Sans titre

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 69: The Finished Collective

coaxelnuts

CAN U DO MORE FATHER AND SON MERGE PLSSSS

They say that youth is wasted on the young.

The power of hindsight & wisdom.

We call that maturity.

While most learn to accept the passage of time, there are some who do not. They have the power to fight the clock.

This was the case for Lars:

At random intervals he has absorbed his sons. Their youth, their power, and potential all flow through & within him.

But it is time.

The grey hairs on his head & face indicate that his previous son has run his course.

But he has learned to prepare.

No matter how much the clock is turned back, no matter how much youthful potential he has absorbed, he know he has to do it again.

But it feels different this time.

His son, Soren:

His seventh son and intended seventh victim & fusee.

Smart, handsome, and with a fit body.

And rich.

He is everything Lars wants.

"Took me seven tries, but with the potential from my other sons flowing through him, I shouldn't be shocked that I fathered a total stud."

Soren was in his late 20's. Through his finance career & smart investments, he has nothing to worry about. Just two years ago he got married, and now he has received some great news.

His wife is pregnant.

Knock, Knock.

There was a large banging on Lars's front door, within a minute he was answering it. To his shock it was Soren.

"Well if this isn't a surprise. Hopefully good news."

Soren followed his father into the house.

He had a big smile on his face.

"You are having a grandchild. Sophia is pregnant."

Lars stopped suddenly in his tracks.

To Soren, he thought that his father was positively shocked, but he was actually worried.

He always absorbed his sons before they were able to father the next generation. Perhaps he waited too long. Steve extended his youth a bit longer than expected.

Lars turned around & put on a face of jubilation, and gave Soren a big bear hug.

"I am so proud of you son."

Soren was through the moon.

"I see...you are as strong as ever dad."

Thanks to the previous six versions of you, he thought.

Lars put his son down & invited him to the kitchen for a drink.

For the next hour, both men were deep in happy conversation about the next step in their lives.

Soren began to slur his words.

"I see you still can't handle it."

"I am shocked you still can."

"Well, when you have the metabolism of seven men, you would be surprised by all of the auxiliary benefits."

Soren pursed his eyebrows. Seven men? Maybe he is joking.

Lars put out one of his hands and Soren took it. They were shaking hands, but the shaking was lasting a bit too long.

Soren tried to let go, but his father's grip was too strong.

"I wanted a another century or two before I had to deal with the prospect of letting my bloodline survive & thrive after only one generation, but I guess fate has another plan."

Soren was focusing on freeing himself to no avail.

"I suppose it's time to sow my oats on a more long term basis. One more time, what do you say son, your brothers are dying to meet you."

Lars yanked Soren towards him & pulled him into a bear hug.

Soren grunted.

"Dad let me go, what is this."

Soren found his strength & was able to push himself half a foot off of his dad, but to his horror his skin stretched like bubblegum, staying connected to his father.

"What the-"

Lars took Soren's head and mushed it against his own. Their faces started to mix & merge.

But Soren was a fighter, and as he & his father merged, he fought back. As Soren sunk into Lars, their conjoined grunting mass moved throughout the house. It smashed into walls, knocked over vases & glasses, but as Soren fought back, even as he made Lars work for this merger, he was still losing.

"Mmm, ughhh"

His skin creaked like an old wood floor plank as it was flowing into & being consumed by Lar's own. His bones cracked & broke down as they touched Lar's own. His muscle & organs glooped & melted as they touched Lar's blood stream.

Lars could feel it. He could feel his DNA upgrade & renew itself using Soren's own genetic structure. He could feel, for the seventh time, as his organs healed their damage from time & become stronger versions of themselves. He could feel as as his muscle fiber broke apart & then fixed themselves using Soren's own muscle fibers.

Then, as Soren's brain met his father's, he could feel each of his memories leave him, and he would know eventually that they rested within his father, inside Lars's subconsciousness where his other brothers were stored as well.

But even through all this, even as Lars took everything Soren was, he still fought. The mass was moving less & less about, but Soren's grunting & moaning only got louder. But once Soren's mind was absorbed completely with Lars, even that stopped as well.

Within a few minutes, the conjoined mass was forming into one human body.

And then it just stopped.

Soren was one with Lars now.

He took a deep breath, put on a towel when he realized that he was naked & ran to the nearest mirror to see the results:

Lars had grown to 6'9.

He kept his hair color, but the texture & volume was Soren's. Not a grey hair in sight.

He kept his eyes, he had Soren's eyebrows, nose, and ears. He had a combination of their mouths & skull shapes.

Lars was quite the muscular man, but somehow Soren was able to increase the size of his shoulders & chest. His neck was thicker. His biceps & thigh muscles got bigger & longer. His butt was bigger as well. His abdominal muscles became more bigger & blocky, yet he still had a v-line. His rod was longer & thicker as well, and he could feel his sack swell up as it updated his seed with Soren's potential.

As he moved his fingers & toes, he could feel that they too were bigger & stronger.

With Soren's testosterone level's adding to the mix, his facial & body hair continued, and now he had body hair on his forearms.

Then there was a glow. It covered his entire body.

"What is this? One last attempt to free yourself?"

The glow went away. Lars felt no different.

But there was a change.

"You were just what I needed Soren. I always wanted to be a hunk, a big man. Your previous iteration almost got me there, but you pushed me over the finish line. Thanks."

But as their merged timelines settled, Lars came to a new reality.

Soren's grandchild was now his child and Sophia was now his wife as well.

In the coming years, Lars would realize further changes. He would no longer prey on his progeny. And that glow?

It was a sign of his completion.

Through absorbing seven sons, he had achieved immortality & eternal youth.

But now has to actually raise a family for the long term.

Good luck.

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 80: Look a Like to Look a Like

Ah, fame & fortune. Being a celebrity seems to be the high life.

If you are the celebrity in question.

There are some face types that repeat regardless of relatedness. For these people, being an celebrity look alike beyond Elvis is not something they intended do, but it happens. A quirk of genetic expression.

For Ford:

People often mistake him for Jean-Luc Bilodeau.

Apparently, the town is big fans of Kyle X/Y & Baby Daddy.

He often called Jean, and has had more run ins with people wanting to get his autograph on that basis. It was cool at first, but eventually it got grating when people started asking for money.

He has his looks, not his money.

Then we have Dante:

People think that he is Haley Joel Osment.

With the false attribution of identity with his hot body, he has gotten many requests to be someone's surrogate father; from middle aged couples on the last chance to have kids, to some young in their 20's lady wanting to sleep with a celebrity.

Dante & Ford are best friends.

"Man this celebrity look alike mess is getting on my nerves."

"Yesterday, a camera crew came to my house looking for compromising photos."

Ford lifted his eyebrows.

"You would think they would do their due diligence & understand the mistaken identity situation."

"Why aren't the real celebrities speaking up?"

"Because it takes pressure off their own backs, and gives them a greater sense of privacy."

Both men: "..... Celebrities suck."

"So what are we going to do? This is only going to get worse."

"Already figured it out Ford, we merge."

"...We what?"

"Let's merge body, minds, and souls. Surely there isn't a celebrity who looks like a fusion of those two."

"Other option?"

"We leave town & our families."

"Fine. I guess we can consider this as marrying each other."

"Only deeper."

"Only deeper."

They met in Dante's home in his attic gym. With the window ceilings, it was less of an attic, and more of a secret open air man cave. Ford had been here many times. Why pay for an gym membership when he has access to this?

They have a key to each other's house.

They are practically a married couple already despite having girlfriends.

"So how do we do this. Some fancy dance, some odd jewelry, some strange substance..."

"Get in this bag."

It was a lilac purple silk body bag. It was more like an cocoon.

Dante knew how Ford thought & got in himself first. He beckoned Ford in.

"... This better work, because if this is an elaborate plan to sleep with me..."

Dante chuckled.

"This is going to be fun, being merged with you."

Ford eventually relented and got in, now resting on top of Dante. They were both blushing.

"So...."

The zipper on the silk bag zipped itself up sealing themselves within.

Heat began to rise & they both were sweating bullets.

Suddenly they both broke down into a slurry of blood, flesh, and other physical matter. From their perspective, there was no pain. They felt floatish instead. Then the memories of each men flash in each other's mind. They were converging as one mentally.

The zipper on the bag disappeared, the silk material became more fleshy. It began to move & squirm about. After a minute, their DNA were merged into a new traditional double helix structure. The material within began to glow.

The cocoon began to stretch & change shape, with each passing minute it became more & more more human shaped. When the skull & brain formed, he began to moan.

After five minutes he was fully formed within. Steam issued from the silk-flesh cocoon.

He ripped out of the cocoon & roared. He was wet at first, but quickly dried in the air. He was breathing heavily.

"Phew, that felt weird. I mean a good kind of weird but still weird."

He took a few minutes to collect himself.

"I am Ford, but I am also Dante. Mmm, parading around as either or would be strange even though they are me, and me them. How about Wyatt."

Dante + Ford = Wyatt.

He took out his phone & snapped a photo of himself:

He was as tall as Dante. His shoulders were more pronounced, his pecs slightly bigger. His biceps the same size as Dante's but with more vascularity, and that somehow meant thicker hands. His eight pack & obliques were more prominent, more rounder. His buttocks were the same size as Dante's. His rod & jewels were ripped straight from Ford in size; length, girth, and circumference. Luckily, Ford was very well endowed. He just wore baggy pants & shorts to hide it. Using Ford's legs as a base, he had much bigger thighs, and denser quads. His feet were thicker as well.

He was at least 20 pounds heavier than Dante.

Using Dante as the base, his skull shape was a mix of the two. His eyebrows were from Ford, his eyes from Dante. His nose & ears were from Dante, while his mouth was from Ford.

Just like Dante, he sported facial hair, only much bushier. He kept Dante's dark blond hair & volume, but with Ford's texture & styling.

He posted the photo to social media.

"Let's see how people react."

The next day & he checked out people's responses:

"Oh look, its Ryan Gosling!" One comment said.

Oh, oh. In trying to get away from looking like one celebrity, they merged into the look alike of another celebrity.

Might as well enjoy this joined life.

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 95: The Perfect Boyfriend

"Let me check one more time for old times sake:"

"Are you sure this is going to work babe?"

"Oh yeah, you'll do this if you love me."

"Anything for you muffin."

She smirks & closes the web. Standing ten feet away from the cocoon made of a spider silk like material with other women, she smiles in anticipation.

The cocoon becomes animated with the two men's moaning before merging into one voice. The cocoon the begins moving about within as two men become one. After five minutes, the movement & sound ceases.

Two ladies rip cocoon open & a singular man flops out naked. They pick him up & take him to his room. The person who talked to the fusees lifted up his hanging head.

"Wow, you really did merge my two boyfriends. He looks like a love child of the two."

"Of course, anything to help a sister out. Now there is no need to choose, you have both in one."

In his room his dumped on his bed:

Back at the cocoon site, one of the women pulls out a tablet.

"One more to go for this season."

"About time, this has been a record year so far. I think we need to raise the price."

"Maybe at the next quarter meeting. Contact Sarah, she is up next."

Some people struggle to find love, some have it in spades. The hard choice is picking that final one, that soul mate. But why choose them when you can make them?

For Sarah, it has come down to Orson:

Noted member of the college wrestling team. Handsome & charismatic. A bit dumb, could use some work in his bedding skills.

And Iverson:

Top engineering student who has hit the gym.

Just has bad taste in hair styles & not as out going as his build suggests. Great in bed.

Orson gave her status, Iverson gave her pleasure. She thought to herself: "Why can't I have both?"

She noticed that in her friend group that they had the perfect boyfriends. Everything they liked in nerds & jocks mixed into these individuals. Where did they find them?

She eventually learned that these men were created, not born. And after more digging found out about the group that facilitated it. It was not a free service, but it let you merge two men of your choice to create a better life partner. After getting some contact info, she contacted them & was placed on a waiting list after paying their fee.

At the near end of the summer semester, she got a text with the details of everything that she needed to do.

"About time!"

She contacted both of the men she was dating and got them to meet with her at the location. It was dark, misty, and chilly. A rarity in the height of summer.

"So, where is the party at," asked Orson.

"I thought we were going to do a study session," wondered Iverson.

"Oh we can do both," she said.

She introduced the men to each other, somehow not letting on that she was in an relationship with either beyond basic friendship.

"Before that, I want you to do something for me, a game. Orson, you will have fun, and Iverson, something for your future studies."

The other women looked at them dumbfounded as they wondered how they believed her words. They see it all the time, but just have to wonder.

Funny thing is that most fusees of this process do it willingly or are tricked. Only a small percentage need to be drugged or knocked out.

"See that large web thingy over there? Get in it for a couple of minutes."

"At the same time," they both asked.

"Trust me."

They both thought that this was some kind of kink for her, so they did it to make her happy.

Within a few moments, both men where in a airy sack of made modified spider silk.

"Kind of weird, I hope this makes her happy."

"Same."

"How do you know Sarah again?"

"I'm her bo-"

Both men snapped up like soldiers & went quiet suddenly. The webby cocoon began to produce more web making it more opaque. Then the inside began to constrict & squeeze forcing the two men to touch each other face to face.

They grunted as their lips were forced to touch, and then the skin gave way. Endorphins rushed throughout their bodies from the webbing making the situation feel good if not pleasurable. But the web also injected them with more chemicals that speed up the fusion process.

They phased through their clothing, becoming naked and began making out. As they touched each other all over, their skin in various places throughout their bodies began to mix & merge.

A few more minutes, their their organs & bones began breaking down into their base materials, and their skin formed their own cocoon with the men inside. The only part unbroken was their brains that simply mushed against each other, and merged into one bigger brain.

From the outside, it looked like the two men were doing each other with the loud moans and the animated webbed cocoon sack. This turned the ladies on. It always did as the knowledge that there was a stronger, better version of the two being created before their eyes was just too hot to not be affected.

Their DNA lined up & merged into a singular genetic code:

The two moaning voices became one.

The skin cocoon began to reshape itself into an human shape as the skeleton formed, forcing the webbing to become human shaped as well. The ladies outside got excited.

The cocoon pinched itself at the top where the head would form.

As it squeezed into human form, his features came into play. He would have a meatier version of Iverson's manly pecs. Bigger version of Orson's manly shoulders. His butt would be big, firm, and round. He would have a H shaped waist with a blocky version of Orson's abs. His legs & arms would form using Iverson's own as a base & then enhanced their size. His feet & hands would be a combination of the two. He would have Iverson's girth, and Orson's length. He sack would hang low as his jewels would be three times the size of any of what his fusees would have. He would have a muscular neck that was a cross between the two.

The pinched area started to form a skull & his facial features.

He had a cross between their skulls shapes. Iverson's eye brows, Orson's eyes. Iverson's nose, and Orson's mouth. He had a mixture of their ears. His testosterone flooded his body causing body hair to grow all over his body & face, giving him facial hair. He had Orson's hair color, Iverson's hair texture & volume. A mix in the styling.

He went quiet as he built his personality & traits based on what the two had left him.

He stopped moving for a few minutes and he was cut out.

"Holy smokes, we made a hot one. Sarah, can I have him?"

"Heck no, but also thank you. Take him to my room."

He was lying in her bed naked. She put some underwear on him while he was sleeping. Before long she too went to asleep.

"Babe, wake up. Wake up."

Sarah woke up to this before her eyes:

"Goodness you are hot, but turn those lights off."

"Right, sorry."

He crawled into her bed & they did the nasties.

He would be called Quentin. Engineering student who was on the wrestling team. He did a lot of studying, but he had an active social life. He was devoted to her. And as Sarah is experiencing now, he was a great lover too.

I hope she is using protection.

[anon-vester]

Zack woke up feeling strange. He remembered being at the club after celebrating a promotion with a few of his coworkers. He had several strong drinks and got rather drunk. He was chatting with some guy who came over to talk with him. He couldn't remember the guy's name. He just remembered that he was hot.

He found that he couldn't move or speak. "Wait, what happened? Last thing I remembered was talking with a cute guy at the club after several drinks. Why do I have a cock in my face. Hel me!" He mentally screamed when he couldn't even wiggle. He then heard the guy talking down to him and realized what he was. He was a literal pair of underwear on his body. He was taken in by a TF Pred and was now his trophy and property.

He was fully sober now once he realized his situation. "Hey change me back. I don't want to stay like this forever!" He mentally screamed, but he saw that the guy didn't hear a single thought or word. He also realized it would not have helped even if he did. It was obvious the guy wasn't going to let him go even if he heard his plea for help. He was some stranger's pair of underwear and his boyfriend would have no way of getting him back.

[hairy-bothered]

Reversing Roles

Continued from a short story here.

By the time Owen opened the app again, he had stopped thinking of himself as the guy he used to be.

At forty-two, with the shorter receding hair, the salt-and-pepper beard, and the thick body hair he’d wanted badly enough to make for himself by spoiling Hair Tonic, he finally looked the way he’d always imagined a real daddy should look. His profile picture showed exactly that: shirtless on a hiking trail, backpack straps in both hands, chest hair visible, expression calm and solid.

David messaged him within the hour. A rendezvous was planned for the next day.

David was twenty-six, lean and smooth-skinned, with a compact athletic body and a face that still carried the softness of youth. When he arrived at Owen’s place, he couldn’t stop looking at the older man. It wasn’t just that Owen was handsome. It was that he looked settled. Rugged. Finished. Like a man who had grown fully into himself. David did not know what Owen had used the Hair Tonic to do to himself - he didn't know that inside Owen's masculine exterior was a man a few years younger than himself with the visage of a self-assured daddy.

The sex was dynamic. Owen leaned into his new role as daddy with a youthful enthusiasm - if not the experience. David enjoyed the feeling of being kissed, worshiped, and filled by the entirety of Owen - longing for attention from older more confident-seeming men.

Later, after their night together had faded into sweat, dim light, and tangled sheets, Owen fell asleep fast, heavy and satisfied.

David stayed awake. He padded into Owen’s bathroom in his boxers, still thinking about the body he’d just had his hands on - the dense chest hair, the roughness of Owen’s beard, the masculine weight of him. Then he noticed the brown bottle on the counter. HAIR TONIC. Old-fashioned label. Plain lettering. He picked it up and turned it in his hands. The name sounded harmless, almost quaint. He smiled to himself. He was familiar with the product, but had never gotten his hands on a bottle. He wasn't interested in becoming Owen, not exactly. He just wanted a little help looking more his age. More scruff. Some chest hair. Less boyishness in the mirror. So he uncapped it.

The tonic smelled sharp and strange, old and herbal with something bitter underneath. David rubbed a little over his cheeks and jawline, then across his upper lip. He poured more into his palm and worked it over his chest, down the center of his stomach, over his shoulders, even along his arms. His skin prickled instantly, then flushed with spreading heat. He frowned at his reflection, waiting for the sensation to fade. Instead, the faint shadow on his jaw began to darken. The nearly invisible hair on his chest sharpened, filling enough for him to notice - and then some.

He ran his fingertips over the new texture, half-thrilled and half-nervous. By the time he climbed back into bed, the scruff at his mouth had thickened into a short, rough mustache and the hair across his pecs had become real enough to cast a shadow. His heart beat faster, but he convinced himself it was just stronger than he’d expected - it would pass - it was just hair.

David fell asleep telling himself he’d overdone it a little. He woke with a start the next morning. Everything felt wrong at first—heavier, rougher, denser. The sheets dragged differently across his body. His chest felt warm beneath a thick layer of hair. When he pushed himself upright and looked at his hands, he froze.

The backs of them were hairier than they had been the night before, the knuckles broader, the skin less smooth. He brought them to his face and felt not light overnight scruff but a full, coarse mustache and short beard framing a jaw that seemed more substantial than it had been before. He stumbled to the bathroom mirror, Owen just starting to stir in the bedroom behind him, and stopped cold.

He did not look twenty-six anymore. The man staring back at him looked closer to forty. His face was still unmistakably his own, but matured - broader through the jaw, heavier through the neck and shoulders, with stronger lines around the eyes and mouth. His hair was shorter-looking somehow, neater, his features more rugged and settled. A thick mustache and trimmed beard had come in dark and full, giving him a stern, masculine look he’d only ever imagined on older men. Across his chest, the hair had spread into a dense mat that continued down his stomach in a dark trail, with more thickening along his arms and thighs. He looked stockier too, more substantial, more like a man who’d spent years growing into that body instead of a single reckless night.

“Owen...” he said, voice rougher than before. “Owen!”

Owen came into the room half-awake, then stopped dead in the doorway - mouth agape.

For one long second, neither of them spoke. Then Owen’s eyes dropped to David’s chest, his beard, his hands, and finally flicked toward the bathroom counter.

“You used my special Hair Tonic?!” he yelled.

David’s face tightened. “I thought it was just normal Hair Tonic - I ….”

“It is not just Hair Tonic!" Owen’s voice sharpened with real anger now, cutting David off mid-sentence. “I left that out in the sun to spoil on purpose. I changed myself on purpose. You had no idea what that was and you still used it?”

“You changed yourself? You mean you did this to yourself on purpose?!” David snapped back, then looked away, shaken by the sound of his own gruffer voice. “I just wanted…” He swallowed and rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling the thickness there. “I just wanted a little more. A beard. Some body hair. I didn’t think it was going to do this!” David gestured to his older body.

Owen’s anger faltered, replaced by a grim, complicated sympathy. He knew that impulse too well. The wanting. The private pull toward a rougher, older, hairier version of manhood. David let the bathroom and sat back down on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands again like they might belong to someone else. He looked upset, genuinely upset - but not devastated. Not all the way. Because every few seconds his fingers drifted over the new growth on his chest, or up to the heavier shape of the beard at his jaw, as though he couldn’t stop checking that it was real.

“This is my fault,” Owen said finally. “I shouldn’t have left the tonic out for you to find. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re… probably stuck like this.”

David let out a shaky breath. “Great.”

Silence settled between them. Morning light spilled across the room. David’s reflection lingered in the mirror opposite the bed: older, hairier, undeniably changed. He looked at himself again, this time longer. At the thicker chest. The rough mustache. The stronger, more mature face. It wasn’t what he had meant to ask for. It was too much. Too fast. Too permanent.

And yet some quieter part of him - deeper than panic, harder to admit - recognized the shape of his own wish inside it.

“What am I going to do? No one will recognize me! I hate that this happened - I have to get out of here!” he said in a panic while trying to stuff his thicker frame into his jeans - sucking his gut to fully zip them, and throwing his shirt quickly over his shoulders.

Owen folded his arms. “Do you hate this?” he said looking at David. "The way you've been looking at yourself in the mirror reminds me of myself when I first woke up after using the tonic."

David stopped dressing took a deep breath and looked down at himself, then back at the mirror. He had to admit he was attractive like this - more like the men he pursued - and enjoyed being pursued by. He noticed a twitch in his boxers as his dick started to grow - panic subsiding and being replaced with lust. Lust both for Owen, who had filled him just the prior evening to the brink with his daddy seed - and also for the half-dressed man he saw reflected in the mirror.

Owen walked over to the sofa in the corner of the room and sat down with his head in his hands for a moment while Owen waited.

“No. I don’t hate all of it” he admitted with a grin at Owen as he unbuttoned his pants - his thick hairy pecs pushing against his half-open shirt. His eyes smoldering at the sight of Owen’s shirtless torso and beautiful face.

Owen stared at him for a moment, then gave a short, disbelieving exhale that was almost a laugh. “I see … you’re a bit older than my usual type now, but I think this might work...” he said with a grin as he approached the older version of the perky 26 year-old he had fucked the night before.

Owen dropped to his knees in front of David and helped him slide off his now-too-tight jeans and underwear, freeing David’s thick semi-erect daddy cock nestled in a thick bush of pubes - “Guess a trip to the mall is in order” he said with a grin as he took David’s dick in his mouth - feeling it continue to stiffen.

David let out a little moan and replied, half joking, “Yeah, I guess I put on a little extra weight somewhere in my 30s.”

After a couple of minutes receiving head, David pushed Owen onto the couch and pulled down Owen’s sweatpants, revealing the same uncut daddy dick that he had deep inside him last night - which might as well have been an eternity ago. “Things are going to be different today, son” he stated irrefutably - Owen looking up to him with soft bedroom eyes. “It’s your fault I’m close to my father’s age, and stuck like this - so now I’m going to be the daddy and you’re going to be the piece of meat I please myself with. Understood?”

Owen simply nodded and replied with a soft “yes, sir.”

“Good, now roll over for daddy so he can see your ass.”

Owen complied, moving onto all fours and presenting his hairy asshole to David - who gave it a quick look before sticking his head between his cheeks and eating it out in preparation.

Owen remembered the feeling of being prepared from before his change - from the countless older men he let enter his tight frat boy hole. He knew what was coming - and despite his recent shift to daddy himself he couldn’t help but anticipate how bottoming would feel in his new body.

After prepping Owen, David rose to one foot, with the other propped against the couch. He spit on his dick and lined it up with Owen’s ass and thrust in hard. Owen gave a quick yelp and tightened around David’s dick - but he didn’t care. It was Owen’s fault he was stuck like this and he was going to exact as much pleasure from the situation as possible.

After a few hard thrusts, Owen started to gently moan as David settled into a more steady rhythm. David reached forward grabbing Owen’s thinning hair pulling his head back and whispered in his ear, “You like this don’t you?”

Owen nodded between soft moans.

David continued, “No matter what you look like on the outside, you’re still just a bottom bitch frat boy.” He reached around and grabbed Owen’s dick and began jerking it while pumping into his ass.

“You made yourself older, you gave yourself a beard, a hairy chest, you got the look - you played the role last night as well - but deep down we both know you’ll always crave this. Crave a stronger man controlling you and filling you with his daddy cock.”

David released Owen’s hair and picked up his pace. As he approached climax he thought about the man he saw in the reflection - hairy, mustached, confident - maybe this new version of him wouldn’t be so bad. He snapped back into attention as he felt Owen jolting underneath - coming onto the sofa with a hand wrapped around his own dick. "Daddy didn't say you could come yet, son."

Own just whimpered as David picked up his pace and intensity, quickly following suit coming deep into Owen - then collapsing on his back in a pile of sweat and chest hair.

Across the bedroom, on the bathroom the bottle of Hair Tonic sat on the counter where David had left it, half-open and innocent-looking, as if it had done nothing more than keep its promise. Not youth. Not restoration. Something stranger. Something closer to desire. Like a man beginning, despite himself, to see what he might become - and embracing it.

[kemerooter]

“Hmm might need to increase pec size by another 10%” Nathan said as he ran his hands through his perfect 8 pack abs

Nathan recently got a hold of the BodyMod app on his phon luckily before it got shot down by The Store for data privacy issues

He wanted to just alter some of his photos to see what he’d look like if he had a different hairstyle, if he had a beard, etc. and the app promised to be able to generate it with some new AI tools to really make it more realistic and immersive

As Nathan registered an account and ran through the app, he was perplexed to see that it already had his biometrics and vitals “now that can’t be right. I guess that’s what the data privacy lawsuits were about” he said as he ran through the data

As he ran through the app, he started noticing that each section had sliders. Out of curiosity he slid the height slider from 5’10” to 6’5” and pressed apply. Almost instantly and by magic, he felt his entire body stretch out to match the new metric “OH SHIT IT WORKS?!” he screamed as he immediately stood up to check, almost getting virtigo in the process.

“This is going to be fun” he said mischievously as he laid back on his bed and started editing the muscle mass sliders.

[aloyalvillain]

Part 5: The Freak and The Spotlight

The two of them walked out of the AWO store together. Jack took a deep breath of fresh air and let out a sigh of contentment. Just standing there, anybody could tell that Jack was enjoying every moment of his newfound power, his newfound presence. Alan on the other hand stood there looking at somebody who has started to look like a monster and wondered if his friend, the guy who came to know as a good guy was still in there somewhere.

Jack caught Alan’s glance and said, “You’re quiet. What’s up bro?”

Bro. Fuck. He’s even starting to talk like a musclebound frat bro. “I’m trying to figure out if my best friend is still in there,” Alan said.

Jack smiled as he looked at Alan. “First, calm down bro,” he said as he flexed a little bit. “Look at who I am now. And stop worrying about finding the old me. The new me is 100 percent better.”

“Yeah,” Alan said unconvinced. “Sure. All right. Sorry to do this but I need to head home for the evening. If you need me for anything, message me okay?”

Alan turned away from Jack and headed home. As he got back to his own apartment, his phone buzzed and it was a message from AWO:

Stage One Assessment Complete

Recommended Archetype: The Spotlight

Primary Traits: Charm, display, confidence, desire, social control.

Your humor hides your hunger.

Ever since Alan left Jack, his mind had been going over everything that had happened in the AWO store. The whole thing made him sick to his stomach. Seeing what was happening to Jack and the feeling like he was nothing more than data point to Terry and Cindy, Alan tried to figure out what the hell he had been doing there to begin with.

The worst part of it was that Alan had fallen for the sales pitch. That was what made it even worse. He had gone in there wanting to prove to himself and Jack that it was all bullshit and smoke and mirrors and instead Jack came out physically stronger, more arrogant and more sure of himself than ever before. Because of that, he had allowed himself to actually sit down and get analyzed.

It was a slow moving train wreck but Jack was about to hit the wall. At least Alan had the ability to stop and get off the train before the disaster happened. The problem was that the last line of the message hit home for Alan. Thinking back on just the last few days, he could see where his humor hid things, where it was easier just to step into the shadows and not be noticed and just be what everybody else needed him to be.

Alan went to bed with those thoughts in his head. It was going to be a long night.

Jack meanwhile stood in front of his bathroom mirror and basked in the new physique that he had been gifted. He wasn’t a full blown genetic freak yet but he had to make sure that he was going to get new clothes from a bodybuilding store when he got the chance. Doing a double bicep pose, Jack grinned and landed up kissing his bicep and it made him feel so alive.

While he was getting ready for bed, Jack’s phone went off and just like Alan across town, there was a message from AWO:

Stage Three Integration Active

Archetype: Genetic Freak

Dominance must be expressed.

Visibility is no longer enough. Impact is required.

Do not soften. Do not retreat. Do not apologize.

Fuck, Jack thought to himself. With this newfound body and newfound attitude, there was no way he was going to back away and let others take control of his life or what he did. It was time for him to grab life by the balls and do exactly what he was meant to do. Instead of waiting for others to push him in the right direction, it was time for him to chart his own course and fuck anybody who got in his way.

Jack went to bed feeling more confident, more alive tham he had been in years. Fuck, maybe his entire adult life.

The next day, Jack walked into the office and everybody noticed the change. He saw out of the corner of his eye Annie looking at him with a slight frown on her face. Mabel on the other looked like she had a question and thought better of it and just turned back to work at her desk. Jack immediately felt the tension go up in the office by his mere presence. It felt so fucking good to be respected and looked at. They should be grateful that they could see him like this every day.

Alan walked into the office a few minutes later and immediately got stopped by Annie. “What the hell is going on with Jack?” she asked. “Do you know?”

“I’m as confused as you are,” Alan replied. “I’ve tried to talk to him to figure out what’s going on but all I get is static.”

“Was this something to do with that blowup you two had the other day?” Annie asked. “Because that sure didn’t sound like it was a simple conversation about sports.”

“There’s a lot of stuff going on in his personal life,” Alan replied. “Ex-wife and all that. He’s just trying to reinvent himself you know?”

“Great,” Annie replied. “So what… a mid life crisis? Just what I need.”

“Well, at least he hasn’t decided to move to Hawaii and start driving a sports car,” Alan said with a smile. “At least not on this salary.”

Annie chuckled at that. Alan noticed it immediately that yet again his humor had tamed a situation that could have spiraled into a crisis. “All right,” she said. “He’s your best friend. Keep an eye on him and please for the love of God talk him out of whatever he’s doing to himself. He looks like…”

“A professional wrestler?” Alan said as he looked at Jack’s back.

“Or a bodybuilder who is on too many steroids,” Annie replied as she walked back to her desk.

Oh, Alan thought to himself, you have no idea how close to the truth you are. He walked by Jack’s desk on to the way to his own and he heard Jack say under his breath, “That fucking bitch.”

That made Alan stop and he said, “What’s up?”

Jack looked at Alan with anger in his eyes before he dropped his cell phone on his desk with a thud. “Oh, just the battle axe ex-wife sending me yet another message about the divorce papers,” he said. “I’ll sign those damn papers when I feel like it.”

Alan noticed that a couple of people looked in their general direction and realized that Jack’s voice didn’t have an ‘inside’ voice any more. “All right,” Alan said. “Just don’t do anything you are going to regret all right?”

“I regret marrying that bitch,” Jack replied as he got back to work.

The rest of the morning luckily passed without incident. Alan was hard at work trying to get through the daily tasks while Jack had a hard time concentrating because of his ex-wife’s text message. Of course, from everything that had gone on the last few days, Jack was still trying to sort out what had actually happened to him.

Lunch time came and as Jack was walking to the break room, his phone went off. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath as his ex-wife’s number came up.

“Hello Linda,” he said sighing as he answered the call.

“Hello to you too,” his ex-wife replied. “Just wanted to talk to you to see if we can move things along.”

“Right,” Jack replied. “So… which guy did you jump in bed with this time? Adam? Jason? I forget.”

“I just want this chapter of our lives over,” Linda replied. “Why can’t you understand that?”

At that moment, Jack’s anger burst out. “Listen you cunt,” Jack said.

“Cunt?” Linda interrupted with. “Jack, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m… well… was your wife!”

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “You were my wife. And not a good one at that if I’m being honest with myself. Don’t know what I saw in you back then.”

“Jack… this isn’t you,” Linda said after a moment still shocked over what he called her. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but… it’s not good.”

“Of course it’s not good,” Jack said ignoring the fact that there were others around him that could hear the conversation. “You and everybody else just want me to do whatever I’m told like a good fucking dog. Don’t worry. I’ll sign the papers tonight so you can get on with your life and I can find somebody who actually is good in bed.”

“Fine,” Linda screamed on the phone. “Whatever the fuck you want. You know something? I wish I had never met you.”

“Same fucking goes for me you little whore,” Jack said as he hung up the phone and looked at everybody staring at him. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he said as he glared and walked away.

Finding a place by himself for a moment, Jack closed his eyes and then let out a laugh. My god, he thought to himself. It felt so good to finally stand up for himself and actually have true power. He had finally said what he wanted to say for the last six months and finally when he was able to say it and let go it felt so damn good.

Fifteen minutes later, Annie walked over to Alan’s desk and said, “We need to talk. Now.”

Alan looked at Annie and frowned. He knew exactly what this was about. Actually, who it was about. “What did Jack do?” he asked.

“You need to talk to him,” Annie replied. “Before I have to suspend him for a few days. What he did in the break room… can’t happen again.”

“Oh hell,” Alan said as he closed his eyes. “His ex-wife?”

“I’m not going to repeat what everybody in the break room heard but yeah,” Annie said. “He needs to calm down really fast. I’ve already got a few complaints from people. I don’t know what’s got into him but he needs to cool down really fast.”

“Got it,” Alan said as he stood up from his desk. “I’ll take care of it. Consider me the Jack Whisperer.”

As Alan walked over to Jack’s desk, his thoughts wandered for a moment. The amount of attention that Jack was getting was undeniable. The problem was that in the AWO store, if Alan went through with the entire process, he could just turn out to be a freak like Jack was turning out to be. But there was a part of him that envied Jack even if it seemed like he had taken the macho alpha thing way too far.

“What the hell did you say to your ex-wife?” Alan said as he looked at Jack when he got to his friend’s desk.

“I said the fucking truth for one,” Jack replied. “And it felt fucking good.”

“Truth for who?” Alan asked. “Because from what I’ve heard they want to suspend your ass for what you said.”

“Suspend? Me?” Jack said followed by a laugh. “I’d like to see them try some bullshit like that.”

“Dude,” Alan said. “Listen to yourself. Fuck man… you’re starting to scare me.”

Jack looked at Alan and smiled. “Everybody is starting to notice me and now you’re scared of me?” he asked.

“I don’t know what I am,” Alan replied. “I saw that screen in the store. I saw what they think I am. I see what you’ve become and… well… it scares me. I keep thinking about it.”

“Good,” Jack replied. “That means it saw something real. This me was inside all of the time bro. It just took somebody else to take it out and show it to the world. Just think about what it is going to do for you. Let it fucking happen will you? Stop lying to yourself.”

Alan went back to his desk and sighed when he saw a message pop up on his phone. It was like a disease that kept on returning. Another message from his ‘saviors’ at AWO:

Stage 2: Beginnings Available

Archetype: The Spotlight

Stop fitting in. Start being followed.

Wear black. Be ready to be seen.

This whole situation was fucking insane. Seeing Jack change so much in such a short period of time terrified him. But at the same time, Alan knew that all he had to do was walk away from the entire thing, delete the message and not go back to that damn store. Thinking about Jack however, Alan knew that if he was to help his best friend, he needed to know what the hell actually happened in that store behind the curtains.

The rest of the afternoon flew by without any incident. When it was time to leave, Alan saw Jack walk over with an AWO bag in his hand.

“Here,” Jack said as he put the bag down on Alan’s desk. “I bought this for you to get you into the right frame of mind.”

Alan looked in the bag and sighed. “Of course you did,” he said as he picked up the AWO shirt out of the bag. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome bro,” Jack said. “You’ve got an appointment to start Stage 2 right?”

“Yeah,” Alan replied somewhat reluctantly. “Yeah I do.”

“I knew you would keep with it,” Jack replied grinning. “Bro, you’re going to fucking love it. I know I do.”

“Yeah yeah,” Alan replied. “I certainly see you loving it. All right. If we’re going to do this, let’s do this before my better senses get a hold of me and I run away from this nightmare.”

The two of them headed to the AWO store, Alan now dressed in the AWO shirt that Jack had bought him and Jack wearing his own AWO shirt that seemed even tighter than it had been a few short days ago.

When they walked in, Jack looked at Alan and saw the worry and concern on his face. “Relax bro,” he said. “Stage 2 is where things start making sense.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alan said as he saw Terry walk over to the two of them.

“Looking good brother,” Terry said as he fist bumped Jack. “Really looking the part now. Amazing transformation huh?”

“You have no fucking idea how good it feels,” Jack replied with a grin on his face.

Terry looked at Alan and said, “And look who came back. The doubting Alan.”

“Hello to you too,” Alan said with a smile. “And I thought I was the only one who made jokes around here.”

“Trust me,” Terry said. “The only thing you will need to joke about soon is how many people flock to your side. Come on. Cindy’s ready for you.”

“Lead on,” Alan said with a sigh.

The three of them found themselves back in the same room where Jack had gone through Stage 3 but now instead of Jack on the platform, Alan found himself on the platform. Cindy was working at a console and was totally clinical about everything that was going on. Jack was standing next to Terry and they both had smiles on their faces like somebody was about to join the brotherhood of bros.

Cindy was finally ready and the screen in front of Alan populated the Spotlight archetype and all of the information that had been gone over during the Stage 1 evaluation. Standing there on the platform, Alan felt like he was about to step off a cliff and that there was no going back. But at the same time, he looked at Jack and realized for his best friend’s sake, he needed to do this in order to help him.

“First,” Cindy said as she looked at Alan. “Let’s start with posture and your smile. All right. Give us your best movie star pose.”

“My what?” Alan said with a chuckle.

“Movie star,” Cindy replied. “Every time a movie star walks into a room, they have a smile on their face and everybody looks at them. Let’s start with that.”

“All right,” Alan said. “But I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“That’ll change in time,” Terry replied from where he was standing next to Jack.

For the next thirty minutes, Alan went through a number of exercises that were built around social control. From learning when to actually make jokes to how he should smile and present himself in a crowded room, it was a massive bit of social engineering. The more Alan practiced, the less he felt like a fool. He could see subtle changes in his posture and how he handled himself as each exercise was completed.

“Now,” Cindy said. “Repeat after me. I don’t disappear into a room any more. The room adjusts to me.”

Alan looked at Cindy and shrugged. “I don’t disappear into a room any more. The room adjusts to me,” he said.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

Every time Alan repeated what Cindy had told him to say, it felt more comfortable. A part of Alan thought that it was a subtle version of social engineering and brainwashing but another part of him actually enjoyed what he was saying.

Finally, Cindy smiled and said, “I think that’s enough for today. Let’s take a look at you shall we?”

Alan looked at the screen as it changed to show him as he was now. His hair was styled better, tighter and more clean. Unlike Jack’s muscles which had turned freakishly big, Alan’s muscles were a bit more toned. His shoulders were back, his grin more practiced. He was wearing sunglasses and an AWO wristband.

“There,” Terry said. “Hold that smile bro.”

“It feels so fucking fake,” Alan replied.

“So did every version of yourself that you made for everybody else,” Terry pointed out.

Standing there watching the entire situation play out, Jack looked at his friend Alan and saw the subtle changes that were occurring. He felt proud looking at his best friend, starting to keep eye contact, posing as though he was somebody and starting to enjoy being the center of attention.

“There’s the man I knew was hiding inside,” Jack said to Alan.

Five minutes later, Alan, Jack and Terry stood in the Gallery. Terry grabbed a sleeveless AWO vest and gave it to Alan to try on.

“Now,” Terry said. “Walk through the store as though everybody came to see you.”

“You have got to be fucking joking,” Alan said. “I’m not… well… fake.”

“No, you aren’t,” Terry replied. “This is who you are now. Do it for you.”

With a hint of swagger, a smile on his face and a confidence that Alan honestly never had felt before, he walked around the store as though he owned the place. When a young woman shopping with her boyfriend looked at him and smiled, he returned the smile and a part of him thought that she deserved better than her current boyfriend.

As Alan took his new look and personality for a spin, Terry looked at Jack and said, “You really are becoming a genetic freak aren’t you?”

“Fuck yeah brother,” Jack replied. “Feels good too.”

“Good,” Terry said. “Cindy told me that Stage 4 was getting closer for you. Seems like you might be ahead of schedule.”

Terry looked at Alan as he continued to walk around the store and said, “Your friend is getting the hang of it isn’t he?”

“He just needed to be pushed in the right direction,” Jack replied with a smile.

Finally, Jack and Alan left the store together. Alan now had a bag of AWO gear including a couple of shirts, a sleeveless vest and tights that had the AWO logo spray painted on them.

Outside, Jack looked at Alan and said, “See? Told you they could find you.”

Instead of answering, Alan looked at his reflection in the store’s window. He smiled at what he saw and fixed his collar.

They walked away together, not yet finished, not yet lost. But close enough that the city reflected two men where only one had entered before.

Thus ends Act 1: Selection. The AWO story will continue with Act 2.

[mindyourbod]

Love that distilled masculinity tf you did. Would it be lost for me to join that program? I’d love to be bigger and more manly and dominant.

You've been hitting the gym for a while. You've been seeing results as your arms slowly thicken and your legs tone up, but it's not enough and it's too slow. You're hungry for more.

You've tried to get a plug for some less-than-licit supplements, but the guys at your gym, for all that some are built like they've been cycling since age 14, seem to have gotten to where they are on the merit of their natural testosterone alone.

It's demotivating. You can't get the enhancements you want and you're limited by whatever your genetic potential sees fit to provide. It's not fair. It's not like you can improve your genetic potential, right?

Except during one late-night spiral after yet another gruelling gym session that never seems to get easier, you find an unassuming ad for clinical trials.

The company seems like a legitimate one. You find a Wikipedia page for them and everything. And the testimonials for this stuff look incredible. You see one of the researchers go from looking like an average doughy guy to an oversexed hunk of meat making bank from online admirers... and that's the opposite of a deterrent for you.

So once you're satisfied that yes, this is safe, yes, this isn't science fiction, and yes, they actually wanna bump your testosterone up to the max, you barely read the terms and conditions in your hurry to sign up.

There's all this stuff about how the original formula boosted libido and how they've retooled it to try to promote physical activity instead. You couldn't care less, though, since you know that being in the body you dream of would give you an unstoppable libido to boot.

Maybe you should have read the paperwork a bit more carefully, though.

See, the formula you end up getting treated with is even more potent than the first version. It doesn't just up your natural testosterone and masculinity, it shocks your system into what can only be described as overproduction. Within days, you already see the difference in your body; and as days turn to weeks, then to months, you realise that you're growing and growing almost despite yourself.

You bloat up with pound after pound of muscle with what feels like no effort whatsoever, thickening all over, with a new (and not unwelcome) forest of body hair that itches as it comes in. It feels like you're growing veinier and more vascular by the day, since your newfound hulking mass needs a correspondingly huge supply of blood flow to fuel it with the oxygen it burns through.

One thing you haven't thought about, though, is the effect of carrying so much muscle around. And in their haste to try to redirect your focus from playing with your junk to throwing weights around, the researchers didn't fully think through what a newfound furry mountain of a man you've become would experience when those heavy workouts make your heart pump.

You sweat. You sweat so much, you have to chug water like it's... well, water. You're basically in a constant state of overheating from the blood thundering through the thick veins that pulse just under the surface of your hairier skin. You sweat so much that you instantly break through any sort of antiperspirant, clinical or not, and drench any type of clothing you wear within minutes regardless of how thin or breathable it is.

That, of course, is combined with your body producing an overabundance of natural T, which ups your metabolism even more, makes you impatient and gruff, deepens your voice into a bassy rumble, and makes your full head of hair recede into a gleaming scalp practically overnight.

You'd be more concerned with all these side effects if you weren't in a state of near-perpetual arousal, though. You didn't fully understand that you were signing up for ice baths twice a day, a brand new wardrobe of short shorts, jockstraps, and breathable tanks that drape down past your nipples for maximum airflow, and for trading your hair for an excessive amount of fur... but you couldn't be happier with the outcome.

[raxero-malemetamorph]

WishApp

The heat of the late summer evening pressed down on Marcus like a heavy blanket. The air in his cramped apartment was still and humid. He lay across his bed, stripped down to nothing but a pair of faded yellow briefs. They were loose, standard cotton things, typical of the plain, unnoticeable life he led. Sweat pooled in the shallow hollows of his collarbone. He was scrawny, a constellation of sharp joints and pale skin, his arms thin rods holding his smartphone. He was just mindlessly scrolling through social media, a digital life that mirrored his empty social life. Girls didn't notice him, and he’d resigned himself to a life of digital voyeurism.

An ad for 'WishApp' flashed on the screen. His thumb hovered, then pressed. Why not? he thought, a flicker of curiosity momentarily cutting through the heat-induced lethargy. He downloaded it.

The interface was minimal, almost clinical. A simple text box appeared with a direct question: What is your desire?

Marcus let out a self-deprecating snort. He knew exactly what he didn’t have. Confidence. A presence. He stared at the box.

“What do I want?” he said to empty room. He was a skinny, shy straight guy. He wanted a relationship. He wanted to be able to just be with someone. And he wanted a body that meant something, a body that people would respect. He started typing rapidly. He wanted a relationship so he could have sex every time he wanted it. And also, be a proper big muscle guy. He hit send, not even noticing the tiny, fateful typo in the word ‘guy’.

We appreciate your request. Processing will take some time, the app replied.

He stared at the blank screen, expecting… something. More options? A confirmation code? Nothing. He sighed, disappointed. Thinking it was just a silly gimmick, and he closed the app. Tossing the phone away, Marcus rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and quickly drifted off to sleep. He had no idea that as soon as his consciousness faded, his body and mind would begin a profound, unstoppable transformation.

His dreams, once filled with vague images of unapproachable girls, began to change. Instead, his subconscious was invaded by images of beautiful, powerful, muscular men. The shapes were defined, the lines confident. He was surrounded by them, not as threatening figures, but as icons of adoration. The dreams felt different—heavier, thicker, filled with a desire he couldn't quite articulate.

The first physical changes were subtle. His skin tightened. A faint rasp of stubble began to push through on his previously smooth jaw. On his chest, where there had been only pale skin, fine, soft hair began to sprout. He writhed in his sleep, the clean sheets now sticking to a body that was growing in density, in volume.

The process accelerated. A deep, resonant hum seemed to vibration through his bones. The app’s 'processing' was intense. His skeletal structure didn't expand dramatically, but his muscle fibers hyper-growth. His deltoids broadened, becoming wide, powerful shelves. The biceps and triceps definition sharpened, his forearms hardening. His chest, once a flat expanse, became wide and massive, the new hair becoming dense and curly, spreading down his sternum. His core tightened into hard, visible blocks of muscle, a six-pack etching itself above a wider, stronger abdomen. Thick, natural hair now covered his chest, abs, and legs.

As the first faint hues of dawn began to bleed through the open window, painting the room in a warm light, the violent crescendo of the transformation finally reached its peak. The frantic shifting and tossing in the bed subsided into a heavy, rhythmic breathing. The skin-and-bones Marcus was completely gone.

In his place lay a magnificent specimen of pure, raw masculinity. His shoulders had expanded into a massive, heroic V-shape, his traps sloped steeply down into wide, boulder-like deltoids that seemed to strain against the very fabric of the mattress. His biceps and triceps muscles were now thick and full, carved with deep, branching veins that pulsed with a newfound, powerful circulation.

His chest had risen into two massive, heavy slabs of muscle, so broad and deep that they shook slightly with each deep breath he took. A thick, masculine carpet of dark, curly hair now completely blanketed his torso, running in a dense line down his defined, rock-hard abdominal wall and disappearing into his waistband.

The change was so absolute that his yellow briefs, which just hours before had hung loosely on his boyish hips, were now stretched to their absolute limit. The cotton fabric was pulled over his heavily thighs and wide hips. Up front, the pouch of the underwear was incredibly tight, straining against a noticeably larger, heavy bulge that pulsed with the intense morning heat. His legs had transformed into thick, powerful pillars,

The transformation was absolute, leaving no trace of the fragile youth who had fallen asleep the night before.

When he woke up, he sat up with a groan. The first rays of morning light illuminating the messy sheets. He didn't immediately notice his change. His mind was still tangled in the powerful, intimate images of his dream.

“Why do I have morning wood after this strange dream?” he muttered. The sound of his voice shocked him. It was a deep, gravelly baritone, completely unlike his usual tenor.

He tried to clear his throat, but the deep pitch remained. He finally looked down.

"What!" he roared, the deep voice echoing in the small room.

He ran for the mirror in his bathroom, his now powerful legs nearly knocking him off balance. He stared at his reflection, his eyes wide in absolute disbelief. The face staring back had sharp, chiseled features. A full, well-maintained beard, short-cropped and styled, covered his jaw, matching the neat, styled hair on his head. He looked like an immaculate, well-defined muscle bear. His eyes were wide, taking in the massive chest covered in hair, the sculpted abs, the thick arms, and the deep muscle strength. He ran his hand over his new body, his fingers pressing into hard muscles. He noticed his yellow briefs, now extremely tight, with a very prominent, powerful bulge. His initial panic began to morph into something else—a strange, thrilling sense of self-awareness.

Suddenly, he heard sounds from the kitchen. The sizzling of eggs, the clatter of a pan.

Marcus slowly pushed open the bathroom door and walked into the hallway. The kitchen door was slightly ajar. He peeked inside. Standing by the stove, his back mostly to Marcus, was another man. The man was massive, a fellow muscle bear with incredibly well-developed muscles. His deltoids were wide, and his biceps bulged as he expertly flipped an egg in a frying pan. His chest was covered in dense hair, matching the hair on his arms and legs. Marcus froze, the sheer, imposing presence of the other man dominating the space.

Marcus watched him. What a man, he thought. Wait, why am I thinking that? I’m not gay. Or am I? The realization of his typo on the app hit him simultaneously with the new, powerful feelings swirling in his core. The dreams had prepared him.

The other man turned around, a friendly expression on his face. He was bearded, with neat, light-colored hair, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of tight red briefs with a nice, round bulge.

"Good morning, sleepy head," the man said, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. "I just made breakfast. I hope you want some."

Marcus took a step forward, the unfamiliar sensations in his transformed body now commanding his actions. His desire for this stranger, this fellow icon of power and beauty, was primal.

"There is one thing I want," Marcus said, his deep voice thick with newfound intent.

He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. The man smiled as Marcus approached. Without a word, Marcus took the other man's body in his powerful hands and kissed him passionately. The man immediately dropped the spatula, his arms wrapping around Marcus's broad shoulders. They pulled each other tight, their muscular bodies pressing together, hair on hair, muscle on muscle, in a sudden, intense embrace.

"Let’s get back to bed…" Marcus whispered against his lips. The other man simply nodded and pulled him along.

As they left the kitchen, Marcus’s phone buzzed. A new notification appeared on the WishApp: Enjoy your wish!

[hunkpossession0]

I never thought I'd get this lucky. You see, I've always been a freak, lurking in the shadows of my own twisted desires, obsessing over bodies like his—tall, muscular, sculpted like a god from hours in the gym. And those fetishes? Oh, they've haunted me for years: the tight squeeze of spandex compression gear hugging every curve and bulge, making skin feel alive under that second-skin pressure. And feet—big, strong, veiny feet, the kind that could crush dreams or beg to be worshipped. But now? Now I'm in control. I possessed him, swapped right into this prime specimen while he was mid-workout, snapping that selfie on his phone. His name was Jake, some cocky fitness influencer with a body built for sin. But he's trapped now, a prisoner in his own mind, feeling every single thing I do to his—our—body. He can't move, can't speak, can't escape. He can only sense it all, helpless as I turn his temple into my playground. And fuck, does it feel good to be evil.

I flex my new legs—his legs—spreading them wide on that stability ball, just like in the mirror selfie I caught him taking. The black Nike compression tights cling to me like a lover's grip, squeezing my thighs, my calves, my ass so tight it's like they're vacuum-sealed. I can feel the fabric compressing every muscle fiber, the way it molds to the massive bulge between my legs, outlining my—his—thick cock and heavy balls in obscene detail. It's semi-hard already, throbbing against the spandex, the pressure building like a dam about to burst. Jake's screaming in there, I know it. He can feel the heat rising, the way I'm grinding his hips down onto the ball, letting the rubber press up against his taint through the thin layer. "Feel that, Jake?" I whisper to myself, my voice—his deep, rumbling baritone—echoing in the empty gym. "Your body's mine now. And I'm gonna make you cum in these tights until they're soaked."

I kick off the sneakers he had nearby, baring those big, perfect feet. Size 13, veiny arches curving like works of art, toes long and strong, soles rough from all those squats and runs. I plant them flat on the cool gym floor, spreading my toes wide, feeling the air kiss the sensitive skin. Jake's trapped consciousness squirms—I can sense his horror, his futile resistance as I curl those toes, imagining them wrapped around something filthy. I lift one foot, pressing it against the stability ball, rubbing the sole over the smooth surface, the friction sending shivers up my spine. His spine. "Oh yeah, big boy," I growl, my hand—his hand—sliding down to grip the bulge through the spandex. The compression fights back, squeezing my fingers around the hardening shaft, making it pulse harder. I stroke slowly, teasing, feeling the precum leak and spread, darkening the fabric. Jake feels it all—the humiliation, the unwanted arousal building because it's his nerves firing, his blood pumping. He's begging silently, but I just laugh, low and wicked.

I stand up, the tights pulling taut over my quads, compressing them into rock-hard pillars. I saunter to the mirror, phone in hand, snapping more selfies just to torment him. Look at us, Jake—your blond hair tousled, beard trimmed, those hazel eyes now gleaming with my malice. I flex my biceps under the long-sleeve compression top, the Nike logo stretching across my chest. The fabric hugs my pecs, nipples hardening into points that poke through, begging to be pinched. I do it, twisting hard, and Jake's pain-pleasure spikes through me like electricity. "You like that, don't you? Trapped little bitch, feeling your own body betray you." I drop down, assuming a squat position, feet planted wide, toes gripping the mat. The spandex strains over my ass, compressing the cheeks so tight I can feel every seam digging in. I bounce a little, imagining fucking something—someone—with this power, those big feet slamming down with each thrust.

But I'm not done. I sit back on the ball, legs splayed, and peel one leg of the tights up just enough to free a foot. I bring it to my face—his face—inhaling the musky scent of sweat and skin, then lick the sole from heel to toe, tongue tracing the veins. Salty, warm, divine. Jake's revulsion floods me, but so does the arousal—his body responding despite him, cock twitching wildly in the compression prison. I shove the toes into my mouth, sucking them like candy, biting the pads just hard enough to sting. "Mmm, your feet are fucking huge, Jake. Perfect for a freak like me." My free hand dives into the tights, wrapping around the thick shaft, jerking it roughly under the spandex. The fabric stretches with each pump, compressing the head, making it swell purple and desperate. Precum slicks everything, the wet sounds echoing as I edge us closer.

I can feel him breaking inside, his will crumbling as the orgasm builds. "You're gonna cum for me, trapped boy. Feel every spurt, every throb, knowing it's me using you." I speed up, foot still in my mouth, toes curling against my tongue. The compression tights amplify everything—the squeeze on my balls, the hug on my thighs, the way my big feet flex and arch in ecstasy. It hits like a freight train: ropes of cum erupting inside the spandex, soaking through, warm and sticky against the fabric. Jake feels it all—the release, the shame, the aftershocks rippling through his trapped soul. I collapse back, laughing breathlessly, one hand smearing the mess over the bulge, the other massaging those glorious feet.

And this is just the beginning. I'll wear these cum-soaked tights all day, parade your body around, tease more with those feet. You're mine forever, Jake. Feel it. Hate it. Crave it. I'm the evil freak in charge now.

[ogviceversa-deactivated20251109]

Too Bad For Chad

Poor Chad… when it came time to pick a partner in Chemistry, he made sure to pick the biggest nerd in the class. But no one could have predicted the accident that happened.

You see, right across the hall at his University—

The science department was working on an early experiment to transfer one’s thought to another human. Although all it took was for one of the professors to trip over a wire…

He bumped right into the machine which switched it to its max power and knocked the ray gun directly point at Chad and his lab partner Allen. What are the odds?!?

Well as one would imagine this could be a huge lawsuit, that is if Chad had anything proof of the incident.

You see Allen, is one smart cookie. He saw his opportunity of keeping Chad gorgeous body and took it.

That day, as Chad in Allen’s body began to scream and yell at everyone around him. Allen sat quietly observing the situation. And when asked about the incident by the university he denied everything.

He told them that he felt bad for ‘Allen’ that he seemed like he was going through a lot.

This all happened about a month ago, so how are they doing? Well let’s hear directly from them.

Allen:

Being lab partners with Chad was and is the best thing that ever happened to me. And I feel bad for him one bit!

I’ve dealt with meatheads like Chad my entire life, being pushed around and bullied. I’ve even envied and lusted after guys like him. But now I get to be him. Plus I still have my brains.

Since I’ve became Chad I’ve started to turn his GPA in the right direction, I’ve learned I’m now handsome enough to get away with just about anything, and I get to live out all of my horny fantasies.

With this body’s power and my brains I feel like I can do anything. Especially hook up with any guy on campus.

That’s the thing, all I have to do is turn on the charm with some handsome guy. I already know he’s into me before I make a move. I can tell when someone’s checking me out because I used to do the same thing.

I guess you could say I’m going through my hoe era right now. I’ve probably hooked up with half the guys on campus, including the “straight” ones.

But man, nothing beats a nice jerk session in this bod.

I’ll jerk off before going to sleep just gooning over my massive stinky feet.

I’ll beat one out in the shower right after a work out just hollering up a storm! And I don’t care who hears or sees me.

Like the other day, I was enjoying myself and my roommate popped in and couldn’t believe what he walked in on. I was licking every inch of these size 11 feet while pumping my 10” inch thick dick. But I didn’t stop, I just kept looking up at him and said, “enjoying the show?”

He tried to say something to me out of pocket but I made sure to put him in his place.

He’s now my personal toy, I let him worship my body when I get home. And he loves it!

At the end of the day, I’m still that nerdy gay guy deep down. But I have all of the looks and the power! 😈

[bargas]

# chests

[enhancedtranced]

defining one's self becomes yet another thing that contributes to that change (I am changing because I am defining myself) and the change ripples out with its own inertia. 

[lustforedays]

[fag691]

One of your flatmates had found out that you were a faggot a couple weeks ago. He promised to not tell the other two that he had caught you gooning your fag dick to pictures of the three of them under a couple conditions. This was the third night in a row you sat kneeling under his desk. He had ignored you pretty much since he opened his door to let you in, grumbling about you being three minutes late. After that you had just been expected to know what to do. It had been four hours now, and the lack of attention was beginning to bother you. The other nights he had played with you between games, stroking your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper, commenting on what a good fag you were and how good your mouth felt. And now just hours of silent treatment, all because of being three minutes late. Fuck this. You focus on sucking as hard as possible, moving faster. "You're distracting me fag," he growled. You ignore him and begin moving your tongue over his head as you continue to suck harder. "Stop. Fuck. You... Fuck!" The sound of his fist slamming into the desk makes you hesitate for a moment as you keep sucking harder and deeper. "I'm gonna... I can't focus. Fuck." You look up at him, watching as he tries to concentrate on his game. "FUCK. OH MY FUCKING... OH GOD... FUCK. I'M GONNA... FUCK... FUCK..." every curse encourages you as you feel him tense. He drops the controlled and both his hands grab your head, forcing you down. You try to resist as you gag on his cock but he's to strong. His cock twitches, seeming to push itself deeper down your throat, before thick spurts of cum begin to rush out. Your mouth is over flowing in seconds making you choke. You feel it dripping out of your mouth and down your chin, falling onto your legs and his lap. "Fuck." He groans, thrusting a couple times into your mouth, forcing his cum deeper down your throat, before pulling out. "What a fucking mess." He looks up at the screen "And you made me lose my fucking game. Is that what you wanted faggot? Why did you have to be such a brat." As you rest your face against his thigh, still riding the high of swallowing his cum, you notice the mess soaking through your boxers and jeans. His foot presses against your crotch "damn, fucking pathetic." You kiss his balls in response. "Good fag." A knock at the door makes you look up. "Come in." Before you can process what's happening the door opens, revealing your two other flatmates standing in the doorway. "We heard yelling, what... going on..." "This asshole decided to get bratty with me. It made me bust a load just when I was about to win." "Damn," "And look at this." He rubs his foot against the stains that soaked through your jeans "You like that, fucking like being a brat." You try to think of a response. "I guess we'll leave you to it then." "Yeah, have fun punishing the fag." "I know a guy who makes great custom chastity cages, he caged both his housemates last year. You want his number?" "Sounds great." You feel him press harder against your cock "I can feel it getting hard at the idea." The door closes. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't tell them you were a fag. Maybe if you hadn't been such a brat they wouldn't have come in." You feel your cock twitch "What's that, maybe you liked the idea of getting caught. Don't worry, I'm sure they'll enjoy using you just as much as I do faggot." You whimper. "Good faggot. I don't think you deserve my cock again, but you can hump the floor to entertain me. If you cum again I'll message that guy who makes cages. You're paying of course." The floor feels scratchy and uncomfortable against your knees as you return under his desk after taking your jeans and boxers off. The carpet feels even worse against your already overstimulated cock as you begin to furiously hump the floor, your skin feels raw and your cock head burns with pain after just a few seconds. The last thing he says to you before returning to his game is "I didn't realise a faggot could be that desperate to get caged. Pathetic."

[enhancedtranced]

There is a pure, uncomplicated joy in watching a "boing" happen. It is the ultimate celebration of elasticity—a sudden release of tension that transforms potential energy into kinetic fun. Boing. Boing.

Visually, it is deeply satisfying to watch a a cock snap back into shape, vibrating with leftover energy. Physically, you can almost feel that resonant, rhythmic bounce ...boing t. It triggers an instant, childlike sense of amusement. A good buck boing clears the mind, replaces complex thoughts with pure vibes, and reminds you how satisfying simple physical motion can be. Boing.... Boing... Boing

[littleeatbig]

[godisshook]

Big Red

Ethan had been my boyfriend for years, and it seemed as if I were locked in with him, even going as so far as to make life plans. We communicated and understood what each other wanted out of a relationship, we truly meshed. We had been friends since childhood, and when I came out to him, he did as well, and that was history. He would grow to become your classic student-athlete, playing every sport he could, and having tons of extracurriculars. I did band and orchestra, and adored science.

As we got to senior year of high school, I noticed something weird. Ethan would focus on the gym more and more, and he would comment on how "small" he was, comparing himself to everyone else. No matter how much I would reassure him, he always felt small, comparing himself to the biggest in the gym, who were usually grown men. My protests fell on deaf ears, however, and he became hell-bent on becoming bigger.

When we got into freshman year of college, he would be at his worst when it came to his perception of his body, and that came because of his new frat president, Jaime. He joined Greek life as he felt it was a way to build bonds. The president was the biggest guy in the frat, and would constantly show his dominance over Ethan, calling him a "bitchboy" and "Little Red." I tried to keep his mood up, but it was clear he was at a low.

We were set to go to a Christmas party held by his frat, and as I get dolled up, he comes to pick me up, feeling good and generally optimistic. When we get to the party, the pledges at the gate eye me up, and I glare at them back. As the night goes on, I feel the need to stave off sobriety, so I decided to go to get a white claw from the bar. The frat guy running the bar hands me a drink and points to my left, I immediately notice the president himself walking up to me, and telling me to "come upstairs."

The walk up two flights of stairs was definitely difficult, but as we make it up, I notice a couple of the other brothers and Ethan. The president takes off his shirt and looks over at Ethan. "We don't do hazing, but just know I can always take your bitch!" As he says this, he pulls my head down to his boxers and pulls them down, beckoning me to suck his cock. As I look at Ethan pleadingly, he stares straight at the president, with a look that could kill him dead. I was ashamed after that night, but Ethan continued to reassure me, and said, "It's just how the frat rolls."

I soon became responsible for building his diet, and because I was planning on becoming an Exercise Science major, he would jokingly call himself my "guinea pig" as I would test diets and exercise methods on him. He got bigger fast, almost too fast. He started lifting more and became obsessed with his body, we barely even talked as he would spend most of his days in the gym.

We got our own apartment off-campus, and I would still try to cook for him, and he would show his appreciation by fucking my brains out. Things were still great, though, and even as he spent most of his days in the gym, he would still make time for me.

Next year, he would become frat president, and Jaime would seemingly disappear, as he would stay a regular member. Ethan was the ultimate jock now, and he would use me whenever he wanted, calling me his "good boy."

One morning, I saw a new story post from Ethan's account. The guy in the background looks familiar, and as I search for his account, I realize it was the same guy at the party. I swipe up and ask, "Who's the guy taking ur pictures?" Ethan tells me, "I have this bitchboy taking my pictures just to be near my alpha pheromones." A realization hits me as I look closer at the photos, the guy taking the photos was none other than Jaime. Now, the guy who once towered over Ethan was taking his photos.

When I get back to our apartment that night, I see no other than Ethan in the living room, and he tells me to sit down. He explains that the sudden growth he achieved was because he took muscle from the president. As his alpha pheromones strengthened, he took more and more muscle from the frat members, until he became the biggest. Little Red was now Big Red, the most dominant guy in the frat, and the main jock of the school.

Now, he had beckoned me to his feet. I was to worship him now. He would lean back casually into the couch as I sucked on his cock slowly. Climbing up onto his cock filled me with joy, and as I bounce up and down on it, I would moan into the air, even as he would take his massive hands to block my mouth from moaning. He was laser-focused on fucking me, grunting, and pushing my body on his cock. His alpha pheromones flood my body, and I get even wetter.

He took pride in dominating me, and it felt as if he was letting out his rage at Jaime on me. I knew he wasn't really mad at me, but he certainly fucked like he was. His cock filled my whole completely, and he had to stuff it in as it was so massive. Cum filled my hole as he slammed my ass against his cock with his arms, and his dick would throb in my ass, getting cum deep in me.

I rolled over to the other side, and he hugs against me with just his boxers on. As I try to settle to sleep after he ravaged my hole, I feel a hard throb against my ass. Soon, his cock is peeking through his boxers, and by the time I look back, he's staring at me with hungry eyes, and I get wet once more. Looking at him, I can tell he's in a full rut, and he won't stop until he cums as much as it takes.

His cock slides in and out of me, and my body buckles against it. He puts my body into a full bear hug and rams his cock in and out of me. His hands go over my mouth once again, suppressing my moans. We fuck until cum is all over my body, and I lay near him, as he has finally ravaged me completely.

I dreamed of him, he was mine, and our memories together just kept expanding. Waking up in his bed, I get a familiar feeling, and look over to see Ethan gone. As I look around, I see him in the bathroom biting at my thong, "Nice thong, I see you went with green, a shame you’re not getting it back." I blush at the comment and use the comforter to cover myself as I get ready, next to Big Red himself.

[conswolcious]