imsrtman

[imsrtman]

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[ulyssesjocktf-deactivated202402]

By Special Invitation Only

Andrew and Marcus held hands as they watch the man behind the computer type up the invitation.

"Almost finished," he said. "And just so you know, this is a very exclusive invitation to a very special event in your young lives."

"We know," they said together. The two young men had met a few years ago, started dating, then living together. Now in their early 30s they decided they wanted to marry. But not just any wedding, a transformational wedding attended by only their closest friends and family. A destination wedding at a remote cabin resort upstate.

"It's going to be so beautiful," said Marcus to his partner. They were a cute couple, two slim twinks starting to put on a little more weight and muscle since meeting each other.

"And ... done! Invitations sent!" said the man.

"What? Already! But we didn't even send you the guest list? Or the name of my best man?" protested Andrew.

"There's no turning back now, boys," said the man, his voice suddenly deepening. The man's shirt and tie melted away as his shoulders and chest expanded. His hairy chest puffed out and his meaty six-pack was covered in dark fur.

With a stern voice, he continued to explain what was about to happen.

"I'll be officiating your wedding, your transformation, and the transformations of your guests. You'll want to take your phones out for this next part."

The two man obeyed, both terrified by the sudden appearance of this beastly man towering over them.

"We've found that the most loyal friends and family are not chosen by the couple or the guest at the wedding. We've taken that burden off of you and will create the perfect exclusive experience for you. We've sent an invitation to your entire network. Every person you know! The first three from each of your networks to open the invitation will attend and become your best men, a new brotherhood of forever friends that will never fail you. Ever. A bit of a curse on them, but a blessing on you. Got it? As soon as those six people are chosen, the rest of the invites vanish. No one else will know."

The two men gulped.

"Oh, look! Our first guest has sent in their photo!"

"Who is that?" asked Marcus.

"This was your co-worker Trevor, the one that works in IT. Looks like he's going to be your best man! Congrats!"

"But, that's not what he looks like ... he was only like 23 years old! And I barely have spoken to him."

"Not anymore. He's now one of your best friends, gym partner, drinking buddy, you name it. He's so excited for both of you!"

The phone in Andrew's hand suddenly chimed.

The message with the photo read, "Congrats, big bro!"

Andrew looked at the image and recognized the tattoo on the arm.

"Fuck...no...is that..." Andrew's face turned white.

"Yes, that's your little sister...well, little brother now," said the man. "It's always nice when one of your family joins the party! Congrats!"

"So, she's a dude now? This is sick, man! She was dating a dude ... like, what happens to him?"

"He's fine. Don't worry. It all works out in end and no one remembers a thing. They can still date if they both want to."

"But, she was my sister ..."

"Was she though?" said the man.

Andrew's face contorted suddenly and it felt like he was hit on the head with something. He rubbed his forehead and remembered only ever having a little brother. They had been in sports together, worked out together. He had just started dating his first gay guy after coming out a few years ago and he couldn't be prouder!

"What, no ... not him ..." said Marcus suddenly.

"Who is that?" asked Andrew looking over at the phone.

"Well, it *was* this horrible person that I grew up with. He was sort of a bully in my hometown. Remember when I told you about that summer camp that I went on with my high school church youth group?"

"Vaguely, why?" replied Marcus.

"He was the pastor's son and found out I was gay and pretty much ruined my senior year of high school. I think he went off to some conservative college and has like six kids. What's going to happen to them! This photo looks like it's taken in the bathroom of his house? Like, his wife and kids are probably home right now."

"True! And they still have a husband and father."

"Not sure how that's going to work out...he's super homophonic."

"I can assure you that is not anymore. He's not gay, but he's supportive of you both unconditionally and wants to be there on your special day. A year ago, he reached out to you to apologize. He's had a change of heart and you opened up to him. You get coffee together every couple of weeks now."

Wham! Marcus felt a smack on his head and believed it was true.

"I have no idea who this is," said Andrew.

"Remember that guy you shared a wifi password with back when you lived in that apartment building?" said the man.

"That guy was like 70 years old?"

"Well, he's going to be your new neighbor. He comes over for dinner pretty regularly too. Great taste for beer and wine."

"And sexy," said Marcus.

"Hey now," said Andrew. "Hands off my friend!"

The two of them were oblivious to the changes taking place slowly in their own bodies as two more notifications came in.

"Oh, this one is cute," said Marcus. "Remember my friend Kayla, who's always complaining about her job as a kindergarten teacher. Look at her now!?"

"What? That's hilarious!" laughed Andrew.

"Well, he still teaches kindergarten, but goes by Karl. The kids call him The Hulk. He's been voted 'Teacher of the Year' five times," said the man.

The final notification pinged Andrew's phone.

"Congrats, you're party is completed!"

"I don't know this guy?" said Andrew.

"Of course you do, that's your business partner and head brewer at the microbrewery you co-founded," said the man.

"The what now?" replied Andrew. Then it clicked, "Oh, that's right. Before I met you, I went on a date with this random guy that I met on a dating app. We met at a brewery, I think?"

"The brewery that you now own together," said the man.

Andrew looked up from his phone at Marcus and smiled. His fiancé had a thick black beard, dark eyebrows, and strong shoulders.

"I love you," said Andrew.

"And I love you too," said Marcus, taking a moment to squeeze his partner's thigh.

"Your guests will arrive by Friday night. The wedding will be short -- and shirtless -- just like you wanted and after your honeymoon, you two get to start living live with these beautiful people and new friends."

But the two of them weren't listening. They were too enraptured with each other.

The man snapped a photo and sent it out to the VIP guest list.

"Another perfect wedding!"

[bara-du-des]

Yellow (Answered Prayers)

Miguel always felt like he was miles behind other guys his age. He was short, skinny, and practically hairless from the eyebrows down. He kept hoping, praying he would hit his growth spurt like all the other boys around him. If any god was listening, none thought he was worth their time. 

“Mini-guel” The nickname he got back in middle school. It started out as light hearted teasing, but as time went on this turned into something more malicious. By the time he graduated high school, everyone knew that the nickname wasn’t just referring to his height. 

Now at 25 years old, Miguel had only grown a few more inches leaving him at 5’3”. Still skinny, hairless, and lacking in the meat department, he found dating to be nearly impossible. He tried every dating app out there with no luck. The only messages he received were from predatory men interested in his “youthful” appearance. And considering his appearance, they always assumed he would bottom for them. Despite still being a virgin, Miguel knew bottoming was not for him. All those late night self-discovery sessions were evidence enough for him to know that. 

It was Friday night. Miguel’s friends decided to go clubbing. He reluctantly went along with them, having skipped out on too many outings already. Going out with his friends had just become inconvenient, often being accused of using a fake ID at the clubs and bars they would frequent. Once he managed to get in, he almost always just faded into the crowd, ignored in the sea of men “better” than him. 

Miguel stood off to the side, gazing at all the men on the dancefloor. One guy in particular caught his attention. This man was everything Miguel wanted to be. Ruggedly handsome, full beard, huge muscles, a sexy pelt of chest hair. The man was wearing tight shorts that left nothing to the imagination. A large bulge clearly advertising his package to any and every man hungry for a taste. Miguel was so distracted by the hunk’s majestic junk that he didn’t see that the man was now looking right at him.

"You got a problem?" growled the hunk as he walked towards Miguel, snapping him out of his trance.

Miguel's head snapped up to meet the man's eyes. Legs shaking, palms sweating, mouth going dry. He opened his mouth to apologize but nothing came out. The man now stood right in front of Miguel, towering over him. The top of Miguel's head barely reaching the bottom of the hunks chest. Having this walking testosterone factory so close had him both frightened and aroused. Having backed Miguel into a corner the hunk got right in his face.

"I'm just messing with you," he laughed. "I'm Leo. I saw you staring so I figured I'd give you a closer look." He grabbed Miguel's hands and placed them on his chest.

"I'm sorry. You're just everything I've been praying to be like," said Miguel staring at the ground. "I'm just tired of feeling infererior to every man I meet."

Leo smirked. "Why don't you come to my place and we can sort that out for you."

Miguel hesitated for a second. Not wanting to be pressured into bottoming for a man, a man who had him scared to death less than a minute ago. However, the hunk's musk was affecting him. He found it harder and harder to resist Leo's invitation. Soon he was following the hunk into his car.

They shortly arrived at Leo's apartment. It was the typical bachelor pad. Laundry everywhere, mattress on the floor, and almost no furniture. The smell of Leo’s musk was even stronger in the apartment leaving Miguel dizzy and even more aroused. 

“So you said you want to be like me, huh?” Leo asked while flexing his biceps, exposing his hairy armpits and wafting more musk into the room. 

“Yes… I do…” slurred Miguel, his arousal slowly becoming more intense. 

“Then listen to everything I’m about to tell you. Can you do that?”

“Yes, anything!” Miguel panted desperately.

Leo gave a wicked smile before giving his first command.”First, strip.”

Miguel froze. His mind was torn between wanting to obey and hiding his embarrassing (lack of) endowment. He looked at Leo with pleading eyes. “E-Everything?” he asked barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, everything. You won’t be needing them once we’re done anyways.”

After Miguel stripped out of his clothes, it was Leo’s turn. First he undid the button on his shorts and slowly pulled them down making a show out of it for Miguel. Bit by bit his underwear was revealed. Bright yellow briefs filled to bursting with a meaty package. Now free from its denim prison, Leo’s bulge swelled even bigger. Now tenting and dripping through the fabric, Leo gave a satisfied sigh. 

“Looks like it's time to pass down this blessing.” moaned Leo as he pulled down the briefs and stepped out of them. His massive member leaking right onto the floor. He hands the soaked briefs to Miguel. “Put this on.”

Miguel pauses, his mind overwhelmed by the naked beast of a man in front of him. Snapping back to reality, he pulls the briefs on. On his tiny frame, the briefs look comically large. He feels Leo’s Intense stare and considers putting his clothes back on and leaving. 

He starts reaching for his own underwear when he feels it. A pulse of something stopping him in his tracks. Then, a warmth. It starts with his bulge. His cock starts swelling, reaching his full length at 3”. He isn’t getting hard; it keeps growing until he reaches 8’ soft. His balls follow suit. Churning, swelling, and churning again until they rival large eggs. They start flooding his body with male hormones and testosterone, kickstarting the next part of his transformation.

Miguel was already satisfied with his changes so far. He went to embrace Leo to thank him. But as soon as he moved, he fell over in pain. His bones started lengthening leaving him at a height of 6’8”. As it stopped he stood and walked up to Leo. To his surprise. Miguel was now taller than Leo. 

“You might want to be in front of a mirror for this next part,” said Leo, leading Miguel to the bedroom. 

As soon as they reached the bedroom door, Miguel began sweating buckets. The heat he felt earlier returned. Now it was focused on his chest. His nonexistent pecs suddenly ballooned into a perfect pair of meaty, juicy muscle tits. His nipples thickened and expanded, becoming extremely sensitive. The growth spread outwards. His torso becoming thick with powerful musclegut. His shoulders so wide that most doorways will be his worst enemy. His biceps arms swelling to massive peaks. His legs expanding thicker than most men’s waists. 

While Miguel admires his new muscles in the mirror, he feels an itch across his whole body. Bit by bit, he grows a sexy dusting of hair along his body, accentuating his muscles and filling with his new musky scent. Smelling his own musk drove Miguel wild. He began stroking his cock while burying his face in his own pit. New thoughts filled his head. He realized he didn’t mind bottoming if it was for Leo. In fact, he found that he craves Leo’s cock just as much as his perfect ass. With those images flooding his mind, he came with a loud roar. His seed covering the entire mirror and himself. Miguel turned towards Leo, breathless but still horny. 

“Thank you for this. I look incredible, I feel incredible!” Marcus said, attacking Leo with a sloppy kiss. 

“I knew you’d take to it well,” said Leo as he rubbed and squeezed Miguel’s new muscles. 

Soon they were both enjoying each other. The briefs were discarded on the floor next to the rest of Leo’s dirty laundry. Both men were now enjoying their blessings. Obtaining the bodies they desire and the relationship they were searching for. 

----------------------------------------

after such a long time just rebloging i finally wrote my own story. this is the first time i write something like this so i apologize if there's anything wrong with grammar/formatting. i hope to improve as i get more practice and experience. thanks again ^^

[idesofrevolution]

Tight Squeeze

With a pep in his step and a beaming grin on his face, Javi strut down the hotel hallway with his bag in tow. The annual vacation with Tom was the one thing that he looked forward to more than anything— he and his childhood best friend made plans every year since they had graduated high school, each destination getting more and more exciting. In just ten years, they’d visited six new states and four countries. It was a far cry from their summers in rural Indiana, and each time was a new opportunity to relive those days of playing the PS3 at his house until 4 in the morning and spending every waking hour together surrounded in laughter and excitement. Now, as the lovely New York City hotel rolled out the red carpet to room 1709, the simple task of pressing his room key on the door and the click of the door unlocking marked the beginning of his yearly respite. Javi pressed his hand against the door, and pressed it wide open.

"You're early," Tom said, his voice gruffer than Javi had ever heard it.

Javi looked up from his phone, his heart skipping a beat. The hotel room looked normal, just as the website had advertised, but something was definitely off. The lights were dimmer, the air thick with an unusual musk. And there, snapping a selfie in the mirror, was Tom. Or at least, someone who looked like Tom, but this Tom was… different. His skin was covered in a fine layer of hair, his body bulging with muscles that seemed to have been photoshopped on overnight. Javi's eyes lingered on his friend's feet, noticing the way his toes curled and flexed in those dirty, sweaty black socks. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement.

"What the fuck happened to you, man?" Javi's voice cracked as he took a tentative step closer. Tom's reflection in the mirror smirked, turning to face him with a swagger that was entirely foreign to him. His warm brown eyes had a feral glint to them, his teeth baring wide in a snide smirk. Javi stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do… what to say… what to think.

"You like what you see?" Tom's tone was laced with an arrogance that made Javi's cheeks burn. He couldn't help but nod, his eyes darting back to those bulging muscles and the way the fabric of Tom's jockstrap strained against his shockingly massive bulge. The smell in the room was intoxicating, a buttery stink wafted off every inch of Tom's chiseled body. Something that sent a thrill down Javi's spine and made his knees weak as Tom stepped forward, his socks squelching with every footfall and leaving a trail of sweaty footprints as he strode forward. The walk, the voice, the fact that his formerly 5'8" band geek friend was now suddenly at least 6'0" and hulked out… There was an innate panic that swelled within him, but just the carnivorous eyes that New Tom flashed at him had Javi shuddering.

Tom stepped closer, and Javi found himself backpedaling until his knees hit the bed. "Yeah, I know you do," he said with a cocky grin, his teeth gleaming like a frat boy who had just scored a winning touchdown. "I've seen the way you look at me, the way you follow me around with those puppy dog eyes." He leaned down, his breath hot and minty on Javi's cheek. "I've seen you staring at my feet, Javier. How much you want to kiss them?" His words were a taunt, a challenge wrapped in a velvet threat that made Javi's cock throb.

Javi's heart raced as he tried to form a coherent sentence. "T-Tom, what happened to you?" He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the bulge in Tom's jockstrap. "You're not acting like yourself."

Tom flexed his biceps, his muscles rippling like waves under the dim hotel room light. He let out a deep, guttural laugh that seemed to shake the walls of the room like an earthquake. "You think?" He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, let me tell you, the old Tom is gone, baby. This is the new Tom, and boy, do you ever look like you're going to love him." He winked, his new, alpha-male persona oozing out of every pore.

Javi felt his body betraying him, his own cock straining against his pants as he took in the sight of Tom. He had always had a thing for jocks, for the way they could make him feel so… small, so insignificant, yet so desired. And now, here was his best friend, his secret crush, transformed into the epitome of masculine dominance. He could feel his resistance crumbling like a cookie in a vice, and as much as he wanted to flee, his ass remained rooted to the spot.

"T-Tom, this isn't funny," Javi stammered, his voice a mix of fear and arousal. "You need to go to the doctor, something's seriously wrong."

Tom just snickered, the sound sending a cold shiver down Javi's spine. He took a step closer, and before Javi could react, his massive, hairy hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. The mattress groaned under the weight of Tom's new form, and Javi found himself pinned down, the scent of his friend's sweat and musk enveloping him.

"There's nothing a doctor can do for me, Javier," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "This is who I am now. And it's about time you admitted who you really are, too." Tom's grip on Javi's chin tightened, forcing their faces closer together, his breath hot and minty. Javi's eyes searched Tom's, looking for some semblance of his friend, but all he found was a ravenous hunger that reflected his own hidden desires.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Javi's voice was a whisper, his body trembling beneath the weight of Tom's towering form.

Tom's grin widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "You know exactly what I mean," he said, his grip on Javi's chin tightening. "You've had the hots for me since we were in high school. Don't even try to deny it." His eyes bore into Javi's, and for a brief moment, Javi could see the flicker of the old Tom, the one who had been his confidant, his ally. But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, hard stare of the new Tom. The one who was in complete control.

"You're wrong," Javi protested feebly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tom's grip on his chin tightened, his thumb tracing the line of Javi's jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the power behind it. "Am I?" His eyes searched Javi's, looking for the truth that they both knew lay just beneath the surface. "You've been pining after me for years. Now's your chance to show me how much you want this." His breath was hot and minty on Javi's face, the scent of his minty breath mingling with the musky aroma of his body.

Javi's mind raced, trying to piece together how Tom could have changed so much in such a short time. It was impossible, it had to be some kind of prank, or maybe a really good costume. But the feel of those muscles beneath his fingers, the way Tom's body seemed to radiate heat and power, it was all too real. He tried to fight the urge to kiss him, to touch him, but his body was already responding, his cock straining against his pants.

Tom's grin grew wider, his eyes never leaving Javi's. "Feeling a little excited, are we?" His hand slid down to Javi's crotch, giving his erection a squeeze through the fabric. Javi's eyes went wide with shock and arousal. He couldn't believe this was happening, but the proof was in the way his body was begging for more. "Told you," Tom said, his voice a low purr. "You can't resist New Tom can you?"

Javi's mind raced, trying to find some rational explanation. He'd seen prosthetics in movies, maybe Tom had gotten really into cosplay. The smell of his sweat, the way his muscles bulged, it had to be a silicone suit. It had to be. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the fear that had been building up. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, Tom. I get it. You're just… playing a role."

Tom leaned in closer, his grin turning predatory. "You want to play along?" he whispered. "You want to find out who's really in charge here?"

Javi nodded, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The musky scent of Tom's body washed over him, making his head spin. He could feel the heat emanating from his friend's body, the power in every inch of him, and it was intoxicating. Tom grinned wickedly, rising to his feet and strutting over to the chair.

"Come on, then," he said, gesturing to his socks with a jerk of his head. "Take them off, I want you to get a good whiff."

Javi's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire as he slid off the bed and onto his knees. He felt the plush carpet against his skin, the fibers sticking slightly to the sweat that had gathered on his body. As he crawled towards Tom, the room felt hotter, the air thick with the scent of unwashed socks and virile musk, something that was making his cock throb even more insistently. He reached out tentatively and took hold of the top of Tom's sock. The fabric was warm and damp, and he could feel the outline of Tom's toes through it. His stomach fluttered as he tugged it down, revealing the hairy, sweaty arch of his friend's foot.

"Look at them," Tom said, raising one of his massive, muscled legs and pointing a toe at Javi's face. "These are what you've been dreaming about, aren't they?" The room was so silent, it was as if the very walls held their breath. The smell of Tom's unwashed feet hit Javi like a truck, a powerful aroma of butter and roquefort that seemed to fill every molecule of the air around them. The sight of those size 15 soles, glistening with sweat and grime, had him feeling lightheaded with a mix of fear and arousal.

Tom's toes curled and flexed, the muscles in his legs bulging like those of a Greek statue come to life. He placed his foot firmly against Javi's cheek, his toes digging into the side of his face. "Worship them," he ordered, his voice a thunderclap of dominance that reverberated through Javi's body. And despite his racing thoughts, despite his better judgment, Javi found himself leaning in, his nose brushing against the furry, sweat-soaked arch of Tom's foot.

The scent was… indescribable. It was like a symphony of manliness, a concert of musk and sweat that played a siren's song to Javi's deepest, most secret desires. It was the smell of power and strength, of a man that knew no bounds, that could take what it wanted with no apologies. It was a scent that made him feel small and helpless, ensnaring him like a moth to a flame. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the odor filling his nose and mouth, coating his tongue. It was thick and heavy, with notes of gym socks and washed rind cheese, of locker room floors and the faint hint of something… animalistic. It was a scent that made his cock throb, his knees wobble, and his heart race.

Tom's voice was like a serpent whispering sweet nothings into his ear, urging him closer, deeper into the rabbit hole. "That's it, baby," he crooned, his toes sliding along Javi's cheek, the calloused skin leaving a trail of heat. "Sniff them, lick them, show me how much you love these stinking, sweaty dogs." The words were a command, a declaration of ownership that Javi found himself obeying without thought. He leaned in, his nose buried in the high arch of Tom's foot, inhaling deeply. The scent was overwhelming, but as he let his tongue snake out to slide across the slick sole, he found it… delicious. The salt of his sweat, the faint cheesy tang of his skin, it was a feast that had Javi's mouth watering. He licked along the length of Tom's foot, from his heel to the base of his toes, savoring every inch, every taste.

"Mm, yes," Tom murmured, his foot pressing harder against Javi's face. "You've always been such a good boy, haven't you?" Javi couldn't help but moan into the arch of Tom's foot as he continued to worship the musky flesh before him. "But now, you're going to see just how good I feel in this body." Tom leaned back in the chair, his muscled chest heaving with each breath, his abs rippling like a mountain range.

With a swift kick, Tom sent his other foot flying through the air, the smell of his sweat-soaked sock smacking Javi right in the face. "Take them off," he said, his voice a growling command. Javi's eyes watered, but his hands were already moving, eager to obey. He peeled the sock off, the fabric sticking to Tom's skin with the suction of a vacuum seal. He held it up to his nose, inhaling the potent stench of his friend's foot.

"Now put them on," Tom said, his foot still pressing down on Javi's head. Javi took the sock, his heart racing, and slid it onto his own foot. It was like sliding into a warm, wet glove that had been marinating in a frat house's lost and found. The fabric clung to his toes, the scent of Tom's sweat enveloping him. He took a deep breath, the smell of his friend's feet filling his nostrils and making his cock throb even harder. He couldn't believe what he was doing, but he also couldn't believe how much he liked it.

"Good boy," Tom said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction that made Javi's stomach flip. "Now the other one." Javi obeyed, his hands shaking slightly as he slipped the other sock onto his foot. The smell was overpowering, a heady mix of musk and sweat that made him feel like he was inhaling pure, concentrated masculinity.

Tom's foot remained planted on Javi's head, his toes digging into his hair like they were anchors holding him in place. "Now, sniff them," he ordered. "Let me hear how much you love the smell of your new master's stench." Javi brought his best friend’s foot to his nose, his eyes rolling back in his head as the damp, sticky sole pressed against his nose. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding as he inhaled the scent that seemed to fill his very soul with a dark, delicious hunger.

“Ahhh fuck, Tom. Shit that’s so good.” With every suction of the thick miasma wafting now from both Tom’s foot and his own, he fell deeper and deeper into the thralls of lust. Letting his hand slide past the waistband of his shorts, the touch of his sweaty fingers gliding against the throbbing meat within made him gasp, droplets of Tom’s ripe sweat soaring into his lungs. Before he could take the initiative to pump, an even firmer pressure against his length was felt on his pleading groin. Opening his eyes, Javi could have burst just from the sight of it: Tom’s wicked smirk and his grimy left foot rubbing him through the pre soaked fabric.

“Such a good boy, Javi. I think I may deserve a treat, don’t you think?” Tom’s devilish grin sent shivers down Javi’s spine, and all he could do was nod in affirmation as the sweaty foot gently slid back and forth. “Yeah. I deserve a treat. I deserve you, Javi. Are you willing to give me my treat?” A guttural moan burst from his lips, the flavor of Tom’s sole against his face breaking any notion of resistance. He cried out with a muffled ‘mmhmm,’ desperation deep in his tone. That’s all Tom needed to hear.

It started as an ever so quiet little squeak, barely perceptible to the enraptured Javi. Though as he continued to lap at the slick sole, it wasn’t the wet squelches or the rubbery stretching that echoed in the hotel room that caught his attention; no, it was the sole. The way it started undulate, to bubble and warp beneath the smelly skin— Javi opened his eyes to see just what was truly happening. Tom’s sweat drenched boxer briefs, pulled down just below the pendulous balls, his long uncut shaft bulging and warping before his eyes as a grotesquely bulbous lump began to squirm up the length of his cock.

“Awww yeah. Javi, I’m gonna love it in there. You’re gonna love it too.” Tom’s teeth gritted with euphoric fervor as the bulge breached the tip of his stretching cockhead, wiry gray hairs slithering out wet and shellacked to the wrinkled, albeit handsome head of a man he did not know. Javi froze, the funk wafting from the feet his only comfort as the cock bloated and gaped around a vascular neck and broad shoulders. His eyes darted between Tom’s still smirking and wicked face and the hulking muscular man slithering out of his urethra.

“Oh… ohhh… unghhh…” The moans of pleasure that bellowed out of Javi’s mouth made Tom’s smirk widen as he continued to rub Javi’s throbbing appendage. Javi couldn’t process the surreal sight of the muscular man crawling out of his rod, down his thick, hairy legs toward him. As the man’s calloused hands pushed Tom’s foot from his face and his round rump and slimy cock sprang from the engorged slit, Javi’s mouth sat agape in mind numbing shock.

“Give me my treat, Javi.” Tom laughed wickedly as the man’s first few fingers slipped past Javi’s lips without so much as a gag of resistance. The taste of Tom’s cum coating the man’s form flavored his tongue with the sweetness of pineapple and tang of spunk as the man’s hands squeezed into his mouth— then his forearms, then his head… no pain, no discomfort, just… surrender. Once the foothold was established, the man’s arms thrust deeply down his bulging throat and into his core, it took little more than a firm tug for the man to slurp the rest of his chiseled form into Javi’s yielding body.

His cock tightening back to its thick, 9.5 inches as the last of the man’s ripe stinking size 15 feet slopped out of his slit, Tom let his head fall back onto the back of the chair as he wrapped his own hand around the length. He snickered to himself, listening to the schlorp and squelch of the man’s toes squeezing past Javi’s lips. The very same euphoria that overcame him when the leather daddy had dominated and entered his own body in the LaGuardia bathroom merely hours before was now overtaking Javi as the man made himself at home within his second body. Though it was not truly Tom in drivers seat behind those big brown eyes, he reveled in the addition of his host’s best friend into the cavalcade of identities merged into his consciousness— one more body to enjoy and experience. As he slipped on Javi’s skin, the overwhelming exhilaration of feeling the sensations of two bodies at once flooded his synapses while he pumped and smugly admired the hairy stud he’d created from the blank canvas of Tom’s skin.

“Heh, yeah boy. We’re gonna have some fun.” The sound of stretching rubber and elastic squeaks emanating from Javi’s warping form accompanied the slick, slimy noises of his lazy stroking. Gurgles and murmurs rang out with increasing frequency, mirroring the pace of his hand movements, until he grunted as the man’s head slipped into Javi’s like a silicone mask.

*SNAP*

Silence. Then a wry snicker as Javi stood- now mirroring his 6’4” stature and muscular, with the stench to boot. He towered above Tom, tugging on the elastic skin of his cheeks before they snapped into place, permanently.

“You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna join me?” Tom chided as he watched himself flex Javi’s thick, muscular arms- sweat dripping from his hairy armpits. His new acquisition still pouring in the body’s memories and incorporating them into his dominant consciousness; Javi leaned in, his tattooed hands landing squarely on either side of him on the armrests.

“Yeah, let’s have some fun.” Javi’s formerly sweet and innocent voice now thick with his gravel and grit, he sneered as their lips collided and tongues tangled.

———

“He’s on his way.” Javi leered as he fell backward onto his couch, kicking his funky, three week worn socks onto Tom’s lap as he sipped the last of his beer.

“You take the front, I’ll take the back. Nice spit roast for us.” Tom placed the empty Heineken on the table, resting his own identically ripe feet on either side of Javi. “Suckin’ and fuckin’, all at once. That’s the good shit.” Three weeks of wild debauchery in New York, and he had all but mastered the art of piloting two vessels at once. Tasting two brews simultaneously, savoring the buzz of poppers from two perspectives, feeling the tightness of latex on Javi and the creaks of leather on Tom… Manhattan had proved to be quite the training grounds for him. He wasn’t planning on letting that education go squandered.

“I know. That little twink won’t know what squeezed into him.” Javi smiled wryly, wriggling his toes beneath the grimy socks. “But until he gets here, give Javi some attention. The twink shouldn’t be the only one to enjoy him.” Tom grinned, letting his hands grip onto Javi’s damp foot, pulling it close to press against his face. “But you know, two is a party- three is a rave.”

[occamstfs]

Brazilian Daydreams

Eager to be anywhere else after the third snowstorm this spring, Mitch finds his mind keeps wandering to the sunny shores of Rio. Accidentally manifesting a new beach-centric life for himself, he wills his boyfriend along for the ride.

Back with another sporadic story! Two twinks TF into a Brazilian twunk and his bearish lover. Hair, musk, and reality change centric, hope you enjoy this story about yearning for a sunnier, sexier summer! -Occam

Sun warm on his face, the great roar of ocean waves crashing onto the beach lulls him to continue sunbathing even as seagulls caw nearby. Stretching in his rest he feels a speedo catch on his tight hips and bubble butt. Mitch quickly reaches down to scratch his crotch and adjust the speedo’s straining band, his fingers slide down bronzed abs glistening with sweat.

He- he doesn’t have abs?

Mitch’s eyes open to find the world not nearly as summery or idyllic as he had dreamed. Snow continues to flurry down from the heavens as winter continues to relentlessly storm through what should be the beginnings of spring. Stark blanket of snow covering everything in sight, Mitch rubs his face and sighs. Beyond regretful that he woke up from his vibrant dream.

Phone chiming again, Mitch realizes he was brought back to reality by a text from his boyfriend: [All good over there babe?]

Channeling the dreary extended winter he continues sighing and types up a real thoughtful reply: [ya]

Pursing his lips he figures he should put more of an effort in before, in the back of his mind, the gleaming sun returns. It is odd that he dreamed of the beach, isn’t it? Looking down at his pasty neck and a body that’s somehow too thin and pudgy at once, he’s never been the type to enjoy the surf and sun.

And yet, his fingers seem to disagree as his mind meanders. [Hey, Jason, what do u say we take a big trip once this whole thing blows over? Ever thought about Rio?]

Blearily looking back at his screen as he unconsciously sends the message, Mitch stares agog as he hasn’t for a moment thought about a trip to Rio. Never considered a trip to Brazil at all for that matter. Brazil. It’s not like him at all, he doesn’t speak Portuguese, he doesn’t like crowds. He doesn’t even like the beach! 

And yet, even as his conscious mind swears up and down that he’d rather die than get sunburned on some beach that’s half a day’s flight away. Something deep within him desperately wants to be on that shore. The logistics of planning a trip for him and Jason alone begin to cause a migraine and he chastises himself for humoring the idea. Simply not in the cards, nor, he remembers for the third time, something he wants to do even in the slightest.

That is, until he looks out at the snow once more. Surely it’s understandable that he’d yearn for sunny skies, empanadas in hand as he touches up his perfect tan. Mindlessly watching snowflakes continue to dance the oppressive white gives way to the deep, rich blue of the sea and sky once more.

What’s with him today? Mitch shakes off his dreaming of heatstroke and sticky sand to pointedly focus on the reality before him. He needs to find some way to burn his snowed-in day away. Could read, could game, Mitch struggles to focus on anything as his mind keeps drifting south. Vaguely light-headed, and even lighter of stomach, Mitch sets his on-edge mind towards breakfast. 

Brewing coffee, Mitch smirks oddly as he sees that the beans were grown in Brazil. He tells himself it’s just appreciating the happenstance, but behind his self-soothing the sensation can only be described as pride. Pride that leads him to unconsciously puff his thin chest even as he throws meat on the stove and bread in his toaster. 

One hand focused on preparing breakfast, the other keeps finding its way to the hem of his shirt. Stomach’s a little itchy. Must be the shirt. Coming to this conclusion, Mitch at last notices how the sweater he’s always worn explicitly because it was too big is suddenly tugging on his upper arms and chest.

Setting his breakfast off the heat, Mitch tugs at this thick fabric and watches as it retracts to hug his chest in a way that almost looks like pecs. Lips curl into a smile as Mitch sees his arms twitch against tightening sleeves. Not even noticing a hand easily snaking under the rising waistline to scratch at his stomach, he follows suit and simply tears off the sweater, throwing it to the kitchen floor.

Stumbling out of his pants en route to a full-body mirror, Mitchel gasps when he sees a body far more impressive than he thought he’d ever achieve. Sure, it seems like his ever–waxed treasure trail returned and there’s some unsightly stubble on his face that he’d need to be rid of when he sees Jason, but so it goes. 

The little fat that rounds out his face seems to dissolve as his jawline sharpens underneath the patchy beard. His stick thin neck thickens as he checks angles like a man made to model rather than sit inside and whine. 

Thighs almost bloating larger as he takes in his appearance, Mitchel’s mouth may as well water as he lets his mind wander to the azure sea again. Hands trail down abs slightly sticky with sweat as the scent of salty air and tanning oil assaults his senses once more. Wandering back to the living room he reposes onto the couch as if it were a beach blanket perfectly made to hold his growing form.

Giving into the sunny daydream more with every passing second, Mitchel almost begins snoring as he’d swear he feels the summer sun beaming down on him. Fingers still trailing up and down abs bulging larger, cupping pecs that are struggling to grow to their rightful size in a body bereft of strength- well, it’s no wonder they find themselves playing with the bush of pubes curling out from his underwear. 

Exposed skin tans from the burning sun in his mind alone as his thickening bush continues to tangle and rise higher onto his bronzing stomach. Skin so pale as to blend in with the snow outside is washed in a tan as darkening waves of sun kissed skin conquer. Neck lolling and mouth agog as he falls back onto the couch, Mitchel does his best to quiet a moan as his pre-dripping dick throbs into his palm. 

Shittt~ he can’t get off at the beach, can he?

Crotch now laden with a heavy bulge made to catch eyes in a speedo, Mitchel feels it start to get soggy with pre and in his foggy mind he decides to wander towards the sea to settle down. Never one to sleepwalk, trying to amble up with a far heavier body than he’s had to move consciously, Mitchel swiftly returns to the couch onto his wider back.

Having stumbled on the quickest path back to wakefulness, Mitchel gasps back to life as he should know it to find two wider hands stuffed down his pants. Retrieving his rougher palms before noticing the veiny forearms and even more impressive biceps they’re attached to. “Que merda?” Mitchuel mumbles out, barely noting the raspy deeper voice as he’s far more preoccupied by the fact he just spoke in a language he doesn’t know.

Small heart pounding in his heavier chest, the dreamlike scent of fruit and cooking milho vacate as the oppressive musk of his muscle bound body fills the space. Struggled breaths through expanding lungs inhale more and more of his sweaty stink and with heavy intake there’s a subtle scent of salty air growing stronger once more.

Chest panging in a manner than usually signals an anxiety attack to Mitchel, at present he reads his body's desperate pleas as nothing more than need. One which is his eager to fulfill as he twists his deeper neck to get a sniff of the sweaty jungle still thickening in his pits. Não está certo, né? But it’s so hot, how can it be wrong. 

Couch creaking underneath him, Mitchuel tries to keep his mind focused on the reality before him. Tanned legs and a heavy bulge throbbing with need, it takes a good deal of his focus not to start humping into his tight underwear and paw his cock to completion. Retracing his steps mentally to try and remember if he accidentally ate a psychedelic or something, Mitchuel doesn’t notice as his thoughts are increasingly bilingual.

Finally standing to his full new height, the knowledge of snow-covered streets outside the window behind him melts away as he begins to forget the nature of the reality he woke to this morning. He was going to have café da manhã… have breakfast… sim…

Wandering to a messy kitchen, tripping over a sweatshirt or something discarded on the floor Mitchuel snatches it with his feet and gives it a good sniff to see if it's clean before grimacing and tossing it back to the floor. Whatever, not like he needs to wear anything to cook. Scratching the trail of curls on his stomach still prickling thicker, he smirks as in place of what should be a half prepared bacon egg and cheese sandwich he finds small rolls he at first doesn’t recognise.

“Oh! É pão de queijo! Eh? What? Cheese bread..?”

Clearing his throat as an even deeper voice echoes back. Micuel quibbles as he tries to decide if he actually knows what that is, taking a long sip of café to ground himself, he shrugs and simply begins eating. Doesn’t matter what he’s having but if he wants to keep his perfect body he’s gotta fill it with something.

Tearing into the small puffs, Micuel moans as the familiar taste fills him with certainty of self. Wanting to keep his mind sharp as his body, he uses his small caffeine buzz to focus on a book that’s always on his kitchen table. Only, he finds it hard to make any progress at all? Words dance before his eyes as he wonders why the book’s in English.

Sure he speaks it well enough but he’s never been that much of a good student. Thin eyebrows furrow into burly caterpillars above his dark eyes as he forces himself to try and read on. Fortunately for the born-and-bred carioca, In his hands though, the book does its best to reform itself into a tome he’d be realistically able to read. 

Changes on his body finalizing as the book in his hand stains with sand and saltwater, the book becomes some barely intelligible guide to getting the perfect beachbody. One clearly functional as Miguel’s body becomes the textbook example. Shoulders crack wider as his pecs bulge towards the perfect size to allure anyone to hop on his dick as they’re covered by a patch of dark curls.

Shivering in the kitchen as a breeze blows through an open window, Miguel smirks as he sees another perfect sunny day shining outside. Stretching his muscular arms and lithe waist in the almost-too-bright sun, the man slightly lowers his speedo to ensure no inch of skin is anything less than perfectly bronze. Exposing his thick bush yet again, Miguel mindlessly plays with his pubes and bulge as he thinks out loud, now in fluent Portuguese. 

“Ahh, O que devo fazer hoje?” (Ahh, what am I to do today?)

Bouncing his ass in his breezy den as he simply delights in the splendor of the tropical air, the troubles of life snowed in on the costa leste americana is thousands of miles away. And anyway, the question is rhetorical. Obviously he’s going to the beach, he should see if Jason wants to go.

And then his mind fractures.

Isso não é… That’s not his boyfriend, is it?

Thicker brows furrowed, he tries to remember the finer details of his relationship with his longtime boyfriend. Paging through his simplified mind more like a pamphlet than a book, beach boy Miguel can’t remember bumping into a twink so, ehh, nerdy as the man his memory asserts is his lover.

And yet, sure as he knows the back of his hand or brand of speedo on his waist, that’s his lover. His amante. It’s just, he would’ve sworn that Jason was more, well, just more. Massaging his temples, feeling his fingers scratch through salt-laden curls, Miguel tries to refresh his memories.

Jason was Brazilian. They went to school together, grew up in a favela right by his side. Watched as it blew up into quite the touristy spot, one that might attract the meek man being produced whenever Miguel thinks of Jason. 

“Puta merda, minha cabeçaaa!” (God damnit my headdd!)

Josan was more than that, though of course it’s difficult to imagine anyone being more than Miguel somehow Josan managed it. The beach bunny just couldn’t quite remember how. Images of his lover flicker to mind.

He can see Josan’s ass, teasing him, luring Miguel to be as hornier as Josan was at any given moment. Back arched, covered in tattoos accrued from a lifetime of rushing from one excitement to another, performing twink with his cinched waist as if he weren’t even more of a lunkhead than Miguel.

Or sim! That’s it Jaosn was an absolute tank. Biceps the size of Miguel’s impressive legs, back wider than the front door at his place. Always eating to put mass on, the only man able to overpower Miguel’s musk and treat the built gym bro like a ragdoll. And behind that bulging veneer he’s just a teddy bear, bottom to boot. 

Tck, não. Joãn was never that obsessive about his physique. He’d come with to the gym sure, but he’d never sculpt or perfect. Just put on mass, strength… Yeah, and he was hairy! Hairy for sure, between the pair Miguel was definitely the brains too, not that it really matters since they’re always by the other’s side.

Whining to himself, bass petulance rumbling from his muscular chest, Miguel takes a deep breath and retreats to where he can always find peace. What he knows best. Cheers of people playing in the waves accompanied by bossa nova from a nearby bar. Daydream washing over him as if he were in the sea, his heavy hand moves as if possessed and reaches forward to cup João's soft chest. That’s it! That’s his urso.

Across town, scrolling on his phone Jason feels his cozy bedroom grow even warmer. Working up a sweat even as he sits still, the hitherto twink grunts as he feels his clothes are suddenly a little tight. No need to keep clothed he tears off his sweater and lays back down, noticing a slight belly he shrugs and half-covers it with a blanket.

Hand behind his head, as he gets back to his phone, Jason sees something from the corner of his eye. At first it’s just one long dark strand sticking out from his few blonde pit curls. And then there’s another, a patch, then one can scarcely see beneath the dark jungle of curls. Mindlessly giving them a sniff, Jason recoils as his musk smells like that of a completely different man. The man he is becoming. 

Groaning, he sits up and clutches his stomach as it begins to bloat. Josan stares as the same bountiful garden of hair races up from his pubes, cresting over what looks like an expanding beer belly pushing aside pecs similarly dusting with body hair he’d not dreamed of having with his natural blonde locks. 

Moaning as anyone would, he holds down a few burps as he looks down at thickening thighs and the heavier bulge in between them. Cupping which he feels it throb with an intense need. Stubble that’s already become a beard rubbing against his neck as he looks down, João gasps out to no one, voice cracking deeper as he does.

“Carambaaa~, eu sou sexy, né?” (fuckk~ I’m sexy aren’t I?)

Smirking as he begins playing with himself, his eyes as blue as the sea darken into two onyx gems. Black as the thick hair on his head, and the even thicker pubes in his crotch. Sucking up some drool that was beginning to spill into his pristine goatee, João puts a hold on self-love to take a call from his lindo.

Switching it to a facetime instinctually, João immediately brightens as he sees his own face reflected back at him. Exercising the self-control not to immediately start phone-sex, he impatiently waits for Miguel to speak up.

“Ei, bebê! algum plano para hoje?” (Hey babe! Big plans today?)

“Na, na verdade não, só estou esperando a nev-” (Nah nah- just waiting on the snow to-)

“Neve!? Nossa, amor, não é à toa que todo mundo acha que eu sou o inteligente, heh!” (Snow!? Jeez babe, no wonder everyone thinks I’m the smart one, heh!)

João pauses at this, wondering if people really do think Miguel is the smart one before realizing he doesn’t really care. Together they are just one anyway. Always at the front of mind, João finds himself far more preoccupied with the next time him and Miguel’ll have some fun.

“Você tem o Speedo que eu enviei?” (Have the Speedo I sent you)

“Sim, Sim. Ehh? Aquele laranja?” (Yeah yeah, ehh the orange one?)

“Claro!” (Of course!)

After a beat, João turns to a mirror and zooms out so Miguel can see the uniform already on. Mouth falling open at the sight of his bear in all his glory, Miguel feels his own blue balls suddenly grow far more urgent. Seems they’ve got something far more pressing to do than hit the beach, though there’s certainly time enough to enjoy their little slice of heaven afterwards.

Looking to the horizon, Miguel shivers one last time as the shining sea for some reason reminds him of blankets of snow like he’s never seen. Shrugging off the strange daydream of winter storms and a life indoors, he neglects to throw on a shirt as he starts his quick commute to fuck.

The world is brighter when he begins his walk through the bustling streets of Rio. Sun breaks through the canopy of buildings while thousands of voices singing and shouting vie for his attention. Only one man is on his mind as he waddles on, and only one destination lies afterwards. Miguel just can’t wait to have the sea on his skin, and João sunbathing by his side.

[beausstuff]

Engine Light

Inspired by @artificial-transmutations

"FUCK MAN!" Mark screamed, slamming the hood of the silver 2023 Audi A4 back down. The sound wasn't the solid thunk of German engineering he expected; it was a tinny, rattling clang that vibrated in his teeth.

Drake stood by the guardrail, scowling. He picked at his cream polo, which was already damp with sweat. Not a very flattering look

"I don't even know why you opened it, man," he said, his voice tight with the specific anxiety of the privileged. "It's not like you’d know what to do. The most car work I've seen you do was pairing your iPhone."

Mark wiped his hands on his beige chinos, leaving a faint smudge of road grit. He stared at it, horrified. Feeling overwhelmed for a moment.

"My dad is going to kill me, Drake. If we miss the orientation at Deloitte in Chicago, the internship is gone! We have to call a tow truck."

The wind blew the fumes back into their faces, causing their eyes to water.

"No signal," Drake said, holding up his phone. "Dead zone. We have to push it. I saw a sign for a garage a mile back.... I think."

"Push it?" Mark looked at his loafers, "Are you stupid? In this heat? It’s like a hundred degrees!"

"Do you have a better idea, counselor?" Drake snapped.

Mark stared.

They pushed.

It was a grueling, embarrassing shuffle. The heat was a physical weight, pressing down on them. The Loafers were definitely ruined.

By the time they rolled the Audi into the bay of "Sal’s Auto & Repair," they were drenched. Their crisp clothes stuck to their skin like wet tissue paper. The air here was thicker, smelling of rubber, sulfur, and old oil.

The mechanic had rolled himself out from under a truck. He had wiped his hands on a rag.

Didn't speak; he just pointed to the card reader as Mark breathlessly explained the radiator issue.

Mark swiped his platinum card. The machine beeped in the heart dropping way.

"Locked," the mechanic grunted. "System says fraud. Card's dead."

"That's ridiculous," Mark said, his voice cracking. "Run it again. It's a gold account. My father..."

"I don't care about your daddy. Cash or labor, boys. I got a backlog of transmission work and my guy quit yesterday. You want the radiator fixed? You work."

The Mechanic Stared them down, his bulky frame seeming to fill all of their vision. He wasn't the most agreeable, and he definitely could use a refresher on how to use deodorant.

Drakes spirits crashed. Maybe a few hours of work could save them from the embarrassing call back home. Just to pay off the bill. The mechanics weathered lips flitted for just a split second, almost like a quick grin.

*****

"I feel… fucking sick," Drake murmured.

They had been working for four hours. Mark had insisted they just do enough to get the bill paid and leave, but he swore the clock in the garage was broken. It felt like it had been days.

Drake was scrubbing a pile of hubcaps in the back. He had taken off his polo to save it, but his undershirt; a flimsy white tank top, was already ruined, stained yellow with sweat and grey with brake dust.

"It's the fumes," Mark said. He was under the lift, wrestling with an oil pan. He slid out on the creeper. His glasses were fogged up, so he took them off and shoved them in his pocket. He blinked, squinting at Drake. "We just need to get through a few hours. What was… what was our ETA for Chicago?"

"Tuesday," Drake said. Then he frowned. "Wait. Was it Tuesday? Or Thursday?"

"It doesn't matter," Mark snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a thick streak of grease across his brow.

"Hand me the… the twister thing."

"The wrench?" Drake asked, looking at the tool bench.

"Yeah. The wrench." Mark stared at his own hand. It was trembling. Man I need to moisturize. The hand in front of him looked different. His knuckles seemed swollen and broad. The undersides of his nails were stained black, and his hands were so caked in oil, you couldn't even make out his fair pale skin...

in fact his skin looked real dark...

"Here," Drake said, handing him the dirty wrench. Their fingers brushed.

He looked at Mark.

...When had Mark taken off his shirt?

His chest glistening with sweat. Drake felt a strange tightening in his gut.

"Thanks," Mark grunted. His voice sounded lower. Rough. He didn't pull his hand away immediately. He looked up at Drake,

Damn he looked good in this garage,

"You missed a spot on that rim."

"Make me clean it," Drake laughed.

Mark just laughed,

a low, gravelly sound that didn't belong to a pre-law student. "Keep it up, pretty boy."

****

Drake woke up on a cot in the back office. He reached for his phone to check the stock market, the same as every other morning. But his hand felt clumsy. He dropped the phone. When he picked it up, he frowned

The app must have glitched out, because none of the numbers made any sense to him...

The S & P 500 is.... huh what is that anyway?

"Yo, Duke! Get your ass up!"

Drake flinched. Duke? Who the hell is Duke?

He walked out into the bay. The heat hit instantly. He immediately felt a wetness under his arm pits. Hadn't he put on a T shirt this morning.

The wife beater stretched tight over his skin, hugging his chest.... his impressive chest, and showing off veiny arms from years under the hood.

Mark was leaning over the fender of a car. But it wasn't the Audi.

It was a '69 Chevelle. Smokey grey.

A sexy mother fucking vehicle.

"Mark?" Drake asked, his voice cracking into a deep baritone.

Mark turned around. He had a cigarette dangling from his lip. He inhaled deeply, the tip glowing cherry-red, and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke that mingled with the shop's haze.

"Its Mac, Dumbass" the man grunted. He looked at Drake with hooded, predatory eyes. "And grab a rag. We gotta tune the carb before noon."

"since when do you smoke? You know I..." Drake stammered, staring at the pack of Reds in Mac’s pocket. "I have asthma man."

"You ain't got asthma," Mac growled, walking over. He moved with a heavy, hip-rolling swagger, his jeans riding low on his hips, revealing the adonis lines of his pelvis.

He pulled a cigarette from the pack and shoved it between Drake’s lips. "Light up. And get yer ass to work."

Drake let him light it. The smoke filled his chest, burning, searing. It should have made him cough. Instead, it felt like oxygen. The rush of nicotine quieted the screaming voice in his head that remembered Chicago.

"The car…" Drake pointed at the Chevelle. "That aint what we rode in on... is it?"

Mac looked at the car, then back at Drake. He stepped closer, invading Drake’s personal space. The smell of him

sweat,

stale tobacco,

musk

it was overwhelming. It made Drake’s knees weak.

"It's always been a Chevelle, Duke," Mac whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, irrational anger. "You hit your head or something? We been fixing this piece of shit for a week."

"A week?" Drake’s mind reeled. It’s been a day. It’s been a lifetime. "But the internship…"

"Fuckin wake up man" Mac growled. He grabbed Drake’s chin with a grease-stained hand, forcing him to look him in the eye. "You shittin with me? Or you just come in high again?"

Mac Pushed Drake Duke aside and turned around to face the car again, Displaying his massive back, clearly defined through his soaked through wife beater...

Drake Duke stood there fore a moment reeling, before walking up behind him... waiting for the work to begin.

*****

The shop was a furnace. The fan rattled uselessly against the wall.

Duke was under the chassis, tightening the suspension. He slid out on the creeper, his body slick with oil and sweat. He wiped his face, smearing black grease across his cheekbones.

Mac was standing by the workbench, wiping down a socket set. He was shirtless, his back muscles rippling as he moved. He had a mullet now

thick, dark hair curling over his neck, damp with sweat.

Duke stood up. He walked over to Mac. He didn't say a word. He just grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the bench, shook one out, and lit it. Mac turned. He looked at Duke.

"She running rich?" Mac asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Lean," Duke corrected. He took a drag, blowing the smoke into Mac’s face. "Need to open her up."

Mac laughed, before looking Duke up and down, playing with his crotch.

"You talking about the car, or you talking about me?"

"Both," Duke growled.

Collision.

He shoved Mac back against the tool chest. The metal drawers rattled with a crash, Tools spilled in every direction

Duke fumbled with Macs stained Jeans, slipping his hands to grope Macs enormous, straining cock.

His mouth worked lower and lower,

His tongue soaking up all the oil

Grease,

And sweat

Mac grasped Dukes rounded shoulders with his oil stained hands, Shoving him lower and lower.

"Get to Work Boy," He said, Grabbing a fist full of Dukes Hair,

"We got about 8 minutes before our next Service ticket shows."

Duke choked in response

From the garage window, The shop owner grinned. Illuminated by the glow of a cigar.

He sure was glad those good ol boys had shown up when they did.

Always loved guiding the Rising generation towards the trades.

*****

Hey Guys! Hope you enjoyed the story! Had a lot of fun exploring this idea while I was on vacation haha. Feel free to message or submit in my inbox, story ideas, or how you would Transform me (profile pic)

[misctf]

Hey there. I've been teaching my introduction to theatre class for about 10 years now, however this semester has to be the worst. They've stuck me with the absolute worst group of students. Listen, I love being able to teach students and help them better connect to the wonders of performing, but this Gen Ed class of freshman couldn't care less. It's full of straight jocks, guys who think they'll get famous on TikTok, exchange students from the middle east and a bunch of stuck up religious homophobic nepo babies who write slurs on the chalkboard. I can't stand it. I'm ready to quit. But this Friday, I found a box of chocolate on my desk with a typed note saying that it was time I learned a lesson. I have no idea which one of these assholes gave it to me and I'm sure they are laced with something but I can't help but want to try one of the chocolates....

You knew you should just throw it away. Put the small box of stupid chocolates in the nearest garbage and forget about it. The box itself looked like it was handcrafted with cardboard and tape. The chocolates inside? Probably made in one of your student's kitchens. Sloppy, made hastily- being homemade alone didn't make something good. As a teacher, you did get gifts on occasion. But in all of your years of teaching, this one was certainly the absolute worst.

"Alright, alright." You mutter, "I'm a teacher, not a food critic."

You relent and grab one of the small truffles, inspecting it closely. It was obviously coated in milk chocolate, a few red, white, and blue sprinkles garnished the top.

"CJ." You think, "Yeah, bet it was him."

Loud, obnoxious, patriotic- the ultimate stupid all-American jock who probably spent the same amount of time drinking beers as he did in the gym. With a sigh, you plop the truffle into your mouth and start to chew. You taste the milk chocolate and get a few notes of peanuts and apple pie. Not the worst thing you've ever eaten, but definitely not...

"Oh fuck..." You grunt and catch yourself on the nearest table, "Oh fuck it hurts." You grab your stomach and wince, "Wh...?"

Your eyes widen as you watch your dress shirt start to shred into pieces, unveiling more and more of your average frame. You let out another yelp as your dress pants start to come undone, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

"What the fuck?" You grunt as the room begins to spin around you.

The humble walls of your classroom give way to a raucous tailgate. The smell of brats, burgers, and beers fill your nose. The sound of boisterous laughter, cheering, and shit talk fill your ears. But as you stumble in confusion amidst the new setting, you gasp as you look down at your hand.

"Brody, bro!" One of the jocks yells out, "You good man?"

You watch in terror as your hand thickens and becomes calloused from all those lifting sessions with your bros at the gym. You watch as the muscle expands rapidly in your forearms, before your biceps explode with it. Your triceps aren't spared either as your previous twigs-for-arms thicken from all the lifting, creatine, and protein powder you've been using. But you quickly found out your arms were just the start. The air was knocked out of you as your pecs swelled rapidly, back cracking and widening. You stumble, still trying to get used to your increasing bulk.

"Woah, bro..." You mutter, giving your swollen pecs a squeeze, "All right..." You shake your head, "No... no what am I saying?" You can feel a weed sprouting in your head- another voice, another being.

"Yeah this is the shit." It says using your mouth, "Grow baby, grow."

You laugh, deep and dumb. And as you do, your gut packs on more weight and muscle, pushing out with the firmness of extra bulk. Your abs covered by a soft layer of fat brought to you by all the late night snacking and beers you've downed with your bros.

"Check this, bros." Your voice is slower, dumber, and clearly tipsy from the alcohol. But you don't have time to consider that as you let out a massive fart, "Bro! You hear that? Fuckin' legend, dude!"

You grunt as your ass beefs up, swelling with muscle and fat. Jiggling with each step you take. Your thighs and legs bulk up, as your feet crack and expand into wide, size 15" monsters.

"Alright bros!" Brody says, pumping his fists, "Let's fuckin' go!"

You can't do much as Brody has the best fucking time of his life. You do a keg stand, make-out with some blond cheerleader, wrestle with your bros, and bounce your muscle tits while your dick chubs up. To Brody, its the fucking life. But to you- trapped in this smelly, brutish frat bro- you're in hell. Was this the lesson? Was this what your asshole students wanted to teach you? To...

"Yo what're those?" Brody drunkenly makes his way over to a small box of chocolates, "Don't mind if I do." He guffaws and grabs one.

He plops it into his mouth and you can taste it. Cardamom, cinnamon, and dates. Brody wrinkles his nose as he chews it.

"The fuck kinda flavor is that?" But he doesn't have much time to think more on it as the world around him starts to spin, "Oh fuck, too many beers..."

You can feel it too. The world spinning. Its disorienting, terrifying. And you can feel a burning and itching sensation across your chest. You watch in horror as a patch of coarse black hair sprouts from Brody's chest, spreading rapidly like wildfire. It itches intensely as it grows thicker and longer, soon covering his entire torso in a dark pelt. Brody lets out a grunt, rubbing his hands over his new fur.

"Wh-what's going on, bro? I'm so fuckin' hairy."

Meanwhile, the burning sensation spreads to your face. Black stubble erupts on your jawline, quickly forming a thick, unkempt beard. Your once fair skin blotches with an olive tint.

"Dude, I'm American. Why do I look… fuck…"

Every inch of your skin is now olive tinted. There's a grunt as you pack on a little more extra weight and muscle to your previous jock-bro frame. A wave of vertigo hits you hard as reality warps and shifts yet again. The tailgate scene dissolves into a sleek sports car interior. This new man grips the steering wheel tightly, weaving through traffic at dangerous speeds. His bulks grows more, as do his muscles.

"Yallah, move it bitch!" he yells, honking aggressively at a minivan.

"Samir, chill bro." The other Arab man in the passenger seat says.

"Chill? We got places to be, yaar." Samir replies, revving the engine.

You can only watch as this new version of you pulls up to a hookah bar. And as Samir enters, you can smell it too- the air is thick with fragrant smoke and the sound of Arabic music pulses through the speakers. Samir struts in confidently, his broad shoulders, hairy chest, and musculature on full display.

"Marhaba, habibi," he greets the hostess, flashing her a charming smile. She giggles and leads them to a plush booth in the back.

As they settle in, Samir leans back and lights up a large hookah pipe. His arms stretched behind his head. The smell of his musky pits invading your sense.

"Ahhh, perfect," he sighs contentedly. He takes a long drag, holding the sweet smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. His friend nods in agreement. "This is the life, yaar. No worries, just good times with the boys."

And as Samir takes another drag, you can feel your mind swimming. The smell of hookah, the laughter, the pride in your middle-eastern heritage. It hurts your head as your identities mix. Teacher? Frat bro? Prideful Arab man? Who are you? What are...

"I... Please, I want this to..."

"Yo who're you?" You freeze. Brody was still here. In your head. Talking to you, "Brah, this whole shits fucked. I got a party to get back to."

You find yourself nodding slowly, "Yeah... a party..." Makes sense, right? You should be partying... at the tailgate... But... you're a teacher, you're a...

Samir takes another long drag from the hookah, blowing the smoke out slowly. "These Americans, they don't know how to live," he says, shaking his head, "Americans, they're weak. Greedy and self indulgent. But us? We're real men, yaar. Strong, proud." He takes another drag, "Inshallah, may Allah bless us with more days like this."

And as the hookah invades his lungs, you too feel it invade your mind. The smell, the camaraderie. The sight of your olive skin, the scraggliness of your beard. And as your buddies pat Samir on the back, you feel like you're part of something more. Something greater.

"Feels nice." You think, "This... this is living... how it should be..."

And as your mind swims with your newfound appreciation for Samir's culture, Samir's attention is captured by a box of chocolates. He smirks and grabs one of the truffles plopping it into his mouth. And almost immediately you can taste it. The bourbon. The hint of vanilla. Maybe even some lavender.

"Wha-" he starts to say, but the words dissolve on his tongue.

You can feel it again. The world spinning around you. Faster and faster. And with it comes the changes. You can feel the heftiness around your midsection starts to dissolve, while the abs underneath are molded perfectly, leaving you with an impressive six-pack. You can hear Samir yelp as his pecs start to puff out further with dense muscle, the hairs starting to dissolve away, leaving behind clean shaven, smooth skin.

"Ugh so pathetic." He groans, running his increasingly meatier hand against his smooth skin, "What is this?"

His skin suddenly begins to lighten once again. His dark eyes become blue, and narrow as a new attitude starts to swell up in your increasingly more crowded mental space.

"This is disgusting."

"Brah, check these muscles."

Your head is spinning with all these different voices. Your body aches as the bulk continues, giving you the body of a greek adonis. Arms swollen, chest solid, abs proudly displayed. The hookah bar finally vanishes, replaced by the glittering expanse of a private pool. Sunlight glints off the water. And you find yourself coming up for air, water falling from your brunette, styled hair.

A girl in a skimpy bikini approaches, carrying a tray of drinks. "Here you go, Mr. Westley," she says, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. This new man takes a drink without even looking at her, already bored. Just another servant. Just another pretty face.

"Get me another one while you're at it." He calls out. He watches her walk away, smirking as he stares at her ass.

He takes a swig of the martini and sighs. Everything looks so bright and crisp. Like the world had been put through a filter. The sky is bluer, the grass greener. Even the water sparkles. And his physique? Toned, tanned, and dripping wet. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Yeah... I can... I can get used to this..." You mumble as if in a trance.

"Same brah." Brody joins in.

"Fuck that." Samir lashes out, "Spoiled white boy."

The new man exits the pool, tousling his hair, and finding the nearest lounge chair. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, basking in the sun.

"Chad?" He turns towards a man in business attire, "Your father would like a word."

"Tell dear old dad I'm busy." Chad replied dismissively, "And while you're at it, find the groundskeeper and tell him to get this place cleaned up, its a fucking disgrace."

"But sir, your father..."

"You fuckin' deaf or something?" Chad stands up, towering over the man, "I'm. Busy."

The servant scurries away, while Chad just flashes his signature, entitled smirk. And as he gets back to lounging, you feel disgust welling up inside you. This guy was an asshole. A totally self-obsessed douchebag. Even Brody seemed to quiet down, while Samir went on ranting about spoiled Americans.

"I just want to go back." You feel so lost, so hopeless, "I don't want to be this... I want to be me..."

But you're trapped. Trapped in your own mind with Brody and Samir. Trapped and forced to feel everything Chad did. Watch as Chad sends some shirtless selfies to a few blond bimbos. Made plans with an older married woman down the street to meet up when her husband leaves for the day. He messages his friends about using his father's private jet to travel to Tahoe for the weekend.

"Get what I want, when I want." He stretches his arms behind his head and sighs, basking in the sunlight reflecting off his greek god physique.

And that's when you feel it. The power. The musculature of his body. Each flex of his bicep. His massive pecs. You understand now. Understand just how easy his confidence comes to him. Understand why he deserves it. And it felt... good. Yeah... It felt real good. But as you got drunk on everything that was Chad, you were interrupted.

"Chad!" Chad's eyes widen as his father walks over- a man of similar build, height, but older, "You lazy piece of crap!"

"Dad, what... what're you talking about?"

His father's eyes narrow, "I told you before." He points at him, "You want to live like this? You want to use my money for trips to Europe, fuck any bimbo that moves, and lounge around." He frowns, "Then you got to get a degree. An education. Prove you can take over the family business."

"You can't be fucking..."

"Oh I am."

You can feel the anger boiling up in Chad's body. A degree? Having to go to school? With what? A bunch of stupid, poor, ugly freaks that have to work a 9-5 to experience just 1/1000 of Chad's lifestyle.

"That's... not fair." You whisper, as your mind is overwhelmed by Chad's emotions.

Chad stands up, eyes narrowed and pushes past his father. The older man couldn't be serious. Couldn't really be thinking of making him go to college. He stormed past a servant, who simply smiled.

"Would you like a chocolate?"

Chad freezes, "Yeah, sure, why the fuck not?" And plops it into his mouth.

The world around you shifts once more as the flavors of the chocolate hit your tongue - artificial sweetness, fruity candy, and a hint of energy drink. You can feel your muscles beginning to shrink and change, the bulk melting away.

"Whoa, what's happening to me?" Chad's voice whines.

The opulent halls of the mansion are closing in, shifting into that of a studio apartment. Clothes and empty energy drink cans litter the floor. The air smells stale and musty. You glance down at your changing body - the muscles thinning out, becoming leaner and more defined rather than bulky. Body hair recedes until your skin is smooth and hairless. Your face feels tight as it reshapes itself, cheekbones becoming more pronounced, jawline sharpening into an angular cuteness. Curly locks sprout from your head, styled in a trendy, slightly messy fashion. Your beard starts to fall away, leaving you clean-shaven.

This new form - young, attractive, and youthfully energetic - bounds over to the bed. Sitting cross-legged, and pulls out his phone. The lock screen displays a grid of selfies and short video clips, all carefully curated to showcase his best angles and moments.

"Okay, gotta up my game," He mutters, scrolling through TikTok trends. "More followers mean more clout, and clout means everything."

He spends hours creating and posting videos - dance challenges, skits, pranks, and thirst traps. Each upload is meticulously planned and executed to maximize engagement. Between posts, he constantly refreshes his feed, comparing likes and views to his peers.

"This is exhausting," the old you whispers weakly in the back of your mind. But the new you barely registers the complaint, too focused on growing your online presence.

"Hey there! Zac here!" He starts.

You watch helplessly as this new version of you, Zac, throws himself into the world of social media with reckless abandon. Hours blur together as he creates and posts video after video, thirst trap after thirst trap, desperate for that sweet validation of likes and comments.

"Ugh, this sucks," Zac grunts in frustration, deleting yet another failed attempt at a viral dance challenge. "Why isn't this working? I'm hot, I'm funny, I should be blowing up by now!"

The other voices in your head stir.

"Forget this noise, brah. Let's hit the gym, get jacked!" Brody chimes in enthusiastically.

"No way, man. This social media crap is beneath us." Samir scoffs, his accent thick with disdain.

"He's so fucking desperate." Chad chimes in, "He's never going to amount to shit. Just wishes he could have a sliver of what I got."

The voices swim in your head. Painfully. Overwhelmingly. You just want it to stop. Just want them to leave you be. To let you go back to... to what? You're realizing with increasing terror that you're having a hard time remembering just who you were. Someone in education? A teacher? Right? Or were you...

"Pl-please... just... stop." But your voice is crowded out by these other selves, all bickering internally.

"Fuck it," Zac mutters, tossing his phone aside in frustration. He flops back onto the unmade bed, surrounded by the musky scent of sweat-stained sheets and stale air. With a heavy sigh, he reaches for his phone again, navigating to his preferred porn site with practiced ease.

"Just need to blow off some steam," he mumbles, stroking himself through his thin sweatpants as the first video loads. The lewd sounds of moaning and flesh slapping against flesh fill the small room.

Zac's breathing quickens as he loses himself in porn, his toned muscles relaxing under his touch. The stench of his own arousal mingles with the aroma of the slovenly apartment. Sweat beads on his smooth, hairless chest as he pleasures himself. The sensations wash over you too, drowning out the cacophony of voices in your head. Your mind starts to feel hazy, thoughts growing sluggish and scattered. The world narrows down to the intense physical pleasure radiating from your core.

"Hnnngh… feels so good…" you groan, as rational thought slips away, replaced by base instinct and desire.

Brody, Samir, and Chad's voices fade to distant murmurs, easily ignored as you lose yourself in Zac's pleasure. All that matters is chasing this peak of ecstasy.

"F-fuck yeah… gonna cum so hard…"

And in that moment… you're just Zac. Obsessed with social media. Obsessed with the latest trend. Obsessed with views and likes and getting famous. And when you're not chasing fame, you're jerking off. Endlessly. In your musky apartment. And it feels good. No worries. No cares. No more voices. Yeah… Zac… you're Zac… it makes sense… it…

You blink, disoriented as the familiar sight of your classroom comes into focus. The musky stench and lewd sounds vanish, replaced by the sterile scent of chalk dust and the dull murmur of students. Your body feels foreign, like it belongs to someone else entirely.

"W-what… what happened?" you stammer, gripping the edge of your desk for support. The lingering echoes of Zac's obsession and pleasure slowly fade, but the memory of inhabiting that shallow, hedonistic existence lingers.

Around you, your students smile. The straight-laced jocks, the fame-hungry TikTokers, the entitled rich kids, and the cultural exchange students. They're staring at you.

"Learn your lesson, bro?"

"No, please! Leave me alone!" you cry out, clutching your head as the voices of Samir, Brody, Chad, and Zac continue to echo and taunt you. "I don't want to be any of you! I just want to be myself again!"

But even as you beg, you can feel the changes starting to take hold once more. Your muscles begin to swell and bulk up, taking on a chiseled, masculine form.

"You're built like a god now. Act like it." Chad's voice rings out, "Walk around like you own the place, 'cause you do. Entitlement is your birthright, remember that."

Your muscles ripple and grow, becoming impressively defined. The bulges of your biceps and pecs send pleasure straight to your heavy balls and thick cock. You stand taller, chest puffed out proudly.

"Fuck yeah, we gotta document this!" Zac squeals excitedly. "Get the camera out, bro! Show the world what we're working with. Hashtag blessed, hashtag gains, hashtag fitness goals! Gotta get them followers, man!"

You pull out your phone with a grin, snapping selfie after selfie from every angle. You look hot. You look good. And you know it. And so will everyone else.

"Look at you." Samir's voice echos in your brain. Dark, glossy hair springs from your scalp, curling slightly. A well-groomed beard spreads across your jawline and chin, "Embrace your heritage, yaar. You're a son of the Middle East now."

You feel warmth as your skin takes on a warm, healthy olive tone. You run a hand through your thick, black hair, admiring how it contrasts with your chiseled features. Your beard feels soft and stylish as you run your fingers along it. You feel a surge of pride in your Arab roots.

"Holy shit dude, we are ripped!" Brody exclaims gleefully, slurring his words slightly. "Time to hit the town and get fucked up! Gonna be the life of the party with these sick muscles, bro!"

You can feel the intelligence draining from your mind, replaced by a happy-go-lucky, dim-witted enthusiasm. Your tongue lolls out as you grin dopily. The voices blend together into a confusing chorus as your body and mind warp to accommodate all four personas simultaneously. You're left standing in the middle of your classroom, nothing more than a muscular, entitled, self-absorbed Arab party bro, with the combined traits and attitudes of Chad, Zac, Samir, and Brody.

"Yo, teach!" One of your students calls out, "You learn your lesson?"

You turn to face him, your muscular physique on full display as you cross your arms over your broad chest. A cocky smirk plays across your handsome, bearded face. You flash a brilliant, charismatic smile at the student, your teeth gleaming white against your olive skin.

"Lesson learned, my dude."

[misctf]

Physical Touch

The final story in the Love Languages series to finish off February. Check out the others: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, and Receiving Gifts. Enjoy!

Thomas moaned into the kiss with his boyfriend, Will. The two quickly stripped out of their clothes, their hands greedily roaming one another's bodies. Their kiss broke, Thomas looked up at his slightly taller boyfriend and grinned.

"Physical touch," he said, his hand caressing his boyfriend's smooth pec. "Makes sense, right?"

"Yeah," Will breathed, leaning down to capture Thomas's lips again,

"Fuck, that feels good." Thomas gasped as he broke the kiss. Will grinned, squeezing his boyfriend's ass and sending another wave of electric pleasure throughout his body, "Will..." He moaned.

"You like that, don't you?"

He gasped as Will tweaked a nipple, arching into the sensation. "Oh fuck, Will… Feels so good."

"What does?" Will asked, trailing kisses along Thomas's jawline.

"This… everything. Your hands on me…"

Thomas panted heavily, his eyes glazed over with lust as Will continued to explore his body. Even the slightest graze of skin against skin sent shockwaves of ecstasy through him.

"I need you," Thomas whimpered desperately, grinding his hips up against Will's. "Inside me…" He bit his lip as he looked up at Will.

Will smirked, and pushed his boyfriend into the bed. Thomas let out another gasp as even the cool sheets made his body twitch with pleasure. His thoughts were racing, mind spinning as he tried to process the growing pleasure.

"Will... My head..."

But before he could continue, Will had lined himself up and pushed inside him with one swift thrust. Thomas cried out, the intense fullness almost too much to bear. He had bottomed before. Felt Will's cock inside him. But this was something different entirely. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his mouth went slack as his boyfriend continued to fuck him.

"Don't stop. Harder. Fuck…" Thomas gripped the sheets tightly, drool falling from his mouth, "Oh fuck… you feel so good."

Each deep thrust sent ripples of euphoria coursing through Thomas's body. His mind was hazy, thoughts scattered. But as Will hammered away relentlessly, Thomas felt a tingling in his limbs- a new heaviness. Through half-lidded eyes, he glanced at his arms.

"W-What?" Thomas managed to gasp out between moans. His arms were shrinking quickly into his body. "W-Will... Something's wrong... I don't know…" He winced as the same feeling built in his legs- they too were shrinking.

But Will didn't seem to hear him, lost in his own world of lust. Will moaned and continued to thrust, totally unaware of Thomas's growing concern.

"Oh fuck…" Will grunted.

Will slowed his rhythm, stopping his thrusts entirely. Instead, he reached down to run his hands along Thomas's rapidly shrinking body. His moans became louder as he continued to run his hand up and down Thomas, seemingly deriving more and more pleasure from simply stroking his boyfriend.

"W-Will…" Thomas gurgled on something in the back of his throat, "Ohhhhhh." Salty fluid leaked from the corners of Thomas's mouth.

Thomas tried to wipe away the liquid leaking from his mouth, but he found his arms had nearly vanished into his torso. And while Thomas wanted to cry out, scream, and beg Will to stop- the bliss he was feeling from Thomas's rough, calloused hands on his skin made coherent thought nearly impossible. Meanwhile, Will grunted as his muscles expanded outward rapidly under his skin.

"W-Will?" Thomas tried to say in between the bouts of fluid leaking from his mouth.

But Will was oblivious, too busy pumping his boyfriend's shrinking body. Will didn't notice how his pecs expanded outwards into two slabs of muscle. Or how his arms bulged and veins popped as his biceps and triceps expanded beneath his skin. Nor was he aware of the coarse hair that sprouted along his chest and new abs. He rocked his thickening hips lazily, moaning shamelessly as his larger hands gripped and pumped his boyfriend's now increasingly tubular shaped body.

"A-Ahhh! Oh fuck!" Thomas tried to scream as he watched his hair fall out in clumps, leaving behind a bald, shiny scalp.

"Fuck... brah... this feels..." Will bit his lip, gripping Thomas harder and pumping with more force, "Fuck..." Facial hair sprouted from his previously clean-shaven face, quickly thickening into a scraggly beard.

Thomas could feel something building within him. His form throbbing as his arms and legs fulled vanished into what had been his torso. By this time, his torso had seemingly gone through its own metamorphosis. With each pump of Will's meatier hand, Thomas's features simplified. Each pump shaping Thomas's previously toned form into that of a thick, fleshy cylinder.

"W-Will! Staahhhhhh…"

Fluids poured freely from Thomas's slack mouth as it stretched and warped, reshaping itself into a single gaping slit.

"Nnnggghhhh…"

Will groaned, his voice deeper and rougher than before as he pumped faster. He only let up for a moment, to spit in his hand, before wrapping his saliva-coated hand around Thomas's new cylindrical body- pumping quickly along the slick surface. Thomas couldn't speak now as his mouth fixed itself into a slit. He could only stare out in front of him as Will used his thumb and caressed his head. And while Thomas knew he should be scared and horrified, his mind was fogging over at an alarming pace. Consumed with thoughts of pleasure, bliss, and wanting nothing more to be used by the man who had once been his boyfriend.

"W-Will..." Thomas could barely string together a coherent thought as Will's hands teased his head, "P-please... I don't..."

The last vestiges of Thomas's face melted away, leaving behind only a bulbous tip and a thick shaft. No eyes, no nose, no ears - just a perfect, thick pink cock-head.

"Yes, yes, fuck!" Will growled, "Gonna... gonna..!"

As Will frantically rubbed Thomas's transformed body, Thomas could feel the build-up in the back of his new throat. But it was just more than Will's seed. No, it carried something more. Thomas could see glimpses of places he'd never been, faces he'd never met, hopes he never had. And with sickening clarity, he realized what it was. All of Will's identity. All of the unique traits that defined him. His quirks, opinions, experiences, memories, hopes, dreams, fears. Everything that made Will, well Will. The entirety of Will, his loving boyfriend, was contained within it. And he was about to release.

"The fuck? No no no no no--!"

Horror lanced through Thomas as realization set in. What would happen to Will if he came. What would…

"…no no no please…" Thomas begged silently, knowing it was already too late.

Will tensed above him, his muscles flexing as he let out a long, low moan. Then, with a final shudder, he released. His very essence- all of who he was beyond a horny, lustful gooner- draining away with his orgasm. Thomas could only watch as the memories, emotions, knowledge, flowed out of his new body and onto his hairy abs. And the worst part? Thomas felt so good, consumed in the bliss of the orgasm that stole his loving, thoughtful boyfriend from the world.

"Fuck yeah…" Will grunted, his sweaty, muscular, and hairy form collapsed into bed. His dick still semi-hard, throbbing, and leaking.

--------

Two weeks passed since that day. And in those two weeks, Thomas was able to find out just what kind of man Will had become.

"Ah fuck... So good..."

Will, his once thoughtful and caring boyfriend, was sprawled across the bed, stroking himself vigorously. Building up the pleasure, just to stop, and then start up again. His eyes glazed over as he focused solely on building and denying his pleasure.

"Ohhhhhh..."

He moaned as he pumped his cock with his meaty hand. Between gooning, he was in the gym, somehow gaining even more mass since that fateful night. His muscles bulging obscenely beneath his sweat-slicked skin, coarse hairs dampened with sweat covered his chest and abs, leading down to a thick, musky bush surrounding his swollen balls.

"So close... so close..."

Will's hand slid up and down Thomas's length, squeezing and twisting. Pleasure sparked through Thomas's body. Intense as always, mind numbing. His thick, hard, sweat-slicked body throbbing with the ache for release.

And in that musky, slovenly, dark bedroom, as Will continued to goon away, Thomas was trapped. Only able to revel in the man's physical touch.

----------------------------

Hope you liked that one! I've been struggling with some writer's block so I may be stepping away for a little bit. Still open to suggestions and story ideas that may help get the creative juices flowing- so feel free to message or send something to my inbox. Thanks!

[misctf]

Receiving Gifts

The fourth story in the Love Languages series I'm working on. Check out the others: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, and Acts of Service. Just have one more after this!

"Receiving gifts."

"Love language?"

Matthew looked up from his phone and smiled, "Yeah." He sighed, "I think I already knew this." He reflected, "I don't know if I like it though."

"What do you mean?" Andrew asked.

"Well like... receiving gifts." He chuckled, "Makes me sound kind of materialistic, you know?" He shrugged, "Like, 'give me stuff to make me feel loved.' I get it isn't that, but..."

"You're overthinking it!" Andrew laughed, "Feeling loved from receiving gifts doesn't make you some kind of selfish prick."

Matthew nodded and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend, gently caressing his hand, "I guess you're right, babe." He smiled.

"I'm right?" He grinned, "Say that again, this time I'm recording it." Matthew rolled his eyes, adjusted his gray shirt, and the two went back to enjoying their morning together.

--------------------

"Here, I got you this."

Matthew looked over at his boyfriend, who was holding a protein bar. He raised an eyebrow. A protein bar? Andrew must've been able to see the confusion on his boyfriend's face and rolled his eyes.

"Babe, you were saying the other day how you wanted to incorporate more protein in your diet, right?" He smiled, "And look! It's chocolate lava cake. Your favorite." He kissed Matthew on the cheek.

Matthew nodded, "So you do listen to me." He took the protein bar and smiled, "That was thoughtful of you, I appreciate it." He unwrapped it and took a bite, "You know," He said as he chewed, "not too terrible. Thanks babe."

"Of course. Just my little way of showing how much I love you." He winked.

Matthew quickly finished the protein bar and leaned back in his chair, "That was nice of him." He thought, "I... totally fuckin' deserved that."

Matthew froze. Where did that come from? He shook his head and went back to the finance report he was working on.

--------------------

"Matthew!" Matthew turned to see one of his coworkers approaching him, "I wanted to say thank you for your help the other day." Sue said, "On that report."

"Oh yeah, it wasn't a big deal."

"So modest." She laughed, "Here, I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation." She quickly pulled out her phone and Matthew felt his vibrate.

"Wait, Sue, I can't..." He looked at his phone, seeing several passes to Sue's favorite fitness studio.

"I'm not always able to use them." She said, "And I know you've wanted to try out a few classes. It's a month worth of classes."

"Seriously, thank you." Matthew smiled and Sue nodded, "I'll put these to good use." Matthew watched as Sue walked off, "She didn't need to do that." He thought, "She... fuckin' owed me for that shit." Matthew recoiled and grabbed his head, "Why would I think that?" He frowned, "Just a thought, just a thought."

--------------------

"We heard that you've been really getting into your new fitness routine." His mother said over dinner one night, "Your father and I wanted to get you this." Matthew grinned as he was handed a box.

"Oh what is it, babe?" Andrew looked over curiously.

Matthew opened it, revealing a watch. But not just any watch. One of those watches that track your fitness. He'd be able to monitor his heart rate, calories, workout analytics. Everything he could want in a fitness tracker.

"Wow, thank you. This is awesome." He strapped it on his wrist, feeling a surge of pride.

Andrew leaned over to take a closer look. "Oh look at that. That brand is top tier" He smiled approvingly.

Matthew glanced down at the watch, a small frown tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well… but this isn't even the newest model. Kinda cheap if I'm bein' honest." He gasped as he realized he said all that aloud. His parents and Andrew both gave him looks of surprise, "No, I mean, thanks mom, dad. This is great." He forced a smile, feeling a twinge of guilt at his ungrateful thoughts.

"Get it together." He thought as their dinner continued on, "What is wrong with me." He frowned looking down at the watch, "I mean, they coulda shelled out a little more. They got the cash." Matthew shuddered.

--------------------

"Hey babe, I noticed how hard you've been working at the gym lately. Thought these might help support your gains."

He handed Matthew a few pairs of grey compression shorts. Matthew took the shorts, running them through his fingers. They felt high quality, form-fitting. He couldn't deny he'd look good in these.

"Uh, thanks, man. That's…that's really thoughtful of you." He mumbled, a strange feeling stirring in his gut.

"No problem. And hey, I gotta say - the results are definitely showing. You're looking real good, handsome."

He reached out to squeeze Matthew's bicep playfully. The touch sent a jolt through Matthew. A cruel, cocky smirk spread across his face.

"Yeah I fuckin' do. Bet I know why you got me these." He thrust his hips forward slightly, drawing attention to his crotch, "You wanna check out my huge cock in these tight little shorts, don't you? You fuckin' slut. You fuckin' cock whore."

Andrew blushed, but his eyes narrowed, "What the fuck, Matthew?" He looked hurt and confused by the crass words coming from his normally sweet boyfriend.

Matthew shuddered, "Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Just a little too intense." Andrew tried to laugh it off, "But maybe I can get used to it. It was kinda sexy."

"Damn right." Matthew shook the thought from his head.

Later that evening, Matthew found himself alone in the bathroom. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror - toned muscles rippling beneath smooth skin, his cock straining impressively against his new underwear. He should feel ashamed after the way he spoke to Andrew, but instead, a wicked grin spread across his face.

"Goddamn, I do look good," he muttered to himself, turning to admire his ass.

--------------------

"Are you kidding me? What the actual fuck?!" Matthew sputtered in disbelief as the cashier handed back his ID, shaking his head.

"How am I not 21?! I'm fuckin' 32 years old, you moron!" He snatched his ID, face flushed with anger and embarrassment, "Fuckin' bullshit." He paused suddenly, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't..." Matthew shook his head.

Stomping out of the liquor store, Matthew cursed under his breath. A nice bottle of red wine for their anniversary dinner, ruined by some dumbass kid thinking he was underage. Unbelievable.

"So what if I am?" Matthew growled, "I want a goddamn drink." He looked at his ID and grimaced, "No... this isn't right." Matthew whispered, "That isn't my birthday."

But his attention turned to a group of rowdy college-aged guys passing him. They were clearly drunk, wearing t-shirts with Greek letters emblazoned on the front.

"Yo bro, looks like you had a rough time in there!" One slurred.

"I was tryna grab a bottle of wine for dinner but that asshole cashier wouldn't let me buy shit 'cause he thinks I ain't 21 yet," Matthew scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Can you believe that shit? Look at me, I'm in my fuckin' 30s, bro."

The frat bros exchanged amused glances, before on of them held up a case of beer. "Tell ya what, it ain't wine, but we've got an extra 12-pack here. Consider it a gift."

Matthew hesitated for only a moment before a greedy grin spread across his face. "Let's fuckin' go! Thanks man!"

--------------------

Matthew stood admiring himself in the gym mirror, flexing his newly bulked muscles. The extra beer had added a slight paunch to his otherwise chiseled physique, but it just made him look more virile, more…manly.

He smirked as he recalled Andrew's playful pokes and admiring looks at his growing gut. "Fuckin' slut, he loves it," Matthew muttered to himself, preening, "Stop calling him that." A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered. He ignored it.

A familiar voice called out from behind him, "Damn Matthew, lookin' good brother! Gettin' huge!" Chase clapped Matthew on the back, "I got you somethin'."

"Bet you did." Matthew smirked.

Chase produced a silver chain, a large cross pendant dangling from it. Matthew's eyes widened. It was gaudy as fuck, exactly the type of douchey accessory he never would have considered before. But now…

"Fuckin' sick, bro."

"No... no more gifts... please...!"

He draped it around his neck, letting the heavy cross settle against his sweat-slicked pecs. It gleamed against his hairy chest, drawing the eye to his bulging muscles. And as he worked out that day, Matthew could practically feel the stares of other gym-goers, admiring his body, his confidence, his new accessory. Matthew just smirked, preening under the attention.

"I fuckin' love this."

--------------------

Matthew sat on the couch, sprawled out with his legs spread wide, pits exposed as he lounged, the douchey cross glinting on his sweaty, hairy chest. He eyed Andrew with a smug smirk as his boyfriend approached.

"Hey babe, I was thinking…" Andrew began, perching on the arm of the couch.

Matthew groaned as Andrew walked into the bedroom. Here he goes agan. About their relationship. About his attitude. Always complaining. Always finding problems. Why couldn't that little slut just be happy sucking his fat cock?

"Because he loves you." A voice said from within, "Because he hates what you're becoming."

"What were you thinkin' about now?" Matthew ignored the voice and scratched his meaty, hairy pec.

"I was thinking… I was thinking…" Andrew was breathing heavier, his eyes roaming hungrily over Matthew's musculature, "about how sexy you look right now," Andrew purred, voice dripping with lust. "About that huge dick…"

He slid off the arm of the couch, crawling between Matthew's legs. Andrew nuzzled into the thick patch of pubic hair at the base of Matthew's semi-hard cock, inhaling deeply.

"Smells so good, baby." He placed a wet kiss on the sensitive underside of Matthew's shaft. "I wanna taste you so bad."

Matthew lounged back on the couch, eyes half-lidded with smug satisfaction as Andrew serviced his meaty cock. Savored how desperate Andrew was to deep throat his entire length. He bit his lip and moaned, barely noticing the pictures of the previously happy couple vanishing from the walls. How the screensaver of the two on his phone changed, quickly lighting up with Grindr notifications.

"No, no, no… please…"

"Faster you fuckin' slut!" Matthew moaned.

Andrew was just a warm mouth, eager hands, a set of holes for Matthew's pleasure. Nothing more. The love, the partnership, the deep connection they once shared - gone. Andrew was just another gift. A gift from the universe. All for Matthew's use. A desperate, horny set of holes all for Matthew. Because he deserved it. Deserved the admiration, the hunger, the pleasure.

"Ahhhhh fuck." He moaned, filling Andrew's mouth.

--------------------

Matty swaggered into his college dorm room, all sweaty and disheveled, basking in the afterglow of sex. Beefy muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he peeled it off, revealing a torso that showed clear dedication to the gym, tempered by a lack of self-control when it came to beer and late-night pizza. The gaudy cross necklace glinted against his hairy, sun-kissed skin.

He plopped down on his bed, arms behind his head, chest puffed out proudly, taking in his domain. Various sports memorabilia and empty beer cans surrounded him. Dirty laundry in piles around his bed. Matty picked up a football from his nightstand, tossing it in the air casually, catching it with a smirk. The sound of Grindr notifications music to his ears.

Yep, he was a stud alright. A fuckin' legend. A goddamn gift to this world.

[misctf]

Quality Time

Here is the third story out the five part Love Languages series I've been writing. Check out Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service, the first two in the series. Hope you enjoy!

"Quality time."

"That's your love language?" The text read, "That's ironic."

Logan frowned at the nearly instant reply from his boyfriend, Sam. He could just feel the tension behind those typed words. With a sigh, he put his phone back into his pocket and walked into the office. Work. So much work. Time spent in the office working, time spent at home working- it seemed never ending.

"It's for our future." Logan thought bitterly- a future that seemed like it might not come true. The time spent working was certainly a constant topic of their arguments and was creating more tension, "He just doesn't get it." He frowned, "Wedding rings are expensive."

"Logan! How're you doing?" Kathy approached him with a grin, "Big day today!"

"Yeah..." Logan replied, barely paying attention.

"Are you excited?"

"Big day... Big day?" He turned towards her, "What's going on? Is there some kind of announcement?"

She smiled, "You've always been such a jokester." She laughed and walked off, leaving Logan confused.

"Weird." He whispered, grimacing at a sudden achy feeling in his knees, "Damn, that hurts." He grunted, "Leg day finally catching up with me."

And as he moved slowly to his desk, something caught his attention. The table in the break room was decorated and he spotted some donuts from his favorite shop.

"Wonder what the occasion is?" He walked over, suddenly distracted by a grumbling in his stomach, "One won't hurt." He whispered, grabbing a donut. He scarfed it down in what must've been record time for him, "Usually one's enough." He muttered, "But I'm real hungry." He grabbed a second. And a third.

"Logan!" He turned to see Steve, "We're not done setting up."

Logan blushed, "I... Uh sorry about that. I can run and get..."

"No, don't worry about." Steve smiled, "I guess it doesn't matter. They're for... Ah shit let me take this call."

Logan frowned, "What's going on?" He patted his gurgling stomach and froze, "Since when...?" His stomach was pushing out, straining slightly against his shirt, "Fuck, shouldn't have eaten so much." He winced at the discomfort in his stomach and his knees as he finally made it to his desk.

The workday seemed to be progressing normally. Logan sent a few emails and worked on a few projects he had been assigned. But the day was tiring- more tiring than it should've been. His fingers moved slower on the keyboard. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as his lower back started to ache similarly to his knees. He found himself taking a few breaks and rubbing his eyes, finding the screen was bothering him more than usual.

"Hi Logan," Logan looked up to see a younger guy, probably slightly younger than him. Blond hair, clean-shaven, well dressed, "Mr. Carpenter wanted to talk to you about the Advent Project."

"Oh? Was there a reason?" Logan had been working on this one for a bit now. Big client, possibly lots of money to be made in commission if the deal went through.

"Since I'm taking over your projects, I thought I'd..."

"Taking over?" Logan coughed a few times to clear his voice. It sounded rougher, like he was coming down with a cold, "What're you talking about?"

The young man raised an eyebrow, "Umm, I'm taking over your projects, so I figured I should talk to you more about the most important one?"

Logan stared at the young man, confused. Was he being fired? Was his work not good enough? As the frustration built, he ran a hand across the top of his head and froze. His hair. What happened to his hair? Why did it feel so short? Why could he feel skin?

"What the..." Logan stumbled up out of his chair, nearly tumbling over at the change in his center of gravity, "Oh god, oh god..." His gut stuck much further out now, straining tightly against his shirt, "I... I need a bathroom..."

The other man looked on as Logan stumbled past him and towards the bathroom. When Logan finally did shut and lock the door behind him, he was nearly hyperventilating. Slowly and with a sense of growing terror, he looked in the mirror and gasped at what he saw.

"No..." He reached a hand towards the mirror as a much older reflection mimicked his movements, "No... that can't be me." He whispered, "I need to..." His phone buzzed and he looked down at a text from his boyfriend. His eyes widened as he read it.

"Can't wait to see you later." It read, "Are they doing anything big for your retirement party?"

"Retirement?" Logan gasped as another wave of changes rocked his aging body, "Oh fuckkkkk." He groaned.

It started with the itching. Everywhere. His back, his chest, his shoulders, his pits, his face. Coarse, grey hairs made there way to the surface, blanketing his previously clean-shaven skin in a blanket of curly hairs. Logan could only watch as his face sprouted a thick graying beard, while wrinkles formed around his face and under his eyes.

"Nnnnnggggg" His hand caught the mirror as he leaned over, breathing heavily, "Wh..."

He nearly doubled over as his already impressive gut took on more girth, while his lean, hairy pecs sagged with age and fat. Even his arms and legs grew larger as fat and muscle packed on to his once slender, youthful frame. All the while Logan could only stare as his youth drained from him at an impossibly alarming rate. By the time the changes seemed to have settled, he realized he must've been older than his own dad.

"Logan, are you okay in there?" His boss asked from behind the door.

"Ahh I'm... I'm okay..." He huffed, wincing at the ache in his back. Internally, he was screaming, "I think I ought to get home, fast." He said as he emerged.

But as he walked out, he was surrounded by his smiling coworkers. A sign was hung on the wall, reading "Thank You For Forty Years." Donuts were piled high in the nearby break room. There were even a few gifts. Logan looked at these wide eyed. Did his coworkers really not see that something was wrong? That this wasn't him? He swallowed nervously.

"We just finished up decorating!" Kathy said with a grin, "Can you stay for just a little?"

"I... I..."

"Yeah, it isn't everyday you retire." His boss said, "C'mon, let's celebrate. After, you can get home."

Logan gulped, and slowly nodded. His thoughts were racing too fast. He couldn't even think of what to do next.

-----------

"Forty-years and that was it." He mumbled as he lugged his wider, fatter, and older frame back to his apartment, "A donut party?"

Logan knew he should be worried about other things. Should be worried about how he went from a young, 20-something year-old man in the prime of his life to a fat, hairy, and balding 60-something year old in a matter of mere hours. With a sigh he entered his apartment and nearly fainted at what he saw.

"S-Sam?"

"There he is."

Logan felt sick- whatever magic had done this to him had also worked on Sam as well. Sam was naked, sprawled out on the couch. And as Logan looked at him, he realized just how identical they were. Large bellies, hairy bodies, balding heads, aged skin. Both of them had aged and changed rapidly, yet Sam didn't look even the bit bothered by it. Did Sam even realize what happened? Or was he like his coworkers?

"Sam, something's wrong, we're not..."

"Come here, handsome." Sam guided Logan inside, "Congratulations on your retirement."

"Sam, seriously..."

"I finally get my sexy husband all to myself." Sam smiled.

Husband? Logan suddenly felt something wrap around his finger. Eyes widened as a ring materialized seemingly out of nowhere. They were married. That thought should've brought him joy, yet now, he was horrified. As if his entire life had just sped by.

"No... Sam, there's something..."

"We finally have all the time in the world to spend with one another."

Logan's heart sunk. Time. Quality time. Sam was right. He was retired now. He didn't need to work. They could spend so much time together now. All the time in the world. Together. And as that realization hit Logan, he felt dizzy. Memories flashed rapidly. Their wedding day, their honeymoon, their day-to-day lives, growing older, vacationing, celebrating anniversary after anniversary- an entire lifetime flashed before him.

"Are you okay, handsome?"

"Yeah... Yeah I am." Logan slurred as he settled into this reality, "Feelin' my age a bit." He chuckled.

"Well I hope you're not too out of it." Sam smiled, "I have my own retirement gift for you."

Logan grinned. What a life they'd already built together. All the happy memories, all the challenges along the way. And as Sam helped Logan undress, the two pressing up against each other and kissing passionately, Logan was looking forward to all the time they'd get to spend with one another now.

[misctf]

Words of Affirmation

Here is the second story in this series. First story can be found here: Acts of Service

"Words of affirmation, makes sense."

"What was that, babe?"

Luke tossed his phone aside, "Took one of those online quizzes." He smiled as Ryan crawled into bed, "Told me what my love language is."

"Words of affirmation, huh?" He pulled Luke in for a kiss.

Luke returned it, gripping his hardening cock through his grey shorts, "Looks like someone's horny." He teased.

He smiled as he threw Ryan down onto the bed, lying on top of him and kissing him passionately. The two continued to make out, exploring each others' bodies. Ryan moaned as Luke removed his boxers and licked along his hardening shaft.

"You're so fucking sexy." Ryan moaned, "I fuckin' love the way you look at me. With those slutty blue bottom eyes."

Luke blinked a few times and stopped what he was doing, "Blue bottom eyes?" He'd usually top. And he definitely didn't have blue eyes, "What're you...?"

"Fuck, why'd you stop? You're always so desperate for my cock."

Luke shuddered as he took in the sight of his boyfriend's dick. There was something different about it. Something beyond anything he had ever felt. He needed that dick. In his mouth. Up his ass. Just...

"Oh fuck..." Luke practically swallowed it whole, the very feeling of it entering his mouth sending shockwaves of unfamiliar pleasure throughout his body. Yeah, he enjoyed pleasuring his boyfriend, but this? It was beyond anything he ever experienced.

"Yeah... there we go..." Ryan moaned, "Fuck, you're so fuckin' cute with that slutty little haircut." He said, grabbing a fistful of Luke's hair.

Luke was too busy deep throating to realize that his hair started to restyle itself. The sides faded, while the top grew and became tousled, wavy, and thick.

"I always liked 'em blond too."

Luke broke away now. What was Ryan talking about? He wasn't blond. Ryan never said he liked blond guys before. What the fuck was his boyfriend talking about?

"Babe, what're... you... I'm not... fuck..." Luke tried to focus, but he kept staring at his boyfriend's thick cock, fighting the urge to swallow it whole, "We... we need to... stop..."

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, brushing a hand along Luke's cheek, "God so perfect... always so smooth and clean-shaven."

"Babe, I'm hairier than you!" But when he reached a hand to his face, he was met with soft, smooth skin, "Wh-what?" He yelped when he looked down and found that even his body hair had seemingly vanished, leaving him smooth, "Oh fuck, Ryan! Something's..."

"God I fucking love your slutty little lisp." He kissed Luke passionately, before breaking away, "You always sound so fuckin' desperate."

"Babe... Ryan, like what're you talking about?" Luke's hand covered his mouth, his blue eyes widening, "Oh em gee! What like the actual fuck?" The high pitched, lisp-twinged voice was not his own. It never had been, "Why am I like talking like this?!"

"Fuck, why're you freaking out?" Ryan chuckled, "Here, we can take a break. Come here," He laid down, "I know how much you love being the little spoon."

And suddenly, Luke felt compelled to just crawl up against Ryan. He felt Ryan's firm, hairy chest against his back. The man's cock nestled up against his ass. And Luke sighed. He felt so relaxed, although part of him was confused. He was usually the big spoon. He usually held Ryan like this. This felt...

"I love how small you are. How easily you fit against me."

"But we're like, umm the same size?" He hated how high and whiny he sounded now, "Babe... please..."

He let out a pained whimper as his body shifted and changed. His body contorting, shifting. Legs and torso shortening. Broad shoulders and back caving in. His musculature? Shrinking- no longer built for strength. Becoming increasingly more toned- more for showing off than anything practical. Ryan's now meaty hand firmly grasped Luke's smaller pec, pinching a hardening nipple.

"I love how loud you get in bed."

"Ryan! You need to... Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"

Luke was unable to stop the desperate, slutty moan that escaped his lips from just the slightest stimulation of his nipple. He blushed and pushed Ryan away. His neighbors had to have heard that, fuck anyone walking in the hall could've heard that. He'd moan, but not this loud. Not this fucking slutty.

"Like babe! This is sooooo messed up!" Luke whined desperately, "Like, please stop!" He looked down at himself and felt tears stinging at his eyes.

His skin was cute and unblemished, clean shaven and bare. His pecs were small, toned, and graced by two pert, pink nips begging to be squeezed. His firm abdominal musculature was now diminished and smooth. Both arms dainty, hands and nails well manicured. He looked over at the mirror on the dresser and gasped- blond hair, blue eyes, and pouty lips. He looked like a slut. He sounded like a slut.

"Oh my gawd!" He cried out in his high-pitched, lisp-stricken voice.

"Come on and get back in bed." Ryan coerced, "I just know you want this cock up that fat ass."

Luke barely had time to brace for the next change. In an instant, his ass swelled and swelled. Packing on muscle and squeezable, jiggly fat. And with each pulse of growth, Luke let out loud, desperate moans that echoed beyond the room itself. He nearly collapsed from the pleasure as he firmly grasped his two engorged ass cheeks, feeling his hole pulsing with a desperate need to be filled.

"Come here."

And Luke did. Because he needed it. Because Ryan had been right- he wanted that cock up his fat ass. He bounced on it, crying out Ryan's name, screaming in pleasure for all to hear. Tears threatening to fall from his blue eyes, blushing from the sheer embarrassment of what he was doing and how much he was absolutely loving it.

"God damn, you're my favorite fuck buddy." Ryan moaned with another thrust, "Best fucking bottom in this damn city." He thrust again, "Such a fucking slutty fuck toy."

Luke felt a momentary, unmeasurable sense of loss as his relationship dissolved into nothing more than a series of quick, no-strings attached, hook-ups. He felt an even greater sense of loss as his IQ plummeted rapidly. His mind slowed and filled with cotton candy. His eyes dimming to reflect just how little was going on behind them. All to make room for his slutty new existence. Thoughts focused on getting fucked, sucking dick, and whoring himself out. He loved being a little slut. Just a fuck toy. A loud, slutty, thick assed bottom.

Both of them came with Ryan's final thrust. Luke lay there in post-orgasmic bliss, moaning like the desperate slut he now was.

"Fuck..." Ryan moaned, "You're such a good fuck." He affirmed.

Luke giggled. He certainly knew what he was, he really didn't need to be told. He was the best fucking bottom in the city. Always needy, never satisfied. But he certainly appreciated Ryan's affirmations.

[misctf]

Acts of Service

Here is my first story to celebrate Valentine's Day. This series of stories will be based on the 5 love languages. Hope you enjoy!

"Acts of service."

"What was that babe?"

Jack looked over at his boyfriend, "Here, take a look." He handed his phone to Peter, "Took an online quiz to figure out my love language."

"Acts of service?" Peter took his boyfriend's phone and looked closely, "Makes sense." He smiled, "You're always helping out wherever you can." He snuggled close to Jack, "I'm so lucky."

"The luckiest." Jack reminded him with a smile of his own.

-------------------------

"Babe? Can you grab me a water?"

Simple request. Jack put his game controller to the side and walked to the kitchen, filling up a glass, and handing it to Peter.

"Ah that's refreshing." Peter smiled, "Thanks, babe."

"You know, you were right there." Jack chuckled, "You could've just grabbed it yourself."

"But I wanted to see my hot boyfriend." Peter grinned, "And after all, acts of service."

"Right, how could I forget?" Jack rolled his eyes, "Love you babe."

-------------------------

"Babe? Could you rub my feet? They're sore from my jog."

Jack stared in the mirror, his hand rubbing against his smooth, cleanshaven cheek. His thoughts were racing- where did his beard go? He didn't shave it, did he? Did Peter do this? As a prank? God... his face was so smooth, it'd been years since... when was the last time he...?

"Babe?"

"Oh right, sorry babe." Jack stepped into their bedroom to find his boyfriend lounging comfortably, his feet raised on a pillow.

"Thanks babe, I really need this."

"Of course."

Jack went to work, rubbing his boyfriend's feet. His hands massaged them slowly, attentively. They were sweaty, a somewhat unpleasant smell invading his nostrils. But he kept going, rubbing each foot with a focused intensity.

"Lick 'em."

It came out sounding like a command and Jack couldn't help himself. He lowered his face towards them, salivating at the sight of Peter's sweaty feet. He stuck his tongue out, getting ready to carry out the task.

"Am I really doing this?" He thought as he got closer, "Wh-why am I...?"

"Kidding! Babe, oh my god!" Peter laughed.

"Oh, right sorry!" Jack blushed and laughed nervously and pulled his face away.

"Thank you again, babe."

"I don't mind, cutie." Jack smiled awkwardly, "Happy to serve."

-------------------------

"Babe, I really need your help. Come here!"

Jack whimpered as he ran a hand across his bare chest and rubbed his muscular, smooth pecs. Slowly, his hand made it's way down his firm, toned stomach- the treasure trail he had since a teenager had similarly vanished. And as he pulled at his waistband and looked down, he found his pubes were similarly gone.

"What the fuck?"

Not just tamed or trimmed- gone. He was smooth- as smooth as the day he was born. He raised an arm to inspect his pit hair- gone. His arm hair- gone. Leg hair? Gone. He even gripped his asscheeks and realized that even his ass hairs were gone.

"No fucking..."

"Babe? What're you doing?"

"Coming." He said almost too quickly.

When he arrived in the room, Jack paused. Peter was in bed. Naked. His erect dick throbbing in his hand. In any other circumstance, Jack might've been turned on. But his thoughts centered on his physical changes- the feeling that something was wrong.

"I uh..." Jack bit his lip, "I need... help..." Why was he having such a hard time saying what he wanted to say?

"Same." Peter said, "I need you to suck my dick. Babe." The 'babe' felt added on, like Peter needed to remember to say it.

"B...but..." Jack bit his lip, "Of course."

Despite the voice in his head urging him to tell Peter about all the strange things that were happening, Jack did what he was told. He bobbed up and down on his boyfriend's throbbing cock. Ran his tongue along the shaft. Pleasured the head earnestly. Peter's hand grabbed at Jack's head and forced him further onto his cock.

"Swallow it."

And he did. Each drop as Peter came. Rope after rope down his throat. Jack finally rolled off Peter, gasping for air. He reached for his own cock, only to find it was still flaccid, no matter how much he tugged at it.

"Fuck, that was good." Peter looked down at Jack, "Good job."

Jack shuddered from the pleasure of hearing those words, "Thank you, sir. Service is pleasure."

-------------------------

Jack stared in the mirror, dark circles around his eyes from nights of restless sleep. He slowly ran a head along the smooth, bald surface of his head. His brunette locks, always styled, were gone. Even his eyebrows- all of his hair- just gone. He felt tears welling in his eyes, all from the frustration of being unable to verbalize any of this to Peter- or anyone for that matter. Frustration at the fact no one seemed to care or realize what was happening.

His eyes widened.

"What...?" He looked down at his forearm, "What the hell?" There was a spot on his arm, about the size of a quarter. Black, smooth, and cool to the touch. Latex.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Jack turned to see Peter in the doorway, "I need dinner. And a drink."

"Y-yes sir."

-------------------------

It was growing. Expanding. It was moving up his arm. Around his hand. This black latex. Tight, cool. Covering him. Erasing him. Jack pulled at it to no avail, and ultimately he just curled up in their bed, heart pounding. What the fuck was this? Why was this happening?

"What're you doing? I told you I wanted a protein shake and a shoulder rub when I got back."

"Yes, sir." Jack responded quickly. And while his cock remained flaccid, the pleasure he got from saying those words rivaled even his best orgasm.

-------------------------

He stood silently at the door. Staring ahead. Waiting. His reflection caught in a small decorative lamp. The inky blackness of the latex ribbons wrapping firmly around his torso and legs. His arms now completely covered. His cock, sealed away behind the latex, a small bulge the only proof it ever existed.

"Welcome home, sir." His voice wavered as Peter returned from his run, "How may I assist you?" He bit his lip, eyes still expressive, betraying his fear and confusion.

"I need a snack." Peter smirked, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "And my pits need some attention."

"Yes sir." Jack licked his lips.

-------------------------

"Drone, come here!"

Drone? That wasn't... he wasn't... Why did Pet... Sir call him that? He stood in the bathroom, staring blankly ahead now. His eyes were half-lidded, he looked tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of resisting whatever this was. The black latex left no inch of his body uncovered, save for his head. Shiny, cool, smooth... he whimpered as he felt it suddenly invade his ass. Deeper and deeper, massaging his prostate, sending waves of pleasure to his flaccid, useless cock. He could feel the latex taking form- his hole now just a ribbed entryway. No different from a toy.

"Drone!? I said get in here!"

"Dr-drone?" He whispered now, "But..."

He had a name, right? Something his friends and family would call him. So frustratingly on the tip of his tongue, but forevermore unspoken. He started breathing heavier as the latex suddenly began its ascent. Tendrils wrapping around his head and face. He didn't even move. Didn't even react as the last vestiges of who he was disappeared under the black latex. Erasing him, removing any features that made him a person, that made him him. He stood, entrapped entirely, staring ahead.

"Drone? Seriously, how many times?" Peter entered the bathroom.

"My apologies, sir." It said, "I am ready to serve."

Peter smirked, "Designation?"

"Drone Unit 352." The drone said quickly, as if spoken hundreds of times before, "I am ready to serve."

"Good." Peter came up from behind his drone, "I have a few friends coming over." He whispered, "And I want you to put that mouth and ass to work."

And in the broken mind of Drone Unit 352, he felt... pleasure. Pleasure from having a use. Pleasure from being needed and fulfilling his role. Pleasure from his acts of service.

[misctf]

The Match

They didn't know how they got there or who brought them. All they knew now was there arms were locked in the most intense arm wrestling match of their lives.

The night started off normally, albeit as boring as ever. It was a Saturday night, and both of them had been quietly studying in the campus library for an upcoming exam. It wasn't like the two nerds had any other plans for their Saturday night. They'd seen each other from time to time; given each other a silent nod to acknowledge their shared academic misery.

"Seriously... you need to... give up!"

"I'm not... giving up!"

One minute they were in the library, the next, they were laying on some wrestling mat in the school gym.

"You... heard... what he... said... fuck!"

"No! I... don't... want to... become..."

Some man, dressed as a referee had forced their hands together, announcing to an audience obscured by the darkness of the room, that they had their two competitors for the night.

"Bro... I'm gettin' stronger... I'm gonna..."

"As if... dude... you're..."

The referee explained what would happen. How they were fighting for their brains.

"Wait... my head's... feelin' fuzzy."

"Yeah, 'cause you're losin', brah."

Explained that the longer the match went on, the dumber they'd become. And the winner? They could leave with whatever smarts they had left.

"Huhuhuh bro... I'm gettin' jacked. Ain't no way you're..."

"Brah, don't you see my fuckin' bicep? I got this in the bag."

They didn't believe him at first. It didn't make sense. How could an arm wrestling match steal their smarts?

"Dude... my chest feels all muscly..."

"Whatever, bro... you see my tris? Work of fuckin' art."

But both men didn't expect their bodies to shift and expand. Pack on thick, corded muscle. Faces squaring out, eyes dulling, and pits filling with musky bushes of hair.

"Heheh… I'm like… so strong now… My… my biceps are huuuge! Like… like boulders!"

"You're… you're just talkin' crap… I… I can still kick your… your dumb ass…"

The referee leaned in close, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he watched the two men struggle. 

"Who you callin' dumb, brah? I'm the uh... the uh..."

"Huhuhuh looks like you're the uh... oh shit huhuhuh..."

Both men let out a deep, baritone, stupid laughter. Arms still locked, still struggling to win.

"Dude, like what're we doin', man?"

"I dunno, bro... Feels good."

"We... we should stop... brah..."

"Stop? Like... you ain't stronger than me, bro..."

"Dude, you're a fuckin' stick! You ain't beatin' me, bro!"

The referee shook his head as he looked down at the two meathead jocks, muscles flexing as they continued their match. No longer trying to save their smarts, but to prove who was the stronger man.

"You dumb fuckers..." The referee chuckled.

Gone were the two nerds... All the referee saw now were the two newest bros of the wrestling team.

[twistedtfs]

The Valentine's Mishap

inspired by the incredible, @salmonskinrolltf

Kevin stood just outside the small apartment he shared with his boyfriend, Mark. Just like it always did on Valentine’s Day, his heart was fluttering inside his chest. Kevin was shy and soft-spoken, the kind of man who still blushed when he held Mark’s hand in public. He was holding a bouquet of red roses accented with white lilies, the stems tied together with a large, frilly bow. He was excited to surprise his boyfriend with the gift. Mark was everything Kevin adored: quiet, bookish, a little awkward, and completely his.

He let himself in with his key, the scent of the bouquet filling the hallway and mixing with the smell of chocolates they had already opened earlier in the day. “Mark? Happy Valentine’s, baby.”

Mark looked up from the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, wearing the same faded Star Wars T-shirt he’d had since college. His messy brown hair fell into his eyes, and his smile was lopsided and sweet. “Kevin… you didn’t have to.”

Kevin crossed the room and set the bouquet on the coffee table. “I know, but I wanted to. Now, open the card.”

Mark plucked the little envelope from the arrangement, tore it open, and began to read. His eyebrows rose. Then his cheeks flushed pink.

“Uh… is this a prank, Kevin? Or are you dropping hints that you want to try roleplay?”

Kevin leaned in, curious and confused. Mark turned the card so he could see.

The handwriting was bold and dramatic, full of pretty cursive loops and I’s dotted with hearts. It read:

My big, strong Daddy,

Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ve been thinking about your thick cock all morning, shooting your hot loads down my throat. I can’t wait to move in next week so I can wake you up every morning with my lips wrapped around it. Your good boy is so fucking excited to be yours completely, Daddy.

— Nico

Kevin’s stomach dropped. “Oh my god. That’s not— I must have grabbed the wrong bouquet at the shop. Or they must have mixed up the cards. I’m so sorry, Mark, I…”

Mark stared at the note a second longer, then began to laugh. It was a soft, familiar chuckle, the same one that always made Kevin’s chest warm. “It’s okay, baby. Honest mistake.” He leaned up and gave Kevin’s cheek a quick kiss. “You’re still the sweetest guy I know.”

Kevin exhaled in relief, cheeks burning bright red from the embarrassment and his boyfriend’s soft lips. He took the wrong card, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. The right one, a simple and heartfelt note, was lost in some other bundle of flowers elsewhere in the city. Deciding to shrug off the awkward situation and move on, Kevin wanted to at least enjoy the rest of the day he had planned: going out for dinner to Mark's favorite restaurant, coming home to slow dance in the living room to their special song, and a night spent tangled together in their bed.

But as the afternoon wore on, something began to shift. There was a weird thrum of energy in the air, moving through the surroundings.

Mark had gone back to his laptop, but his posture was different. He sat straighter, shoulders broader than Kevin remembered. When he reached for his water glass, the sleeve of his T-shirt strained, revealing a bicep that looked… thicker. Dark hair broke through the skin, spreading across the length of his seemingly growing arms. Kevin blinked, telling himself it was just the lighting of their crappy apartment.

By evening, the changes became impossible to ignore.

Mark stood to stretch, and the motion pulled his Star Wars shirt tight across his chest. The fabric strained and made a thin, stretching sound. Kevin’s mouth went dry as his heart raced. Mark’s pecs had swollen into two beefy pecs pushing outward, nipples visibly hard beneath the shirt that now looked painted on. There was no denying his arms were changing, biceps rounding into solid peaks, veins beginning to trace under the skin. He rolled his neck, and Kevin heard a low, satisfied rumble come from his throat. The sound was deeper than Mark’s usual soft tenor.

“Mark… are you okay?” Kevin asked, voice small and concerned.

Mark turned. His face had changed. The boyish roundness was gone. His jaw was thick with a deep cleft, shadowed with stubble that had grown thick and dark over the last couple hours. His eyes, once soft behind his discarded glasses, now looked more intense, haloed by dark circles. He scratched at his thick chest absently, and Kevin watched the motion tug the shirt up, exposing a trail of curly dark hair running down a newly defined abdomen.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Mark said. His voice had dropped an octave, with a faint gravelly edge that sent an unwelcome shiver down Kevin’s spine. “Just… feeling pumped today.”

He peeled the shirt off without asking, revealing a body that no longer belonged to the man Kevin had fallen in love with. Broad shoulders that were solid and strong, heavy pecs dusted with coarse black hair, a stomach that was still flat but showed the definition of strengthening abdominal muscles. Mark’s skin looked tanner, weathered by the sun. His nipples had darkened, thick and perky and just asking to be played with. Kevin’s anxious gaze dropped lower. The front of Mark’s sweatpants was stuffed full with a thick, heavy bulge that visibly throbbed once, as if aware of being watched.

Kevin’s cock stirred traitorously in his jeans even as panic started to sink in.

Mark didn’t seem to notice his boyfriend’s distress. He grabbed his phone instead, newly thick fingers scrolling through messages. A low chuckle, deeper now, rolled out of him as he read something on the screen.

Kevin tried to smile. “I, um… I made reservations for that little Italian place you like. Seven-thirty. We can walk there and hold hands, like we used to—”

“Not tonight,” Mark said, not even looking up. His thumb moved over the screen, typing. “Got plans.”

The words hit him like a truck. Kevin’s planned romantic evening dissolved in an instant.

Mark’s belly had begun to push outward. Not fat exactly, but solid and powerful. He was now rocking a heavy gut that spoke of his new strength and voracious appetite. Hair spread across his gut in a thick, dark pelt, swirling around his bellybutton. His sweatpants rode low now, the waistband stretched by wider hips and a round, muscular ass that jiggled when he shifted his weight. The bulge between his legs had grown even more obscene, the thick outline of a fat cock and swollen balls clearly visible to passersby. The fabric covering his crotch had already begun to darken with a wet spot of pre.

Kevin’s heart hammered inside his chest, alarm sirens blaring in his head. “Mark, please. Look at me. Something’s wrong. You’re… you’re changing.”

Mark finally glanced over. His face had aged impossibly. He had to be mid-forties now, maybe older. Lines accented the corners of his eyes, his brow heavy and brooding. His messy hair had receded, the top of his head now smooth and shaved close, while a thick, bushy salt and pepper beard had erupted across his chiseled jaw and cheeks. The hair was wiry and full, framing a mouth that looked more smug, frozen in a cocky sneer. When he spoke, his Midwestern accent had shifted, too. His voice was deeper, slower, a low rumble with a faint Southern drawl that Mark had never possessed before this moment.

“Wrong? Nah. I feel fucking good.” He palmed his heavy bulge openly, squeezing the fat shaft through the fabric as the dark spot spread. “Got my boy texting me all day, telling me how bad he needs his Daddy’s cock. Can’t wait to wreck that tight little hole tonight.”

Kevin’s knees nearly buckled. “Your… your boy?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, cold and dismissive. “Nico. My boy. You know that. Stop acting weird, Kevin. You’re my roommate, not my keeper.”

The words hit like a slap across the face. Kevin staggered back a step. “Roommate? Mark, we’ve been together for three years. We’re boyfriends. I love you—”

Mark laughed at that, a deep and booming sound that vibrated through the room like thunder. “Boyfriends? Ain’t that cute. You’ve always been a little clingy, but this is pathetic.” He stood fully now, towering over Kevin. He had grown at least six inches taller, easily 6’4”, shoulders wide enough to block the light and cast a shadow over the smaller man. His gut was a solid, hairy ball now, pushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric had begun fraying at the seams from the sheer mass of his thighs. His cock completely thickened into a monstrous, veiny club, the mushroom head pushing past the waistband as Mark became aroused. The tip was slick and leaking, and the musk wafting from the dense bush of black pubic hair made Kevin dizzy.

Kevin was inhaling him: cum, sweat, pure masculinity. His own small dick was painfully hard, shame flooding his cheeks even as tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t mask the sense of betrayal in his eyes.

Mark’s phone buzzed. He grinned, teeth white against the greying beard. “That’s my boy right there. He’s on his way over. Gonna fuck him so good tonight. You might wanna make yourself scarce, roomie. Unless you wanna watch.”

Kevin’s voice cracked. “Please, Mark. Remember me. Remember us. This is a dream and we’re both about to wake up. This isn’t possible—”

Mark waved a massive hand, already turning away. “Clean up your half of the dishes before you go to bed. And start packing. Nico’s moving in next week and things are becoming official real fast. We’re making this place ours. You’ve got till Sunday to find somewhere else.”

The horror settled deep in Kevin’s gut. This wasn’t a prank. Reality itself was rewriting around them. Mark, or better yet the stranger that had taken Mark’s place, was forgotten by the rest of the world as the sweet nerd he had once been. He had always been this: a big, hairy, dominant daddy who collected pretty boys like property.

The knock came at eight-thirty.

Kevin was still in the kitchen, hands trembling as he washed the same plate over and over while lost in thought, when the door opened.

Nico stepped in.

He was everything the card had promised and more. Blonde, tousled hair that fell in soft waves around a pretty, vacant face. Full, cock-sucking lips that appeared glossy in the light. Wide, innocent blue eyes that blinked vapidly. His body was pure himbo goodness: narrow shoulders, tiny waist, and then an explosion of curves below. His ass was enormous, two fat, jiggling globes barely contained by tight white booty shorts that disappeared between them. His cock formed a small bulge that bounced with every step. He wore a crop top that read “Daddy’s Boy” in glittery letters, nipples hard and visibly pierced beneath the fabric.

“Daddy!” Nico squealed, voice high and breathy. He dropped his bag and threw himself at Mark.

Mark, now fully transformed now, caught his lover easily, massive hands gripping two handfuls of that fat ass and squeezing hard enough to make Nico moan. “There’s my good little slut,” he growled, voice pure gravel and smoke. “Missed this fat fucking ass all day.”

He kissed Nico like he was claiming territory, tongue invading that eager mouth while Nico whimpered and ground his hard little cock against Mark’s hairy thigh. Kevin watched from the kitchen doorway, frozen, as Mark’s thick fingers slid under the shorts and pushed into Nico’s needy hole without foreplay. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the apartment.

“Bedroom. Now,” Mark ordered.

Nico nodded frantically. “Yes, Daddy. Use me. Ruin my hole.”

They didn’t even close the door.

Kevin stood in the hallway, heart shattering at the sounds he could overhear. The wet slap of skin against skin. Nico’s high, desperate moans. Mark’s deep, filthy growls.

“Take it, boy. That’s it. Swallow Daddy’s cock. Fuck, your throat’s so tight. Gonna bust so hard you’ll taste me for days.”

Kevin’s hand moved without permission. He felt himself palming his own pathetic erection through his jeans, shame burning through him like fire. Tears streamed down his cheeks even as he unzipped the fly and fished out his small cock, even as he started stroking in time with the rhythmic thump of the headboard against the wall.

Inside the bedroom, Mark was relentless. “You’re mine now, Nico. My cumdump. I’m gonna fuck you every night while that worthless roommate of mine jerks his tiny dick in the next room.”

Nico giggled, voice breaking on a moan. “He’s so pathetic, Daddy. Can we… can we make him watch sometime?”

Mark laughed, deep and satisfied. “Maybe. If he’s good. But today is Valentine’s, boy, so we're the only two people in the world right now.”

Kevin came hard, shamefully, biting his lip to stay quiet and choke down the moan. His load splattered against the hallway floor as the sounds of Mark fucking his new boy toy echoed through the apartment. The man who had once whispered “I love you” to Kevin before bed each night now snarled filthy commands and slapped Nico’s fat, jiggling ass until it was red.

When it was all over, the apartment fell quiet except for Nico’s soft, satisfied whimpers and Mark’s low, possessive grunts.

Kevin slid down the wall, spent and broken, staring at the still ajar bedroom door. He could smell the musk wafting out. Valentine’s Day was over. His relationship was over, too. The man he loved was gone, replaced by a big, hairy, dominant daddy who didn’t even recognize his former boyfriend as anyone other than a dude who split the rent payment with him.

And in the morning, Kevin would start packing. He had a couple days to come up with a plan, but it was a given that Mark and Nico were not going to be shy about their love during that time. He’d be listening to the daddy and his boy fucking like rabbits through the wall at least until Sunday.

He cock began to rise again just thinking about it.

[beausstuff]

Filmed Love

For my friend @axeeglitter

Mason hadn’t slept since the second night. The weight of his brother’s disappearance clung to his chest.

No calls.

No texts.

And worse, no answers. Tyler had shown him the damn ring, all trembling hands and wide eyes, the night he went missing. He Said he was going to propose after his shift at the shop.

But he never came home.

Now Mason was standing in the same foyer where he imagined his brother had stood two nights earlier. inside the clean, stale-smelling home of Mr. Dyer, the girlfriend’s father. Mason had to come to ask if his brother had stopped by. The man was calm.

So calm. He offered coffee.

"Boys leave town all the time," Mr. Dyer said, sipping his cup. "Maybe he got cold feet, he seemed the type if you know what I mean."

Mason’s stomach twisted. "That’s not him."

He pretended to use the bathroom but really he was searching. He crept down the hallway, cracking open any door just to glance inside. He paused at the office room.

A wall of tapes. VHS tapes. Dozens. All lined up on old oak shelves. Mason squinted. Those things looked prehistoric, who used VHS anymore? Handwritten labels. Male names. One near the bottom looked fresh...

Mason took a sharp breath in.

TYLER, black Sharpie scrawled across white tape spine. A photo was taped beside it, slightly askew: a shirtless Latino man in a club, getting grinded on. The man looked familiar

almost like...

Mason’s hands started to shake.

****

That night, Mason broke into the house.

It was too easy. He had noticed the back window didn't have a lock when Mr Dreyer had seen him off.

Heart thudding. He sprinted straight to the office, popped open the cabinet under the shelf, and yanked out the chunky silver VHS player. He shoved in the tape labeled TYLER, pressed play, and dropped to his knees in front of the screen sitting low to the floor.

Snow. Static. Then the tape kicked on.

It flickered,

then opened on a pounding club scene—low lighting, writhing bodies, synthy Brazilian funk thumping against the camera mic. The crowd parted slightly and then...

Tyler

Tyler appeared, mid-frame, Glitching into existance,

standing like he’d just been dropped from the sky. Same hoodie. Same confused face.

"HELLO?!" Tyler screamed up at the ceiling, looking terrified. "I DON’T KNOW WHERE I AM! LET ME OUT! PLEASE - MR. DYER - PLEASE!"

A voice sounded through the speakers, smooth, Calm, Cruel.

"You should’ve stayed away from my daughter, Tyler."

Mason watched confused. The crowd didn’t notice. The bodies kept moving, bathed in pink and purple light, sweat glistening on bare torsos, Groping and grinding. Mr Dyer Spoke again,

"I always mess up this next part—hang on…"

Tyler flinched. His body convulsed slightly, flickering with the VHS. Mason watched, jaw clenched tight, stomach turning with a strange cocktail of dread and disbelief.

glitch

The change was instant. His skin tone deepened, a radiant bronze overtaking pale peach. Glitch, His arms bulged, thick biceps rounding out with a sudden pump of meat. GLITCH, His shoulders broadened, pecs heaving out, nipples pushing against his hoodie, until the fabric shimmered and melted away into a sheer mesh tank top that clung to his glistening chest.

Tyler gasped, staggering. "W-what’s happening—?"

"You’ll look better like this," said Mr. Dyer’s voice, "You'll match the set." The Screen Flickered,

His legs thickened with a visible rush of mass. Muscle piled onto his thighs, ass ballooning into a dancer’s dream. round, high, juicy. The waistband of his jeans shredded away, replaced by skimpy white club shorts so tight you could see the pulse of his cock through the fabric. His calves flexed with each stumble, now carved from stone.

The screen flickered into static for a moment.

Mason watched in frozen horror as his brother’s jaw sharpened, lips plumped, eyes darkened with smudged kohl liner, hair tightening into a slick, stylish fade. Tyler screamed again, but the voice cracked, pitch dropping, accent thickening.

"Por favor—o que—o que está acontecendo?!"

His voice rolled with flavor now, every word wrapped in those perfect lips

"Final adjustment," Mr. Dyer said.

Tyler’s face twisted, then relaxed.

A flicker of pleasure twitched through him. His hips began to sway with the music. His moans turned low, drawn out, thirsty.

He blinked slow. His hands slid over his own glistening pecs, fingers tweaking his nipples, tracing the sweat between his abs. And then he was dancing

pressed against a thick stranger, grinding with perfect rhythm, head tilted back in ecstasy.

The camera panned in slow, capturing every bead of sweat trailing down his neck. His hard-on throbbed against his partner’s thigh, shameless and twitching.

The tape rolled. Mason stared, mouth dry, heart pounding.

What the hell had he just watched? some sort of SICK Porn Mr. Dyers was funding? He must have Tyler locked up somewhere, doing awful things to him! He had to get this tape back to the police, then maybe -

click.

The light flicked on.

Mr. Dyer stood in the doorway, an old camera in his hand. It didn’t look like any Mason had ever seen

A black chrome body, red lens, a high pitched whine being emitted. The air around it shimmered like heat off pavement.

"Don’t worry," Mr. Dyer said, voice calm. "You’ll get to see him again."

Mason barely got a "Wait, please-" out before the flash went off.

*****

The club slammed into existence around him.

Sweat. Lights. Bass. Heat. Skin. The smell.

Mason stumbled, gasping, His body was on fire. HIs vision glitched like hed seen on the VHS tape.

Flicker, He shirtless now, his jeans already stitched into something obscenely tight.

The air clung to him, every inch of skin instantly slicked with oil and desire. Tyler’s voice cut through the noise:

"Bem-vindo, mano... tava sentindo sua falta."

Mason turned and there he was

HIs Brother,

Tyler. But not anymore

Radiant and sweaty, pecs bouncing to the rhythm, cock outlined through paper-thin white mesh.

"No...no....Tyler, snap out of it!"

GLITCH

But his own voice was changing now. Thicker. Heavier. Words slurring. His thighs swelled, veins surfacing. His ass bloomed, stretching the tiny shorts he hadn't even noticed forming around his hips. Sweat dripped from his hair, down his chest and back.

His abs popped, each one a brick glistening with sweat, torso flexing with each ragged breath.

"F-Fuck, no - please I can’t..."

But it felt so good.

His cock throbbed in the fabric, already wet at the tip. His new skin shimmered bronze, He could smell his own musk.

The former Tyler pulled him into a slow grind.

Their sweat-slicked bodies met, pecs colliding, arms wrapping. Mason’s breath hitched as his hips began to move on their own, grinding back. His moan escaped deep, His tongue curling before he even knew what he was saying.

"Porra... me sinto quente pra caralho..." FLICKER

The last of his mind tilted.

The club roared.

"Vamos dançar, irmãozinho," Tyler whispered against his ear, grinding harder, tongue tracing Mason’s neck.

Mason smiled, lips parted, cock hard and twitching in his shorts.

They danced. They kissed. They moaned. The beat drowned out everything else.

And just like that, the tape kept playing.

Forever.

NOW PLAYING: “TYLER & MASON" [DO NOT REMOVE FROM SHELF] PRIVATE COLLECTION ~ M. DYER

[purgatorytf]

Sneax

Nasir sat at the café, daydreaming about a future where he'd live here, in the city. He loved it here, the atmosphere, the people, the way he didn't have to hide who he was. But it was getting late, and he had to get home. Nasir packed his things and dragged his feet to the subway station. For now he was studying literrature at the university downtown but prices were high so he lived in the suburbs he grew up in.

Everything was worse there. The overcrowded public housing, the poverty, how backwards the people were. He never felt like he fully fit in. He felt restricted, like he couldn't unapologetically be who he wanted to be. In comparison, all the guys he grew up with seemed content living in this situation. He passed by a group of guys in tracksuits, talking loudly in slang about chicks or something stupid of the sort. They must have been around his age but they couldn't be any more different from him. Deep down Nasir felt superior to them.

As he turned the key to his tiny apartment, Nasir noticed a package at the foot of his door. He wasn't expecting a delivery today, but nevertheless, he brought it in and threw it on his bed. Inside was a bright red Nike shoe box. Damn, he kinda felt bad for whoever ordered an expensive pair of running shoes that they wouldn't receive.

He peaked inside and was met with a pair of Air Max Plus, black with obnoxiously bright blue and red stripes. Nasir rolled his eyes. And he thought he could get a pair of free shoes that he could wear. Tsk, he'd never be caught dead wearing these. They'd be good for one of the chavs he saw outside maybe. He sneered.

But curiosity slowly crept in... Maybe he could try the bright sneakers on, just to see how ridiculous he'd look with them on his feet. It's not like anyone would be here to see it.

Nasir slid his feet in the slightly oversized shoes. He felt anticipation and a slight touch of excitement at the sight. He quickly looked over his shoulder, as if afraid that someone would catch him in the act, then stared back at his new sneaks, analyzing all the little details: the colorful plastic shining against the black breathable mesh, the thick flexible sole. Nasir didn't even realize he was smiling ear to ear. He'd never worn shoes that screamed sneakerhead chav quite like these.

A reluctant boner started growing in his lap. He chuckled, the image of the typical DL arab men who'd sport these snapping him out of it. The idea of so much as looking like that snapped him out of his little fantasy. Enough reverie for today. But as he moved to take the sneakers off, Nasir realized how constricted his feet felt in there. He tried wriggling his toes but couldn't, despite there being plenty of extra room in there not 2 minutes ago.

A slight panic grew inside him, simultaneously with his swelling manhood. He was now forcefully trying to free his growing feet off of the damned shoes. His feet heated up and manly musk started emanating from them. A strong whiff hit Nasir in the face, overwhelming his senses and further clouding his thoughts.

His entire body now felt like a furnace. Panting and sweating all over, Nasir fell on his back. He was now rocking a full hard-on, his dick sending waves of pleasure throughout his body. Trapped in torturous ecstasy, Nasir moaned as his body expanded. Bones cracked and muscles swelled amid low lusty moans.

Thick pillowy pecs grew, biceps ballooned, meaty muscular thighs expanded on his once twinkish frame. Nasir's musk-addled brain could only think of how easy it'd be for him to fuck guys with a body like that. His stomach expanded, forming a tight rounded gut. The pressure in his gut built up until a loud fart escaped his ass, leaving behind cobbled abs and defined cum-gutters.

A barely aware Nasir recoiled at the intense bodily emanation, but a new part of him couldn't have cared less. That emerging persona would gladly trade away being clean and well-groomed in exchange for a hot fucking bod. And so, reluctantly, Nasir's body pushed out one last sputtering fart, gassing up the entire room in his masculine stench.

The toxic fumes accelerated hair growth all over his body, dusting his physique in a dark masculine fur. His body was now solidified as that of a toxic macho gymbro, indistinguishable from the countless faceless profiles on Nasir saw on Grindr. The notion of being anything like these guys repulsed him, but that fussy part of him was shrinking by the moment and something reflecting his new look was now taking over.

This unfamiliar side of him usurped more and more space in Nasir's psyche, pushing out the former nice, queer, well-read young man and replacing him with a pungent, primal, toxic bro. Everything Nasir hated in other people was now invading his brain. Toxic, performatively masculine, unkempt, vulgar .... DL. It was like the old Nasir was being pushed back into the closet in his own mind, crying and begging to be let out.

But the new Nasir finally felt free, repressed for years, festering at the back of Nasir's brain. Everything Nasir judged others and himself for, everything he hated had coalesced into a toxic version of himself that took the first opportunity he could to take over. The epitome of the closeted toxic arab top stereotype, utterly dominated by the need to get off. Now he was the one in control, and he would never let the sobbing twink out of his mental prison.

Nasir took out his phone and snapped a couple new pics for his updated Grindr profile.

"DL arab dom 🔝🔥"

"Looking for discreet sub twinks to dominate and pump full of my brown seed"

[occamstfs]

Soccer Socked

Wallace swears his friend wasn't always a star athlete and is snooping around the field to confirm his uncomfortable hunch. When he puts his foot in the wrong clue it seems like he'll get to the bottom of the case quicker than he cares to.

It's my blog's anniversary and I couldn't just pass it up so here's a foot-forward hairy soccer player TF! Vaguely inspired by a FIFA ad burned into my mind forever ago, hope you enjoy this bottoms up Transformation! -Occam

He’s not a professional investigator, not even a student reporter, even. Honestly he wasn’t even sure if journalists actually did reconnaissance like this or if that’s just something that’s been made up and glamourized for movies. 

Still, something about the soccer team’s whole deal has set him on edge. Or moreover, whatever they did to his friend Rich has. And whatever it takes Wallace is going to get to the bottom of it. They were lab partners, this Wallace is sure of. At the beginning of the semester they paired up, two peas in a pod. He’s sure of it.

Vague memories of their professor and lab techs confusing them for being so similar still bubble up, but that can’t be the case, because Rich, or Ricky as he swears he’s always gone by, looks like he was bred to play soccer. And Wallace might simply crumble to dust if he were to step foot on the field.

If he were playing that is. At present, wandering around the green to snoop for clues is absolutely fair game. After watching a short video from a comedian showing off how far a fake press pass can get you, Wallace could no longer push down his burning curiosity and, after forging some shoddy press credentials, he made his way down to the university’s field during a practice.

Watching from afar, Wallace is yet to find anything out of the ordinary. Mostly interested in watching the couple dozen athletic men run back and forth he begins to wonder what sinister ongoings he expected to find?

Obviously Ricky would tell him if there were truly sinister ongoings, they are friends after all. Speaking of the devil, Ricky’s laughter resounds as he throws an arm around a teammate and Wallace’s chest pangs with pathos he can’t understand. Envy? Regret? The phantom pain of something lost. 

Blushing from the embarrassment of expecting to find his old friend here, of seeing the Rich that haunts the edges of his mind, Wallace chastises himself for believing in something so patently foolish. Obviously people don’t just change from reedy academics to professional athletes. And that’s all he has truly known Ricky to be, dead weight on titrations and counterproductive on lab reports. 

Rich is a figment, a dream. Nothing more. Clearly Wallace just needs a break, one that he will not find watching these barefoot athletes rile each other up. He does a double take. Barefoot..? The faux reporter’s mouth falls open, tilting his head in surprise as he indeed finds the soccer team is currently running drills in just socks. 

“Surely that can’t be right?”

Squinting, Wallace figures he must simply know less about soccer than he thought. Not particularly surprising. Preparing to leave, he sighs and throws his clipboard in his bag and writes off his increasingly pathetic plan to interview the players. That is, until he scans the rest of the field to find a pile of their discarded cleats. 

Once he sees it he’s like a man possessed. Unable to look away, with each moment focussed on the lifeless, surely smelly stack of shoes Wallace feels that strange deja vu building. Something about them evokes that feeling he gets when he daydreams about Ricky. No, Rich. 

Gritting his teeth, the fire of amateur sleuthing reignites within Wallace. Leave no shoe unturned. Ensuring the team and the couple of other spectators are distracted, Wallace stumbles onto the sideline, only noticed by an actual reporter from the university paper who simply rolls his eyes and continues his pursuit of legitimate sports journalism. 

Falling the few feet onto warm turf, Wallace immediately finds himself face to face with the pile of shoes. Triple checking that the coast is clear he inches closer, kicking himself for not preparing some back-up disguise as an athletic trainer. 

No matter. He must keep at it. Trying to use the strange sensation buzzing in his head like a dowsing rod, Wallace waves his hand over the heap of cleats before grabbing a single shoe that he swears is calling out to him.

“Shoot! This thing’s massive!?” He whispers.

Holding up to his relatively petite leather oxfords, Wallace can’t help but laugh to himself. The men out there are absolute tanks compared to him. Compared to him. Heady footstink pours from the shoe as he holds it in hand, warmer than it should be. The expression on his face dulls slightly, obviously it won’t fit. Mouth ajar, heavy eyelids droop lower as he blinks slowly. He’s gotta try it on. 

Kicking off his loafer faster than he can think, Wallace shoves his size foot into this titan’s cleat. The collar of the cleat doesn’t even touch his ankle as his toes have well over four inches of room at the shoe’s front. Imagining the size of foot that this cleat would require, there’s a twitch in his pants.

“Fuck…” Breathily sighing, Wallace would’ve sworn he wasn’t into feet. Maybe it’s the tension from sneaking around, maybe it’s the  overpowering musk blowing towards him from the rank cleats, or maybe it’s simply how his pale, tiny foot is completely eclipsed by the shoe. He certainly can’t say, at present Wallace is so overwhelmed he can’t string two thoughts together.

Instantly chubbing up, his focus only returns as he hears a whistle blow. Pent up in more ways than one, he kicks his leg out and sends the cleat that scarcely clung to his foot flying back into the pile. Seeing the crowd of athletes begin to wander over to his position, Wallace scrambles on his back and frantically reaches into his bag for the clipboard.

Nerves clear as day on his face, his alibi is half-hearted at best, certainly not aided by how thoroughly lodged his clipboard is on his crotch to hide a boner. Unable to fly in time, Wallace struggles to steel himself for whatever player might stumble towards him. In quite the unearned lucky break, who comes to Wallace’s side but Ricky.

Shirt hanging from his waistband and exposed pecs sweaty from a heated practice, Ricky looks over his hairy pecs down at Wallace. Clearly confused, he reaches down to offer the clearly spilled reporter(?) a hand. 

“Ay, yooo? Wallace, what’s up? Came to watch me and my boys orr?”

Keeping the clipboard firmly wedged against his waist, Wallace’s already shaky grin quivers as he accepts Ricky’s aid with his free hand. Feeling the athlete’s rough hand, gritty with sweat, the clipboard twitches as his cock throbs into it, his still-red face burns even more scarlet. 

“Ah, uhm, well yeah sorta? Just joined up with the paper and we’re doing a profile on your new season!” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he surprises himself at spitting out something even remotely believable as his unshoed foot feels suddenly warm.

“Tight, tight. You know it’s mid-season tho right?”

“Well of course, did I say new season? I mean new, uh?” Scrambling, scrambling, scrambling, “Uniforms, right? Your new cleats?

“Ohh, yeah- well they’re not that new? But uh, guess that makes sense?” 

Having shredded any and all pretext to his presence here a few times over now, Wallace realizes this was his worst blunder yet as he directs Ricky’s attention to the pile of shoes and then Wallace’s clearly shoeless foot. Sure that he’s about to be assaulted for perving on the team, Wallace takes a nervous step back.

“Yo bro? Did you try one of them on?”

“What!? No of course not! Who would, why would I!? Heh..?”

Ricky stares at him, through him. Wallace can’t tell if he’s scowling or simply lost in thought. And then, just as soon as he began, his expression smooths into one of placid pleasantry. 

“True bro true. Why would ya, huhuh!” There’s a beat as Ricky tries to remember something that his coach said before he shrugs and scratches his furry stomach. “So uh, any questions lil bro?”

Sweating bullets himself watching Ricky’s arm twitch from scratching his meaty belly, Wallace gulps and shakes his head. “You know? I think I’m all set actually Rich. I’ll uhm, see you in lab!” Sprinting off his shoddy press pass flutters away in the wind as he abandons his shoe and dignity on that field. 

Ricky shouts after a little confused, “Text if you uh, need anythin’” Crossing his arms, he watches Wallace run off, eyes catching on his lab partner’s sock. Where the sole of his black no-shows should be, there is instead a small white patch. The image strikes him as familiar, but before any connection can be made it falls through his sieve of a mind as his coach calls the team back to attention. And he can think of nothing else but the game. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Out of breath from seriously running for the first time in years, when he at last slams the apartment door closed behind him, Wallace collapses to the floor. Peeling off the button up and dress pants he just sprinted through campus wearing, he airs out his hairless pits and still slightly twitchy cock as he lies on the cold tile floor of his entrance way. 

“Ugh… What was I even thinking!”

Latching his arms around his weak knees, Wallace pulls himself up to sitting before he reaches to yank off his remaining shoe and the sock underneath. Grimacing at the slight odor hiding within he throws them to the side before grabbing the other and yanking. And then yanking again as it just tugs on his skin. 

“What the-? Ow.” Again, “Ow? OW!?” Worried his foot has somehow gotten some sick foot fungus or the like, Wallace leans in close to inspect the sock and is shocked at what he finds. Covering nearly the whole bottom of his foot and creeping up the sock’s sides, the busybody feels at the fabric and is dumbfounded to find it a wholly different texture than the softer sock it should be.

It must be glue right? Glue from the cleats? Trying to make sense of the dilemma, Wallace unconsciously continues rubbing the cheap scratchy fabric that brings to mind the gym. At least, it would were Wallace not increasingly distracted by the feel of the coarse socks on his smooth fingertips and the slight tug against the bottom of his feet.

Setting it on the floor, he tilts his head as he sees it next to its now barefoot pair. It looks a little larger doesn’t it? Wider. Massaging the socked foot to find any leeway to remove it he is constantly distracted by the strange, seemingly spreading, white texture.

Wallace may as well be drooling as he stares at his thin fingers trailing across the thick sock. Given enough time he surely would be. Needily gulping, he does his best to look away but as the black fabric continues to lighten and seemingly bulge as it cheapens into starchy, sweat-stained fabric. Meaningful thought overridden handedly with rumbling pressure, the sound of blood coursing through his ears, he is only brought back to sentience by the sound of his phone chiming.

“Ey yo brobro u got that report ritten up yet coach wants to b sure im gonna pass the class lmaooo dk y i signed up for smthn so hadr”

As if he were waking from a night terror, Wallace pants like an animal trying to come to his senses. Unaware if he lost time to delirium, Wallace looks down to find himself wearing a short, entirely white sock. 

“lmaoobro i ment hard”

Ricky would know what’s up. Surely right? He just needs to ask. Scratching at his ankle, Wallace pictures the look on his lab partner’s face when he thought he snuck on one of their cleats and reconsiders. It’s probably nothing. He just forgot what sock he had on, yeah. That makes sense! Not like he was all that thorough in any other regard sneaking around the soccer field.

Twirling his cell in his hand, Wallace bites his cheek and opts to figure this out himself. He’ll see a doctor tomorrow and get this stupid thing cut off or whatever. Pointedly paying no mind to the problem at foot, his nails scratch away half-heartedly. And as they do they drag across thickening curls around the whole of his ankle as a light tan begins to ebb out from the clearly otherworldly sock. He’s far too preoccupied with seeming normal as he texts Ricky back to notice. 

“Finishing it up now, partner! Tell Co your Coach not to worry.”

Message sent, Wallace sighs as focus fades ever so slightly. Unconsciously, he starts to type up a question he truly would never care to ask.

“You guys going to be ready for the game against Indiana”

Staring at it unblinking for a few moments the school-spiritless student nixes the question before tossing his phone down and grabbing his laptop to fulfill his promise to Ricky, and Coach. Or the coach rather. Stretching his back and legs he groans as his calves cramp slightly. Eyes taken by the computer screen, the academic doesn’t notice as his legs have somehow grown unevenly. 

One pale, essentially hairless, more bone than muscle. The other increasingly, impossibly becoming that of an athlete. New strands of muscle branching out from the bottom up, thick curls lancing out from the sock’s rising cuff as his foot cracks wider and his leg continues to lengthen.

Almost constantly moving in search of a comfortable resting position, the pair of limbs are more jittery than they ever have been. Leading the charge, the socked leg continues to obviously grow larger and lither, pushing out a couple inches further than its unclothed pair as Wallace jostles them against each other. 

Adamant to not get distracted by his sock-stuck foot even as the garment begins to stretch further up his growing calf, Wallace throws on a blanket and nobly tries typing up his report. Ricky, as ever, was less than helpful in the lab proper. Wallace’s not sure why the lab tech even allows the jock near hazardous material with how foolish he tends to be anywhere but the field. 

Legs bouncing anxiously even out of view, Wallace’s mind immediately begins to drift as he allows the first thought of Ricky to derail his assignment. Ricky. His mouth feels dry as he imagines the man’s hairy, muscular legs. Ricky. Running alongside him on the field, running faster than him.

Flexing his own buried calves, unknowingly accelerating their change as new curls rub against his blanket, Wallace opens Ricky’s instagram to watch his stories. There are a handful of highlights saved to his stories. Unable to quite make sense of the few soccer clips his partner has thrown up, Wallace alt-tabs to read up on the sport to hopefully understand more. 

One google search reads to another, which leads to a short video, which leads to watching influencers do tricks with soccer balls, which leads to him palming his crotch under the blanket. Cock hardening, the fabric of his pants begins to feel strangely silky as his thighs rapidly begin to bloat. Leaning back, feeling his bulge fill his hand when Wallace lifts his hips into the air and feels his dick bump against his laptop he moans far louder than he’d intended. 

The assignment tab isn’t even open anymore. The idea of working on a lab report is wholly washed from his mind, and in its place are memories of Wallace chasing a ball he should be loath to touch. Wallace’s eyes glaze over as he simply watches sweaty men playing with soccer balls on loop. Cock dripping with pre as he sees bronzed bodies sprinting and colliding with each other, Wallace stares mouth agog until the sun sets.

He doesn’t know when the videos switch with his imagination, but at such point he begins seeing himself and Ricky on the field. Athleticism fills his body and perfect midfield tactics begin to overtake his mind. Fabric touching his unsocked foot clings to it like static before tightening into a sock just like that on his wider sole. Bones crack as the newly captured foot rapidly grows to match its wider pair.

His clearly thicker legs twitch and bulge in his sleep as socks engulf his calves entirely, Wallace’s mind’s eye wonders when his legs grew to such a size. In dream his hairier legs chase a ball towards Ricky, causing his snoring lips to stretch into a grin as his still-hard cock twitches more intensely with each racing footstep.

When the sun rises and the light of day shines across Wallace’s dead laptop and crusty eyes, the wanton student yawns and stretches awake. Reflexively sniffing pits that offer a slightly more acrid musk than usual, he feels his pants cold and wet against his hips and finds his situation has continued to worsen even in his sleep.

From the waist down his entire body has changed. Not even acknowledging the fact that both feet are now a few sizes larger with socks that want to cover the whole of his calves, Wallace balks at the nylon shorts that cling to his dense fur-covered thighs. Discarding the blanket, apathetic to the laptop as it tumbles to the floor, at last he sees the wet patch covering his heavier crotch.

Frowning and complaining to himself with a voice faintly deeper and duller, he reaches to remove his cum-soiled shorts only to find them as stuck to his waist as his sweaty socks are to his feet. Medley of ‘what the fucks’ filling his living room, he falls over himself as he yanks time and again to remove the shorts. 

Each attempt has the shorts highlighting new aspects of his built lower body. Ass the size of the ball he can’t quite remove from his mind. Thighs thicker than he thought his waist should be. His cock throbbing oppressively and filling his underwear to a point that seems impossible to hide as the heavy balls underneath pang with need.

In the end he only stops pulling at his pants when his hand cramps, Wallace looks at the digits and sees the palm is wider, his digits rougher and longer. Unsure if it’s from contact with the shorts or if its yet another change from overnight he was simply yet to notice, Wallace gives up and tries to just towel off the stain from his shorts before throwing clothes on and rushing out the door to find the only man who might know what’s happening to him, Ricky. 

Behind him as he struggles to force his larger feet into obviously straining tennis shoes, the now cum-stained towel slowly discolors and patterns with their university’s logo. His embattled mind continues to similarly tinge with memories of a new life and his book-cluttered home disappears a sheet of paper at a time while laundry piles up and fills the place with an omnipresent musk that rivals his new locker room.

Sprinting down the street, Wallace doesn’t question how he knows where Ricky is as each heavy footstep brings him closer to his bro. He doesn’t hear as his shoes begin to clank against the concrete sidewalk as his cheap tennis shoes smooth and tighten into cleats just like the one he snuck on the day prior.

No, there is only one thought in his mind as he runs, faster with every step as his upper body begins to change. He needs to find Ricky. Slight paunch on his waist hardening, his one-track mind shifts more bandwidth towards finding his teamma his partner, the edges of his mind, of his self continues to fill in with the ephemeral thoughts of an athlete. And so too does his morphing body continue to reflect that.

Feet stomp wider in his new cleats as his upper body rapidly firms up. Every contorting step forward tightens his core from the never-honed torso of a sun-fearing student and into that of a prime athlete. Propelled forward with ever increasing energy, Wallace takes increasingly deeper breaths as his chest and diaphragm expand with his widening shoulders and newly bulging pecs.

 Unhappily hiding his new socks and newer piston legs, the pants Wallace threw on over his shorts begin to shorten and silken into athletic shorts, underneath the still-stained inner pair of shorts cling to his legs as they sop with sweat and tighten into compression shorts. By the time he arrives at the gym he’s clad in an outfit just like the countless other mindless men working out at the time, save cleats for more sensible shoes. 

Ricky sees him coming before he even notices he’s arrived.

“Wallace bro! What’s up? You here to get pumped?”

There’s a smile on his face as soon as he hears his bro calling out for him, one that’s far too difficult for him to wipe and remember the reason he’s actually here. Focus, he needs to focus. 

“Look bro- Ricky, something’s going on-”

“Wearing cleats to the gym bro?”

“Wearing..? Huh?”

Looking down he for the first time notices his entire outfit has changed. Now needing to crane his thicker neck to see past his newly acquired pecs, Wallace immediately tries to kick off the very cleats that began his sick transformation. Miraculously, for the first time he’s able to tear some jock-wear away. 

Pristine cleats clatter to the floor and before anything else Wallace frowns at having worn down their studs from running on concrete. Feeling the cold jersey sticking to his burning hot chest he starts to forget where he is before Ricky speaks up.

“Here, you can borrow some of mine lil bro.” After a beat he reconsiders, “Or just bro huh? You been bulking~ huhuh!”

Tossing his bro some more appropriate shoes, Ricky then reaches to massage Wallace’s traps. In response Wallace can scarcely do anything but smile as his mind is overwhelmed with pleasure more than he can truly comprehend With each grasp and drag of his fingers every pillar of himself begins shifting, begins being rewritten.

“Nnn- no… Ricky please! I need help, b- bro.”

Feeling the nylon and lycra suctioned against his skin as he continues growing and squirming under Ricky’s touch, Wallace moans as the once slow waning of his past life begins to crumble outright. Hair and eyes darken to a flat brown as his upper body rapidly carpets with curls. Ricky’s hands move down his shredded back as his treasure trail works its way up to connect with his sparsely hairy chest before erupting to coat his pecs like lichen, spreading up to peak across his shoulders.

All the while his interior life smooths and simplifies. Concerns about his Master’s program and favorite classics immolate so memorized stats of the greats can take their place. Countless games watched and played line his mind and overwrite his personality, soccer rising to the preeminent place in his mind as everything besides his game and his team pales into nothingness.  And yet he tries to cling on.

“Oh I’ll help bro, anything to make sure you’re good to go for the game tomorrow!”

The game. The game tomorrow. 

Freezing in place, everything within Wallace tenses up as the words sink into him. Did he have a game? Some small fraction of a fraction of self pleads for him to realize he wasn’t on the soccer team. But Ricky wouldn’t lie to him. Not his bro. Staring into the distance the gym looks far more open, emptier. It’s shiny waxed flooring the green turf of a field he knows far too well. 

Motions burn into his tight legs as adrenaline sends his heart racing. Unburdened by thought, Wallace follows Ricky around like a dog, seamlessly mimicking his sets like he was made in a lab to be an athlete. Hairier arms pack on pounds as his lower body refines into one designed to propel him across the field. 

Tan settling into a sunkissed bronze that will ever catch eyes on the green, his hair lengthens into a cocoa bird’s nest. In sparse moments when his sensible mind breaks free from Ricky’s thorough regimen, Wallace tries to speak up only to offhandedly think of the games he’s played and life he’s lived and is sent flying back into the recess of his true self. Wallace, the midfielder.

Unconscious of what’s going on himself, Ricky watches as the Wallace who once knew Rich continues to struggle less and less. In no time at all the bro he knows and loves takes complete control, cocky smirk and all. Taking huffs of his sweaty pits in between sets, Wallace asserts himself on the space just like he does on the field.

“Shittt bro, you ready to hit the showers? You’re steaming up the mirrors from here with your stank!” Ricky laughs and pats his teammate on the back, wiping the sweat on his own stained jersey with a guffaw.

“You think I’m gonna waste this musk bro? ‘S a tool! Gonna have those chumps tomorrow breathin my b.o. like it’s air, won’t know what ‘em!” Reaching down to remove his jersey, the sticky shirt clings to his drenched body. When at last he gets it over his wide shoulders he sends a spray of sweat onto Ricky and a man on a neighboring machine. 

The pair of soccer players laugh as their fellow gymgoer scowls. 

“Yo bro, if you want more of that, come to our game tomorrow!”

“Gonna be killerrrr!”

Checking the time the duo realize they’ve gotta run or they’ll be late. Continually riling each other up even before they leave the gym Wallace and Ricky jostle past a few other people working out without a care in the world, besides winning the game tomorrow that is. In their wake they leave nothing but a handful of sweat covered machines and a pair of pristine cleats.

Grumbling to himself, the man Wallace splashed with sweat prepares a laundry list of complaints about the pair. Hoping to perhaps get the whole team barred, he snaps pictures of the soiled machines before noticing the discarded cleats. Of course those oafs would leave clothes behind.

Good Samaritan despite how they treated them he immediately quibbles and plans to return their shoes to them. And then he thinks again. God those are big aren’t they? Looking down at his own feet he wonders if the cleats might hold them shoes and all… Kinda wants to try them on? No. No, he shouldn’t. Right? But why not? It certainly couldn’t hurt to just try them on? Might as well…