip of his coffee. Chris immediately gags as the coffee tastes stronger and far more bitter than any brew he has suffered before. He can’t help but spit it onto the floor as he stands there still unclothed. It splashes onto his feet and he grunts in pain, his arms raise in rage though finding no target he limps to sit down and check his burns. His brow furrowing at how he could have messed up his coffee to such a degree. Looking back it tasted like it always has? Just stronger, more intense.

He shakes off his contemplation as he brings his coffee stained foot up into his lap. The skin is obviously red from the light burns but there seems to be no long-lasting damage. His eyes drift from his feet to his hands however as he notices something the most bizarre occurrence yet, there is hair on the back of his hands? He doesn’t know how he’s possibly missed it, there are dark brown hairs spreading out from his wrists, down his forearms and towards his long fingers. He’d almost swear his eyes are playing tricks on him as the hair on his right hand, once bandaged if not cut, looks thicker and darker than that on its pair.

Chris ponders on how unaware he must have been lately to miss the hair on his arms growing at such a prodigious rate. Muttering to himself about not doing enough self-reflection he remains unaware of more drastic changes happening across his body. Perhaps if his hands and feet were not observed at the same time he would notice as all four extremities are larger than when he fell asleep the day before. His wider palms briefly struggled to maintain grace on the keyboard earlier but the lengthened fingers found their marks with enough ease to bury the lede. His feet cover more of the floor than they ever have before and, much like his hands, hair is sneaking down from his ankles and creating a hobbit-esqe patch on the top of them, while stray hairs curl out further on each toe.

His mind is torn whether to get back to researching the artifact or to call a doctor. Before either side wins however he takes a step and promptly steps in the coffee sprayed on the floor. He grimaces in shock that he didn’t clean that earlier, it’s unlike him to make such a mess and not immediately clean it up. He groans and rubs his hands on his face, blaming his befuddlement on the fever while ignoring how his whole wider palm now matches the should-be scar. Both hands are darker and rougher on his face as they scratch against his increasingly thicker stubble and harsher brow. As soon as Chris tosses a towel down onto the mess his alarm goes off and he sees it’s time to head to work.

The man rushes for the door and almost exits before looking down to find he’s only clad in a surprisingly tight pair of briefs. He blushes, embarrassed that he almost left the house nigh-nude. The shock of it all hides how darker hairs curl up from his strained briefs as well as his package bulging out further than ever before. Throwing on whatever is easily grabable in his wardrobe with no thought spared on consistency or fashion he makes excellent time throwing on clothes. He doesn't worry about how much sloppier he looks in the mirror, it’s just stress. He pointedly ignores how his arms inch out further from his long sleeves or how his pants bunch at his ankles as they’ve never done before. He skips socks as his feet fit far too snugly in his oxfords for some reason. No time to shave stubble that even since waking up has spread further up his cheeks and down his neck as he again races to his car.

The drive seems to take longer than usual, though the clock on his dash would disagree. Not usually prone to road rage Chris finds every delay due to traffic far more irritating than usual. His brows hand thick over his eyes, casting shadows that can display nothing but contempt as it almost seems like a ridge is beginning to bulge on his forehead. He grunts and clutches at the wheel as the car in front of him hesitates to go on a green. His jaw cramps from how hard he’s clenching it as he avoids blaring on the horn. Underneath his shirt veins bulge down his forearms as hair begins to grow even thicker underneath them as they begin to put on weight and grow in strength.

He scratches at his chest as his clothes feel only increasingly itchy and tight, “God what is up with me today!” He takes a centering breath as his usually then chest pushes against his button up. With a sign he resolves to stay calm the rest of the drive. Having chilled out at all Chris realizes his hand that’s not on the wheel has strayed and is scratching at his crotch. He bites at his lip as he feels a burning itch there as his pants feel far too tight on his waist and in his crotch. He pretends not to see his cock bulging down a pant leg as he’s stopped at another light. He sighs as he maintains his composure and starts to watch passersby to help the light pass quicker.

Staring out the window Chris’ eyes are immediately drawn to a massive man jogging down the road. His mouth waters as he stares at the man’s muscular body shifts with each step, perfectly bouncing in the air. His mouth is not the only thing to water as he grunts and his cock forces into even more of a bulge as it starts to produce pre-cum in a manner it has never done before. His lust changes to envy as he imagines the freedom of the man, shirtless under the sun as his chest itches once more against his wretched garment. The car behind him honks as the light above him changes to green and Chris sees red, his arms again flex and the top button of his shirt pops open as something new burns in his chest. His foot accidently presses harder on the brake before shifting over as he speedily jets off.

Arriving at work just on time he rushes in the door, unfortunately unaware of the sweat-stains under his pits or the unmissable spot of precum in his pants were anyone to study his massive bulge. Rushing in the elevator he bumps into a coworker, Jake, who almost bursts out laughing in shock, “Hah! God Chris you look fucking awful!” He grabs at Chris’ arm lift to poke fun at his too-short sleeves, raising his arm and exposing the pit; he instead bats at the air and exhales, “Pwoh dude, you absolutely reek!?” He shifts to look at Chris’ unshaven face and sloppy hair and his expression drops slightly, concern tinting his eyes. “You are alright, right Chris?”

“Uhhh yeah. Little uh, fever.” For some reason Chris was almost struggling to keep up with his friend’s words. The speed at which he moved from observing aspects of Chris’ appearance was simply hard to follow, as soon as he put his mind to inspecting his own arm as his coworker called it out he was laughing at the next thing. Probably for the best, lest anxiety build in his chest and he cause a scene. As his arm is raised Chris smells his own body odor in a way he’s never been able to do before. The idea that you shouldn’t smell your own armpit mid-conversation does not occur to Chris as the scent briefly drives him crazy. He shoves his own head in his pit and takes a few deep sniffs.  His mouth opens as if he’s wanting to lick as his beard scratches against his tighter shirt.

His friend smiles and backs away, “Chris?” Hearing his name Chris snaps out of it, shaking his head a few times to get his bearings he sniffs the air a few times and is shocked as his sense of smell has clearly increased beyond what he would have deemed possible. He smells the cafeteria as the elevator passes it on the ascent. Less appealing than his own musk he can smell Jake’s cologne and beneath that something bizarre. Chris can smell fear coming from the man as readily as he can read it on his face. Chris’ back hunches as his shoulders grow weighter and his upper body bulges larger as he leans in to inspect Jake more closely.

Jake backs into the corner of the elevator seeing something shift in Chris’ eyes. Not so much crazed as curious. Jake’s own curiosity would be piqued were this whole situation not bizarre and nightmarish. Standing almost a foot shorter with his hunch Chris sees Jake cower and he does his best to calm his friend down. Something in his gut compels him to do a wide toothy smile, that it’s the quickest way to appeasement. He raises his arms and backs away from his scared friend and there’s a tear as his clothes rip from the sudden movement.

Jake chuckles uncomfortably and eyes the button for the elevator doors, reaching for one to allow him a quick escape. Chris nervously goes into damage control, everything in his mind screams at him to act normal but the concept of normality seems increasingly alien to him. He waves his larger arms in the air and clears his throat to try and speak, “Jake. Me- I am sick, yes?” Jake covers his mouth with a handkerchief and stops the elevator on the next floor. Talking through his kerchief he agrees, “Yeah, you should work from home today Chris. You’re clearly, um, out of sorts.” 

The doors begin to close and Chris’ eyes light on the control panel. He blinks hard a few times trying to make out which one will keep the doors open so he can talk with his friend. Just before they close he grunts and he shoves out a meaty fist, causing Jake to flinch, “Yes. I go home and work, uhh, there. Good idea. You bring-” Jake steps back and nods fervently, “Yes, yes. I’ll drop off whatever you need just, go get some rest.” 

Chris offers another toothy smile and grunts in agreement as he lets the doors close. He scratches at his head as he again looks at the panel in confusion. Distress fills his mind and anxiety his chest as he stares at the panel knowing this should be a beyond simple matter. Before he touches a button the machine begins moving down and every muscle in his body tenses. More tears shoot down the back of his shirt as he flies into the corner of the tiny room. Hair pokes out from every button in the front as he pants in fear of the sudden movement. Body tight with fear muscle continues to grow heavier on his body, undefined and powerful as he unknowingly nears the ground floor. 

Arriving at the ground floor the doors open and he rushes out falling on his hands in front of the elevator. His eyes are focused and expression clueless as he breathes through his mouth and pushes past a woman about to step into the elevator before she smells the stink inside and recoils, scoffing at the man. Eying the torn clothes she grimaces at Chris, “God are you an animal?!” Chris’ thick brow furrows and he grunts at her, “Me- I- ugh!” With that he sprints as fast as he can away from the business and to what he can only just remember as his car. He kicks off his shoes as they grow painfully tight, his harrier feet race across the concrete as his soles feel increasingly suited to stomping across matted earth.

He pauses at his car’s door for a second hesitating at the method of entry before hopping in and slamming the door behind him. Everything laid in front of him is impossibly familiar, he’s been at this wheel thousands of times. He moves his hands across the leather wheel and tries to force it to turn, grunting as it stays firm. He wrenches at it with all the might he has, sure this is how it must go. He knows how to drive after all. He’s not stupid. His brow grows even heavier over his eyes as his beard thickens with every grunt. His biceps put on the mass of a weightlifter as the wheel jolts and his car alarm begins to go off. 

His car blaring he has no recourse but to punch at the wheel as anxiety grows. His chest heaves with nervous breaths. He scratches at his chest and feels the hair beneath it thicken and curls as it spreads towards his shoulders and up towards his messy beard. His wild eyes still as he sees another man jogging down the street shirtless as he too rips off the tattered remains of his button up. Grimacing at his confined thighs he tears at his torn pants as well, fighting the urge not to bend down and gnaw them off. Hairy thighs unveiled, his hands try to reach and tear off his impossibly tight briefs as well before his chest pangs and his head wrenches back. He can’t do that. He needs to keep them. He twists in discomfort as two impulses vie to this end. His face grows red under his still thickening beard as he is barely able to retain this smallest shred of dignity.

He pushes open the door with his newfound power, only accidentally getting at the handle before down the street. The weight of his upper body, and the apparent shorter length of his legs, puts the idea in his head that his arms could well help him run faster. His heavy knuckles hang low and he barely maintains his mind as he sprints as a man does and makes a better time back than he ever could in that stupid car. He exhales in pride as he gets to the door of his house. It was thankfully left open by his thoroughly less scatterbrained morning self. This time as he worms his way in he leaves it consciously ajar.

His stomach rumbles with hunger and he sniffs to find a suitable quarry. He squints as he smells food behind cabinets, opening them he finds packages of processed snacks and containers unrecognizable as food. Chris grunts as he knocks a few of them off the shelves onto the floor, grumbling as he grows hungrier by the second. After knocking a glass bottle to the floor, the shattering sound returns awareness to Chris’ eyes, grunting out a “Wha-” 

Seeing the mess he’s apparently made he stands back in shock, looking down at his hairy body and thick arms. His cock finally outgrows his tight briefs and his heavy balls hang low underneath a bush hairier than any human should be able to grow. He searches for his cell before realizing he must have discarded it with his pants, “fuck!” he shouts, clenching at his thick throat as his voice resounds a deep bass.

Standing in his kitchen his mind slowly crawls to find any idea worth pursuing as concepts and meaning begin to fall from his mind never to return. His train of thought is interrupted before he can even realize that he doesn’t know his own name anymore. Language begins to fall by the wayside, another thing not worth knowing as his need for food continues to grow. Every groaned word grows thicker and slower in between grunts as his mind dulls and his senses continue to grow more sensitive, “Me… Hungry…” Barely understanding what a fridge is he grabs and pulls at the door and uncovers a packaged pound of raw meat. 

Chris’ mouth immediately waters as he rips into the package and begins forcing it into his mouth with a speed that would make one think he’s never eaten before. Eating is not a ritual but an act of survival. Not nearly full he continues tearing into anything that is obviously food in the fridge. Handfuls of lettuce and fruit follow a jug of milk and at last the man is sated. What was intended to be hamburgers later this week litter the floor around him as milk trails down his sweaty body. Seeing ground beef stuck under his nails and lettuce caught in his dense beard something deep inside Chris screams before it is buried beneath the powerful will of a creature who has yet to develop the ability to understand.

The ultimate task of survival currently conquered, Chris sniffs the air and sets to tackle the next challenge presenting itself. His cock bulges out and his balls pulse with the same primal hunger that rings from his stomach. He grabs at his cock and has a eureka moment more profound than when his kind discovered fire as he feels more pleasure in the moment than in his whole life preceding.

He falls to the floor and immediately begins masturbating, his balls bouncing with every movement, his hips can't help but rut the air as his brain was hard wired to do. Drool drips into his beard from his open mouth as his eyes again glaze over from the sheer pleasure invoked by his mindless pleasure seeking. After finishing he languishes in the less-than cerebral pleasure, feeling every inch of his  powerful body before his cock begins to rise again and in short order he looses another load onto his own hairy torso.

Sniffing the air he has an urge to scoop his own cum into his mouth. Thankfully, for whatever mute anemic shred of Chris’ humanity remains, he is interrupted. His laptop left open from his flight early this morning chimes and his attention is firmly drawn to the mysterious object. The screen displays mysterious characters that he couldn’t hope to read ‘From: Jake omw.’ beside the enigmatic symbols his attention is drawn to the centerpiece of the screen, finally something he can recognize. Smack dab in the middle of the laptop is the stone shiv from the Natural History Museum. Chris’ exhales with interest and fury as he knows beyond a doubt that the artifact is his. 

Chris’ dull eyes shift as he struggles to make even the most rudimentary plan towards retrieving his shiv. He grunts in irritation as he finds the gears of his mind turning impossibly slowly, at the edges of whatever consciousness is to him he suddenly remembers that he saw it yesterday. He knows where it is, he just needs to go get it. His chest burns with excitement and he is filled with the desire to beat at his chest and cheer. He looks around for any tools that could help in his foolhardy mission before impatiently grunting and turning towards the door.

Outside Jake is approaching, blissfully unaware of what impossible horrors await inside besides an unusually slovenly and sick Chris. Seeing the entrance ajar he hastens and drops the paperwork he brought as concern trumps whatever busywork he brought his friend. “Oh Fuck! Chris!? Are you okay!?” Crossing the threshold his nose wrinkles as he smells odors that men have not produced for hundreds of thousands of years. The scene almost stuns him as he sees a creature that has barely a similarity with the man who woke up on the couch this morning. The fridge door lies on its hinges next to a pile of food waste. There are globs of inhuman cum staining the walls as what was once Chris beats his chest now opposed to Jake. 

The office worker can’t use the one advantage he has over the behemoth. Freezing up as his mind goes blank Jake whispers, “God, you look like a fucking caveman.” Jake stands in the door frame, scared and unsure of what could possibly be going on. Chris quickly jumps down to meet him, sniffing him to find a familiar, if not friendly, scent; he attempts to push him gently out of the way. Unaware of the frailty of modern man he instead bowls him over and sprints off into the distance, unconcerned with the man he’s barrelled past or any of the other weird submissive beings covered in mysterious cloth just as he was. He’s got a mission and more than anything he needs to feel his shiv in his hands once more.

Lightly concussed Jake later awakens to find his clothes stained with Chris’ bountiful dinner and, worse than that, his seed. He grimaces and takes off his button up then in there before heading inside to inspect his friend's domicile. Each step within sharpens his senses and dulls caution as his friends' pheromones draw him further in. while initially beyond repulsive it becomes more alluring by the second. Why should Jake be concerned by the sudden itchiness rising across his form. The rising pressure in his crotch as he takes deep breaths is far more compelling. Clothes feeling uncomfortable and constricting, he rips them off and pays no mind to hair darkening and spreading wide, his mind too dull to recognize how he too is changing like Chris. 

Wandering out of the house he smells a fading trail of Chris’ pheromones going off towards the museum, his cock bobs larger in his pants as it  takes everything in his mind to stop from sprinting after him then and there. Shaking off the lust, sensibility returns to Jake’s mind as the breeze cools his almost entirely nude body. He writes off his phone and clothes, sure that reentering would spell his doom he instead sprints for his car. Before any further action though the wind delivers the beyond pleasurable smell of Chris’ approaching. 

What was once Chris barrels down a field ambling between charging on his legs and all fours, slightly scratched from breaking glass with a stone shiv in hand. Having regained his artifact his body has grown in every possible manner. Jake can’t help but lustfully stare as the massive man approaches and his decaying mind has no ability to prevent him from following his desires. He discards whatever remains of his plan to fly and instead bounds towards the brute, with each step his body devolves. Growing hairier as his mind prioritizes only survival and the seeking of sexual pleasure. His cock surging as he nears his friend, his superior, nothing ever to grace his conscious again besides the desire to fuck and be fucked.

[misctf]

Can we please get a sequel to the upside-down tf posted last January? Would love to see how that virus going around swapped another innocent guy with his cock, making him a dumb horny bro

"Rich, seriously you need to go home." Rich sighed, meeting the worried eye of his coworker Anna, "All the other guys stayed home… as they were told." She continued to lecture him, "Don't you know…"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard the news reports. But do you actually believe all that stuff? I mean, I get that it sounds nasty, but c'mon." Rich smiled, trying to mask his discomfort, "I'm a healthy guy in my prime. What are the odds it would hit me?" He adjusted his watch strap. "Besides, even if I did catch it somehow, they'd figure out a cure quick, right? This is the 21st century after all."

"Rich, seriously. Haven't you seen the news?" Anna insisted, "And not just the news! What about Jake? You heard, right?" Rich nodded slowly- he thought it was just a rumor, "Then you know. How his girlfriend found him midway through the process and…" She shuddered, "Why would you even risk that? To end up as nothing but a…"

"Woah woah, hold up! Spare me the gory details, thanks." He chuckles, a growing sense of unease building. "I'm sure Jake is fine, right? I mean…." Jake was around his age, probably just as healthy as him- always down to go to the bar after work or join the company's softball team. Rich shuddered- when was the last time he was with Jake? Was it recent?

Anna looked away, "Jake didn't make it. By the time his girlfriend got him to the hospital, the inversion was complete. There wasn't anything they could do."

"Holy shit…" he muttered under his breath, "Okay, maybe this whole staying home thing does make some sense after all." He grabbed his bag, "But what about work? I mean…"

"You can take a break for just a little Rich." Anna said, "You're always working too hard anyway."

Rich sighed, "Fine… fine, okay…" He ran a hand through his hair, "Alright, I'm gonna jet. See you when all this blows over."

"Stay safe, Rich." She smiled and watched as he headed out.

--------

Rich rushed through the city streets, his polished shoes tapping against concrete with increasing urgency. As he walked, memories flashed through his mind—beers at the bar with Matt two nights ago, gym locker room chats with Luke earlier that week. Both of them seemed fine then… hadn't they? Matt had sent him a text yesterday afternoon, something about picking up a case of beer, but nothing since. Luke had been quieter too—their usual back-and-forth banter replaced by silence. A cold pit formed in Rich's stomach. If something happened to them… he pushed the thought away, breaking into a jog toward his apartment building.

The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors finally opened on his floor, he froze. His neighbor Tom was slumped against his own doorframe, breathing heavily. "Hey… Rich," he wheezed, "you lookin' pale man. I think... I need..."

Infected. Rich swallowed hard and rushed past him, quickly entering and slamming his apartment door shut. He sunk to the floor, breathing heavily- his back against the apartment door, chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. Something felt… off. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and there was an odd pressure building between his legs—not quite painful, but definitely strange.

"Just stress, just stress." He repeated to himself, "Nothing to worry about, I'm okay…"

His phone buzzed twice in rapid succession. Rich fished it from his pocket with unsteady fingers. Two notifications glared back at him—texts from both Matt and Luke. His thumb hovered over the screen before he forced himself to open them.

Matt's message came first: a selfie of a broad-shouldered jock flexing in the mirror, grinning wildly. The caption read: "Dude, check out my NEW DICK! Best upgrade EVER!!"

Luke followed immediately: another shirtless selfie, his bulge proudly displayed. "Who knew getting inverted would feel THIS good? LMAO!"

"HBU Richie?"

"Yeah bro, where you at?"

Rich's vision blurred. His stomach lurched violently, and he fell forward. The pressure between his legs intensified, spreading outward like fire.

"God it burns! Fuck!" Rich cried out, tearing his clothes away and throwing them aside, "So hot… Ice… I need ice!" He let out a moan and fell to his hands and knees, tears dripping down his cheeks, "Wh-what's… this isn't… No... Not me! I can't…" His eyes widened as he looked down at his hands, "God…"

They were changing shape, stretching and thickening. The skin becoming more weathered, coarse hairs sprouting along the backs of his hands.

"Wha…"

Rich stared in horror as his hands elongated… thickened. His fingers shrinking, becoming stubby. His palms forming dense callouses. He shook his head frantically, watching as his once smooth hands morphed into two thick, musky meaty feet. "This isn't happening… it can't be…"

Rich gagged violently, feeling something foul building up in his throat. He coughed, trying to clear it, but only managed to expel a glob of thick, salty fluid onto the floor. "What the fuck…?" He spat again, the taste making him retch.

As he knelt there, shaking, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, his gaze drifted downward. His arms were… shifting. The muscles rippling, thickening. Dark hairs sprouting along his forearms, spreading upwards towards his shoulders. His biceps and triceps ballooned, squeezing his head between the growing muscle.

"No… please no…" Rich whimpered, watching in terror as his arms lengthened, twisting and contorting. His elbows cracking and shifting into knees, wrists thickening into sturdy ankles.

Rich opened his mouth to scream, but only choked out another gag, more salty fluid oozing from his lips. He coughed and sputtered, moaning as his chest began to ripple and shift. His pecs flattened, stretching outward into a powerful set of abdominal muscles. Meanwhile, his faint six-pack consolidated, the individual abs merging together into a solid slab of rock-hard muscle, bulging outwards into a pair of thick, meaty pecs.

"Mmmphh… stop… stoppppp!" Rich tried to cry out, but the salty liquid kept pouring forth, filling his mouth and nose.

Rich's legs twitched and writhed, the muscles contracting and expanding. His calves stretched, thickening into powerful biceps. His quads rippled and merged, forming massive triceps. His shins elongated, becoming thick forearms. Even his feet shifted, toes curling inward and merging into thick, calloused hands.

A new voice, albeit soft, filled the air. "Hey there, lil dude. What's up with all the gagging, bro? You alright down there?"

Rich forced his eyes upward, struggling to focus through the haze of pain and panic. His gaze landed on a pair of thick, muscular thighs, covered in dark hair. Following them up, he saw a flat, toned stomach, rippling with every movement. His eyes traveled higher, taking in a broad, hairy chest and a smirking face with a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes.

"You're looking a bit rough though, dude. You okay down there?"

Rich tried to respond, but his words came out slow and slurred. Salty fluid leaked from the corners of his mouth, which was becoming harder to move. "Mmph… mmmff.. stop… pl… pleasseee…"

His vision blurred as he watched strands of his once neatly styled hair fall away, drifting lazily to the floor. More salty liquid gushed forth, and he gagged again, feeling it fill his nasal passages. His mouth hung open, slack and unresponsive.

Suddenly, Rich felt a large, calloused hand wrap around his head and neck, gripping tightly. He gasped, trying to pull away, but the grip only tightened.

"Oh, don't worry, little buddy. I'll take care of you." The jock chuckled, giving Rich's head a firm pump. "You might not be the biggest dick in the world, but hey, size ain't everything, right? Know what I mean?"

Rich's eyes watered as he struggled to breathe, his face turning red. The jock's hand moved up and down, pumping him roughly. "Mmmm, yeah. Just relax and let me handle things, okay? I promise I know exactly how to use you right."

As the jock pumped Rich's head, he felt his facial features begin to shift and contort. His sharp jawline smoothed, his high cheekbones flattened. His lips became fixed in their new position- a vertical piss slit. Rich screamed inside as his nose and ears receded, sinking into his flesh. His entire head molding into a single, smooth surface – a bulbous cock head. His neck just a veiny shaft. And with a final pump, he felt the salty fluid surge through his entire form, erupting from his new mouth.

"Oh fuck yeah…." The new jock bellowed, falling backwards in utter bliss.

-----------

Time lost all meaning for Rich. At first, he thought the actual transformation would be the worst part - the agony, the debasement. Going from a living, breathing person with dreams to a leaking fuckstick squeezed between two massive, muscular thighs. But as days turned into weeks, he realized he was wrong. Wrong because he remained aware. Awake. Sentient within his new form. Forced to endure as the new jock lived its life, indulging in whatever pleasures he could, over and over and over again. And Rich was along for the ride. Felt every pump, every thrust as the jock used him to plow through countless holes.

Now, Rich hung limp, twitching weakly as the jock stroked him idly, gazing at the TV. The anchor spoke gravely, "Despite ongoing efforts, researchers have made no progress in finding a cure for the Inversion Virus. Scientists now believe it may be impossible to reverse the effects."

"Hear that, little buddy?" The jock grinned, pumping Rich faster. "Yeah, you like the sound of that, don't ya?" Rich felt his body growing harder, salty fluid oozing from his mouth, "I think we ought to celebrate our new, permanent arrangement, right bro?"

[anon-sect]

Will you make another story like The Frat Boys? It was so hot.

Jason had to wait a full year since arriving at DeShawn University to join one of the most popular fraternities on campus. Their rule was that freshmen could not be initiated into the fraternity. He was so excited when his sophomore year began. He spoke with one of the frat brothers about being initiated. He had agreed to it and brought him in with several other initiaties to qualify as new members of the fraternity.

Jason and the others were made to do humiliating things for a solid two weeks straight without a single day away from it. They were forced to do chores at the frat house. They had to clean the frat brother's shoes, sometimes having to lick the dirt off of them. At times, they had to be footstools while the frat brothers watched movies on the television. Even foot worship was a weekly involvement as well. At least a few times out of the week, they were led around like dogs on a leash while just wearing underwear. It was a grueling two weeks suffering humiliating act after humiliating act.

Jason was so glad when the two weeks of initiation were over. They would finally be inducted into the fraternity. As each name was called, they were announced as brother of the fraternity. But Jason did not hear his name called and was puzzled about it.

"Why isn't my name called?" Jason asked the group as the others were congratulated for being new members.

The frat president, Tim, then addressed his question. "What was the first rule we told you before the two weeks began?" He asked as the others stopped talking to pay attention to the conversation.

"To never discuss the iniation outside of campus." Jason spoke up. He then realized why his name wasn't called. He remembered talking with his best friend back home about it. But he was positive none of the frat brothers heard him discussing any of it.

"Correct. But one among the iniates told us about a conversation you had over the phone with someone back home. We researched your call history and even pulled up the phone conversation." Tim paused, playing back the phone conversation saved on his phone. "You broke the number one rule, but all isn't lost for you. You will indeed be a part of this fraternity, but not as you initially thought you would be." He left the room and came back with the TF Ray gun in his hand. He pointed the gun at Jason and fired. They all watched as Jason shrunk and was reduced to a cock ring. He was a gold cock ring with a single diamond on top. All the others including the new members stripped and stood around the little cock ring on the floor.

"You have been reduced to a cock ring. Each of us will take turns wearing you around our cock. At the end of the school year, one of the frat brothers gets to keep you as his property. This is your fate. You should have obeyed all the rules, little cock ring." Tim added as everyone discussed on who would wear him first.

Jason found being a cock ring so disconcerting. He was unable to move or speak. He was completely at the mercy of the frat brothers. He mentally pleaded for forgiveness of breaking the rules, but no one could hear his plea. He watched in horror as Tim slipped him on to his cock and pulled yup his underwear. He could feel himself constricted around the frat president's cock. He could hear them laughing and joking about his new fate in life with no way to stop them.

[dougtfs]

“Please don’t turn me into a dick,” Greg pleaded, staring up at me. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“I know you will,” I said, rubbing his chin, “that’s why I captured you. That’s why I captured your friends.” I nodded over at the pile of dildos on the floor that had once been men.

“Please just let us go,” he begged. “Please don’t – oh no! No no!” He felt his body slipping down, his size shrinking away, and soon there was nothing more than a dick sitting in the palm of my hand.

Read more tales of sexy gay transformation by Douglas Benjamin: https://amzn.to/2jF4EYe

[stupidhimbo]

He's a shy guy, always has been, getting fully red at the slightest shit, even after growing into this massive himbo. That only makes his dick even more hard when you tell him to show off and take his clothes off slowly just for you.

[sweetspunkerxxx]

plump'n perky

[sports--gay]

[shoeburst]

Hulking Out In The Laboratory (Foot Growth)

by hulkingfeet I still remember my first transformation. My body began to change inadvertently, and the sensations I experienced were indescribable.

My body began to shake in uncontrollable spasms. I cried out, struck by a sharp pain, which then, however, turned into incredible pleasure.

My muscles expanded and throbbed as my clothes tightened around my skin until they ripped apart.

I still remember the feeling of freedom I felt as my shoe laces tore in half and my shoes opened leaving my mighty feet free to grow. The socks wrapped around my toes until they tore. My body grew dramatically, my muscles grew bigger and my feet, bigger and bigger, pressed harder and harder against that cold floor.

I was finally free.

[shoeburst]

The First Hulk-Out written by hulkingfeet

I stood in the laboratory, my hands trembling as I worked on my latest experiment. The air was thick with anticipation, a tangible energy that coursed through my veins. Little did I know that this day would forever change my life.

Suddenly, an intense surge of power erupted within me, radiating through every fiber of my being. My body began to convulse, muscles expanding, growing with a relentless force. I could feel the strength surging through me, a primal energy I had never experienced before.

As my physique swelled, my clothes strained against the newfound mass. The seams of my shirt groaned in protest, threads popping and fabric tearing as my biceps bulged. The sound of ripping fabric filled the air, an audible testament to the raw power that now surged within me.

The sensation was electrifying. My shoes, once snug and confining, strained against my swelling feet. The leather groaned under the pressure, unable to contain the explosive growth. With a resounding rip, the shoes split apart, unable to withstand the force exerted by my expanding feet. I watched, both in awe and delight, as the remnants of my footwear fell away, exposing my now bare and robust toes to the cool laboratory floor.

Every movement, every flex of my newly empowered body, sent a cascade of exhilaration through me. My clothes, once a comfortable shield, now felt like nothing more than fragile obstacles. The shredded remnants clung to me, tattered reminders of the transformation I had undergone.

As I reveled in my newfound strength, I embraced the sensation of power and freedom. With each breath, I relished in the feeling of invincibility, the heady rush that surged through my veins. The laboratory became my playground, a realm where I could unleash the full force of my might.

I roared, a sound that echoed through the vast room, a primal proclamation of my newfound dominance. The walls trembled as if in response to my unleashed power. The torn fabric fluttered around me like tattered banners, symbols of my metamorphosis into something greater.

In that moment, I realized that the Hulk within me was more than just a physical transformation. It was an embodiment of untapped strength and unrestrained potential. I had embraced the sensation of liberation and had surrendered myself to the raw energy that surged through my veins.

[human-dog-pound]

Love how he became a dog instantly. Wish it was this easy to get one of my friends to become a dog

[human-dog-pound]

Good boy, the serum is working. He’ll be a good brainwashed puppy soon enough ;)

[king-craftsman]

Finding Your Purpose

"Is this really supposed to work?"

The last thing Brandon wanted was to go to therapy, let alone some weird hypnotherapy thing. But the hypnotherapist, Dr. Carson, told him that he should see it as a way to improve his behaviour and stop smoking. He forced a laugh when he heard that but really he didn't think it would work and even if it did, so what?

It wasn't like it was gonna fix everything in his life. Brandon was in his thirties. He barely had any highschool friends left over and his college buddies moved on to bigger and better things while he was languishing away in his hometown, stuck in a dead-end job working for his uncle's construction company.

Right now he felt useless, like he wanted to find some sort of purpose and that's where the therapist came in.

"It is...just relax now and think of...your purpose. What do you really want to do with your purpose?"

"My purpose...?" Brandon blinked as he realised that he kept focusing on the watch. Watching the watch, as the hypnotherapist kept repeating as he kept focusing on it. There was no way this would work. He kept telling himself that, but Brandon wasn't sure he was believing it as the watch went...

Back and forth...

Back and forth...

Back and forth...

He couldn't help but watch the watch as he tried his best to focus, but all he could do was watch the watch and the more he watched the watch the more harder he got and the harder he got, the more he could just watch the watch.

"Yeah your purpose, you see my last client found himself suited for his purpose. Maybe you need a purpose..."

"Purpose..." Brandon didn't realise it but he was starting to drool. He thought he could tear his eyes away from the watch but now he couldn't as he was growing harder. "S-Stop..."

"What's there to stop? You see Brandon I think you want a purpose...whether it be a shoe shiner...or something else..." The hypnotist began to move backwards with the watch. Like a dog Brandon followed it, as if it were a ball or treat being waved in front of him before the hypnotist moved to his desk.

Suddenly Brandon blinked, almost breaking out the trance as he saw the hypnotist place two large feet on the desk. He may have been able to break out the trance, if it wasn't for the pungent scent of musk wafting over.

"Wha..." "Relax Brandon, like I said you want a purpose...whether a shoe shiner...or something more...personal."

Brandon felt numb as the words drilled into his mind, shoe, personal, relax, watch the watch, harder, all of it reverberated around his head.

Watch the watch...

Watch the foot...

The stinking...massive...meaty foot...

And suddenly Brandon felt that he was getting closer. He was never into guys. Never into feet. Everything in his mind was telling him not to but he just couldn't resist it, the more he watched the man. He didn't know if he was saying anything else but he dove forward and suddenly his nose was all up in the feet, taking deep breaths as he smiled and moaned, beginning to lick and worship.

Only the more he did, the more he began to feel himself wish to get closer to the feet, wanting to have his hands wrap around them as he continued to make the man moan and bite his lips from the way he serviced them. It was like his every touch, every kiss, every lick was an echo of pleasure travelling through the feet and getting closer and closer each time he did so.

"That's it...you're finding your purpose...shoe shiner...foot worshipper...shoe..."

Shoe...

As that was echoed around his mind Brandon could feel himself starting to grow weaker. It was harder to pull away from the feet as the last dregs of resistance were leaking out of his cock. The last sum of his effort was to try and pull away but his hands had already began changing, fingers thickening, darkening all morphing together like one viscous black puddle of leather.

All he could smell was musk and leather as he continued to find his body flattening itself against his feet. His cock was growing flatter as he imagined how good it would feel for the foot to push against it as his hands continued to wrap around the feet.

Both hands had their own foot, each one forming the thick leather that would was shining as if it had just been polished.

"P-Pleammmmph-" Brandon begged, unsure if he was begging for this to stop or if he was secretly begging for more. His hypnotist laughed like it was the latter, pushing more against him as Brandon felt his body continue to compress. Each part of him was alight with sensitivity like every stretch of skin, every stitch of leather he was becoming, every iota was an erogenous zone as sensitive as his cock, his nipples, his ass.

It felt like that as his body twisted and warped, starting to somehow split apart into two.

F-Fuck what's happening to me?!

Brandon could still think, could still comprehend everything happening to him as his body had somehow turned into nothing more than leather, thick shiny, well-crafted leather that felt good to the touch and suddenly started to feel filled with something. It was as if there was something, like a cock filling his ass, as the feet were practically sucked into the leathery material he was shrinking into.

The toes wriggled in the shoes making Brandon moan with pleasure as he felt an orgasm rush through his newfound body.

P-please stop this!

But then Brandon felt the next part of the transformation. The feet on his cock and his face, the sensation of them pressing down gently upon them both, soles rubbing his length, that hypnotically pleasurable musk forever wafting in front of his nose. His face and cock had become the very insoles of the new designer dress shoes that he had become as the last of his body shrank around the feet and wrapped around them like they were giving the feet of the hypnotherapist a massage.

"Stop? Oh no no, you see Brandon you wanted a purpose and I gave you one...as my shoes."

No! No I never signed up for this! No turn me back right noohhhhhhhhh-

"Shhh shh, there there Brandon..." The hypnotherapist said as he began to lace the shiny shoes up. "You'll be a nice pair of shiny shoes and just perfect...hypnotically shiny enough for me to wave in front of my next client. Isn't that right Brandon?" But all Brandon could do was moan as he was laced up, tighter as the world felt like he was coming again and again and again. All because he had his purpose and he was sure the hypnotherapist would help anyone, including you, find theirs too.

For a whole library of hot stories like this, be sure to check out The Craftsman on Patreon.