Captions & Stories of Transformation

[devinpink]

Straight Stoner Bro

Mike has no idea his buddies are giving him pussy kush, a strain that turns you into an arrogant, douchey straight bro who's obsessed with pussy. Mike's already feeling the urge to flex and gloat about how "swole" he is, so it won't be long before he's starving for pussy. Pussy kush is also highly addictive. Mike's gay days are over, and that fact has his buddies beaming from ear to ear. Mike's going to be one of them now, a straight stoner bro for life!

[mulletpermsicantlookaway]

The Sons of the Cupbearers

Part 1: James and Steve Have an Adult Dilemma

This is a sequel to "The Last Cupbearer", itself a sequel going back to an original story written by jd07201990 and extended in a relay by tamed-jock and joshslater. The characters of James, Steve, Tyler, Brittney, Derek, and Becky (and James's mother) were created originally by the earlier writers. The other characters are my own invention.

For "The Last Cupbearer", click here: https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/778798866864717824/the-last-cupbearer-part-i-chase-tells-a-story

For the original story, click here: https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/781050906974289920/tamed-jock-jd07201990-there-was-something

This is a long story, so if you're looking for a short read, try some of my caption posts.

James and Steve had a problem. The problem was one George O’Connor II, their son, named after Steve’s father. Young George called Steve “Dad” and James “Pop”, and he had been the light of his fathers’ lives ever since they had taken him home. But George had become increasingly unhappy since becoming a teen-ager. Now that he was nearing the end of his freshman year in high school, the crisis was coming to a point. They hated to see him suffer, but his fathers were struggling to help.

James did not mind that their son carried Steve’s family name, not really. Steve’s family had both money and traditions. Having an heir was important to them. And George was Steve’s biological son, although James was equally his legal parent; Steve and James had gone through all the necessary steps to make sure of that.

Steve’s family’s money had made the expense of in vitro fertilization and surrogacy easy. That had been their gift, although Steve and James could easily have afforded the expense on their own. James had plenty of his own money. Steve and James had both been football stars in high school and in college. James had gone on to a lucrative career in the NFL afterward, while Steve had gone to work in the family business that he would someday inherit. James, the son of a widowed mother who had struggled to make ends meet after the early death of James’s father, knew well how lucky he was. He also knew that his football career would not last forever; eventually his body would no longer be able to take the punishment. He did not want to squander what fortune and his athletic skills had given him, so he spent sparingly and invested wisely. His mother now lived with her son and son-in-law in their luxurious home and helped to raise her grandson, of whom she was as fiercely proud as she was of her son and son-in-law.

Now retired from the NFL, James could afford to do what he wanted. He had taken a modestly paid position as a biology teacher and athletic coach at a small, prestigious (and expensive) private school that George now attended.

From his biological father, George had inherited his blond hair, handsome looks, and sharp mind. He also shared both his jock fathers’ love of sports, particularly football. Unfortunately, George had always been small for his age: short, slight, and wafer-thin. It was baffling to James that poor George had inherited none of Steve’s athletic gifts. George longed to play football. However, not only was he not built for football, he had no talent for it or any other sport. George was a want-to-be jock trapped in the body of an underdeveloped nerd. When he was younger, Steve and James had been able to comfort him with the idea that he would get bigger eventually. Now that his peers’ physical developments were leaving George farther and farther behind, George had grown increasingly frustrated.

To their credit, neither Steve nor James cared a whit whether George could throw a football or shoot a basket. They did not even care if he ran like a girl. No, Steve and James had no need for a jock son to relive their past triumphs. They loved George dearly just as he was. But no matter how hard George practiced, how many weights he tried to lift, or how many protein shakes he downed, he was still a skinny – and clumsy – nerd.

James and Steve were now concerned enough about George’s mind that they were actively researching mental health professionals. James could not understand where he had failed. He was a professional coach, after all. If anyone should have been able to help George, it was George’s “Pop”. James had already molded scores of young men and women with seemingly no more potential than George had into successful athletes. He was a popular teacher. The jocks liked him, naturally, because he was a fellow jock. But James was equally popular with non-jocks. He excelled at overcoming the resentment of the kids who played sports not because they wanted to, but because their parents wanted them to. Even the nerds, geeks, and other unathletic types felt they had a friend in him because he was a good biology teacher, respected smart kids, and tolerated no bullying from anyone, least of all from his prized football players. Under his leadership, even the most athletically inept had no dread of PE class. Many of them ended up enjoying PE almost as much as the jocks did. But despite his successes with students in general, James had so far been powerless to help the most important student in his life. He had not yet given up, but he was rapidly running out of ideas for George.

The grass is always greener, James supposed. George excelled at everything he wanted to do except the one thing he wanted to do the most: play football.

“Maybe,” James mused, “my whole approach has been wrong. I’ve been coming at this like a coach. Maybe I need to think like a biology teacher.” Scientifically, he knew that there was no guarantee of which traits George would have inherited from Steve and which he would have inherited from his mother. It was basic biology. And yet he was missing something: something obvious, something important. What was it?

James and Steve had maintained ties with many of their jock friends from high school. A lot of them had raised or were raising families of their own. James’s good friend Becky, for instance, was a year ahead of James and Steve in school and had been valedictorian of her class. To the endless frustration of the cheerleading squad, she had captured the heart (and the not-overly-bright head) of Derek, the captain of the varsity football team. Becky and Derek had four boys, all big jocks like their father. Their youngest was now midway through his college football career. Fortunately, all four of their boys had inherited a good portion of their mother’s brains in addition to their father’s brawn.

Their boys might even have inherited some of their brains from Derek. Derek was not valedictorian material, but he was no dummy; dating Becky had inspired Derek to exercise his brains almost as much as his muscles. By contrast, James’s best bro, Tyler, whom he had known since kindergarten, had been a more typical jock. As James remembered it, Tyler had excelled at nothing in school except sports. After wrestling and playing football in college, Tyler had married his high school sweetheart, Brittney, a sweet, attractive, air-headed cheerleader. Together, the happy couple had raised their own six-man football squad. Tyler and Brittney still lived in town, and their boys had all played for their parents’ old high school. The youngest, Colton, was George’s age – and George’s best friend.

Between them, then, Derek, Becky, Tyler, and Brittney had raised ten boys – and no girls. When it came to the rest of their high school friends, the pattern became less clear. Jeremy and Chase were raising a girl, but she was not their child. She was their niece, left orphaned after Jeremy’s brother and wife had died in a car accident some years ago. If James remembered correctly, the girl was a few years younger than George – and just as well off, James suspected.  Jeremy must have made a ton in the NBA. Jeremy and Chase had both played football with James and Steve in high school, but basketball was where Jeremy was a genius. College basketball scouts had practically salivated over the 7-foot-high school senior, and his college career had led him straight into the pros, where he started at a freakish seven feet four inches.

And while Jeremy was unfortunately dumb enough – and nice enough – that he could have fallen victim to all kinds of schemes to part him from his money, his husband Chase, a short, thickly-built college wrestling champion, had brilliantly managed Jeremy’s money and his career. James chuckled to himself thinking of the poor people who had had to negotiate with Chase. Likeable and easy-going, with a slow, goofy grin, Chase looked – and acted – like a big dumb jock and an easy mark. In fact, Chase was way too smart to let people know how smart he was. No one could take advantage of Jeremy while Chase watched over Jeremy’s best interests. Several teams’ owners were probably still trying to figure out how Chase had managed to screw them over on Jeremy’s contracts. Now that Jeremy had retired from basketball, Chase had gone back to his own favorite sport and was making a name for himself as a college wrestling coach. James and Steve suspected that Chase, like James, worked only because he wanted to. Jeremy made charitable appearances at things like basketball camps for disadvantaged children and otherwise was a stay-at-home uncle for his niece.

Ben and Devin, the other gay jock couple that James and Steve had stayed in touch with, had been happily running a bodybuilding gym in Chicago for many years. They had never had any children, but if James added George to his friends’ totals, that made three sets of parents with eleven boys between them, and all of them football jocks except for George, who wanted to be one. James the football coach could appreciate his friends’ good fortune, but James the biology teacher could not believe that all these jocks were mere coincidence. Sure, it was possible. Just not bloody likely. Why had he never thought about it before? Something was behind it. But what?

Just then, there was a knock on his office door. “Come in,” James said. The door opened and George walked in. James sighed. He could tell George was upset.

“You busy, Pop?” George asked.

“Not at all, Georgie. Sit down. What’s wrong?”

“Pop, honestly, can you quit calling me Georgie? I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I try. I really do, but to me you’ll always be my Georgie-Porgie.”

“Pop, seriously! I’m not in the mood, okay!”

“I’m sorry, George. You know I don’t do it to make fun of you. Your pop’s an old man. Old habits die hard. You’ll find that out yourself someday.”

“You’re not that old, Pop. You’re only, like, what, forty-five or something, right?”

“You make it sound so easy, big guy. Yeah, I’m only forty-five, but my body feels older, believe me. I’m paying the price for all those years playing football.”

“You don’t regret it, do you, Pop?”

“No. Not at all. I loved playing football. All I’m saying is that there are always consequences, whatever choices you make. Now out with it: what’s eating you? I could tell you were upset as soon as you walked in, and my calling you ‘Georgie’ had nothing to do with it. What’s really bothering you?”

It was George’s turn to sigh. “Chelsea,” he said at last. “Why do girls always go for big dumb brutes, Pop?” Tears started in George’s eyes. James got up, went over to George’s chair, and patted his son on the back.

“Oh, Georgie boy,” James said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t think girls themselves know why they do that. What happened?”

“I know Chelsea and I are just friends, but I, like, really like her, you know, and all she does is go on and on about hot she thinks Bryce is.”

Bryce was a junior on the varsity football team. James could see why the girls would drool over that one. Handsome, built – but not too much – and cocky as hell, Bryce rarely dated the same girl for long. James also suspected that Bryce’s sexual conquests weren’t limited to girls, but that was Bryce’s business, not his. In any case, Bryce was way out of the league of a freshman nerd girl like Chelsea. “George,” he said, “you don’t need to worry about Bryce. There’s no way someone like him is going to date a freshman. Your day will come. Lots of girls like you.”

“Yeah, Pop, they like me all right: as a friend. Or a brother. I might as well be gay.”

“But you’re not, and your dad and I can tell you that being gay just gives you a different set of problems. Look, I get it. It’s really hard when someone you like doesn’t see you as boyfriend material. I’m sorry. This is such a cliché, but you need to give it time. You’re just a freshman yourself. You’ve got a lot of growing to do, and so does she. You’ll know eventually whether you’ll be more than friends. A lot of things will change for you in the next couple of years.”

“When, Pop? When are things going to change for me? I could be a football star like Bryce. I know more about the game than that dumb SOB does. It’s so weird, Pop. I feel like a jock, you know, on the inside. And then I look in the mirror, and all I see is ‘nerd’. It’s not fair!”

George did start crying at that point. He tried to hide it at first. James let him have a good cry, then he said, “Come on, sport, stand up and give your pop a hug. You’re so young. Give it more time. You might be just on the verge of a growth spurt, you know.”

George stood up and held onto his pop until he was calmer. Then he said, “I’m the same age as Colton, Pop, but when people see us together, they think I’m his little brother.”

James said, “George, I know I’ve told you this before, but when boys hit puberty, they don’t all mature the same way or at the same time.”

“I know, Pop. And yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Why am I always the one that has to wait?” George sighed again. “Uncle Tyler and Aunt Brittney are sending Colton to some intensive football camp this summer, for nearly ten weeks. He wants me to go, too.”

“If you’re really interested, George, your dad and I can check this camp out. Colton’s kind of big for his age, you know.”

“Meaning I’m not. I know, Pop. Believe me, I know. But even Colt feels small compared to his older brothers and his dad. I think that’s why they’re sending him to that camp, you know, to beef him up a bit. But I don’t know what I’d do without Colt this summer. He’s the only real friend I’ve got. And he understands me. Just the other day, he said, ‘Hey, bro, don’t be down on yourself because people think you’re a nerd. They just don’t know any better. They only see what’s on the outside. I know you, and you’re like, a total jock, bro. I kid you not.’”

“That sounds like Colton, but he’s got a point, George. And you might want to take a look at our old high school yearbooks sometime. You’ll see that your dad and I weren’t always so big, either.”

Later that night, George was thumbing through his fathers’ high school yearbooks. “You know, Dad,” he said, “what Pop told me today was right. You two weren’t always such big guys. I mean, look at this picture of the chess team when you were sophomores. You look like a total nerd, Dad. Look at your hair! And here’s a picture of Pop and Uncle Tyler. Both of them look like total nerds, too.”

James and Steve looked at their pictures. “Just goes to show you,” said Steve, “that some guys hit their growth spurts late. I really don’t remember looking like that, but it was a long time ago. If you look in the yearbook from our junior year, I’m sure you’ll see us looking a lot bigger. I know I had a big growth spurt that year.”

James pulled out the yearbook from their junior year, and sure enough, there were pictures of Steve and James, as well as Tyler and their other friends on the football team, looking very different than the prior year. Steve was handsome, much taller, and had a solid athletic build. James and Tyler were heavily muscled and appeared to have gained a great deal of weight. Tyler was almost stocky. There was even another shot of Steve on the chess team, looking taller and more built than his football picture. James remembered that their chess team that year had really been just a bunch of jocks who liked playing chess. A lot of the chess players in the picture looked more like football players than chess nerds.

“Yeah,” James said, “this is how I remember your dad and Tyler when we were in high school.” But something was bothering him. Why weren’t there pictures of them and their friends playing football from their freshman or sophomore years? James remembered playing football with Tyler from their peewee days all the way through middle school, but there were no pictures to prove it. All that the yearbook pictures showed was that he and Tyler and Steve had undergone a dramatic physical transformation from skinny, nerdy-looking guys to buff jocks during or immediately before their junior year in high school.

Later that night, when both George and his grandmother had gone to bed, Steve and James looked over the information on the camp Colton was going to that summer. It billed itself as a kind of “boot camp” experience for football players at all levels. Drills, physical conditioning, diet, and weight training were all emphasized. More traditional camp activities such as swimming and hiking were featured as well. Then they noticed this curious statement: “Camp uniforms and practice clothing are provided for all campers throughout the length of their stay. Campers need no clothing other than what they are wearing on arrival. Because of the intensive training and diet, be aware that the clothing your camper wore when arriving may not fit by the end of his stay.

The campers in every picture seemed to be having a great time. They were also noticeably muscular and – unless wearing actual football gear – shirtless. Even in the shot of a meal in the dining hall, everyone was shirtless except the counselors. Their hair kept with the “boot camp” theme. Below a picture of incoming campers getting their hair buzzed off the caption read: “For the sake of hygiene and esprit de corps, campers’ hair is maintained in a military-style buzz cut during the length of their stay.” Steve and James looked at each other.

“This looks way intense, Jimbo,” said Steve, using the pet name for his husband that he had used since high school. “Does George seriously want to do this?”

“He wants to, Steve-o,” James said, responding in kind. “What I’m not so sure of is whether he wants it for himself or just because Colton is going. I don’t know that he’s ready for something like this. If it helps him, it’ll be worth it, but what if he can’t hack it? Won’t he end up feeling worse?”

“That’s what worries me, too,” Steve said. “Let’s think about it. We don’t have to give him an answer right away. This looks like a lot for even a jock like Colton to handle.”

“And yet they say that they take beginners who’ve never trained before. Look at this: ‘Even if your student is a hopeless nerd, we can make a jock out of him. We excel at motivation.’ That’s a pretty bold claim. These guys in the pictures all look as though they’re enjoying themselves.”

“As if they’re going to put pictures of unhappy kids in their advertising!” Steve snorted. “I’d love to get some more information from someone who’s gone there or sent his kids there. See what you can find out.”

The next day, James got a call at school. “Coach Evans?” the voice asked. The voice seemed vaguely familiar.

“Speaking,” James said. “What can I do for you?”

“This is Reg Sanders from your old high school. You remember me?”

“Coach Sanders? Yeah, I remember you. Been a while. A long while. Not to remind either of us how many years have gone by, but shouldn’t you be nearing retirement?”

Coach Sanders laughed. “I forgot how blunt you could be. Yeah, the upcoming school year will be my last. I was wondering if you’d autograph a game ball for our trophy case. Your friend Jeremy autographed a basketball for us, you know. It’s pretty amazing that we had two alums that went on to play professionally. We’d love to have a signed football from you.”

“You mean someone at Madison has actually heard of me?”

“Don’t be modest, Coach. James Evans is one of our most illustrious alumni.”

“Flattery from you, Coach? I’m shocked. But I’m game. You want me to drop by your office?”

“You know what? I don’t have a full load this year. I’m easing myself into retirement. Why don’t I drop by yours. Let me know when it would work for you.”

“I don’t have anything after school today, other than taking George home. And he’ll probably want to go over to Tyler’s. He’s over there all the time; he’s good friends with one of Tyler’s boys. I should be out of my last class and back to my office by 3:30.”

“George, that’s your son, right?”

“Yeah, mine and Steve’s. He’s a great kid.”

“I’d love to meet him. Chip off the old block?”

“Well, sort of,” James said. “You’ll see.”

When Coach Sanders reached James’s office, George was just arriving. “George, this is Coach Sanders, your dad’s old high school basketball coach. He just dropped by for me to autograph a football for Madison’s trophy case. If you don’t mind sticking around for a minute, I should be able to take you home in a few.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pop,” George said. “Brad has the car, and he and Colton are coming by to pick me up. Then I’m going to hang over at their place for a bit. Very nice to meet you, Coach Sanders.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, George. You look a lot like your dad.”

“Coach, you must know Colton and Brad. They go to Madison,” said James. “You must know all of Tyler and Brittney’s boys. George, when Colton and Brad get here, tell them to come by my office. I’m sure Coach Sanders would like to say hi.”

“Definitely,” said Coach Sanders.

George’s friend and his older brother appeared shortly after James had finished his autograph. Colton was an athletic-looking young man, well-built and tall for his age. George did look younger (and more obviously nerdy) standing next to him. While muscular, Colton had none of his father’s and brothers’ bulk. Brad, who was only a year older, looked beefy in comparison. Brad reminded James strongly of how Tyler had looked in high school. Colton had his father’s light brown hair, carelessly styled in shaggy waves that covered his ears and fell over his collar. He was dressed jock style in baggy basketball shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt that showed off his shoulder and arm muscles to advantage. Colton had an open, innocent look, the personality of a friendly dog, and about as much intelligence. “Hey, uh, Uncle James – I mean Mr. Evans,” he said, “have you and Uncle Steve, I’m sorry, Mr. O’Connor decided on letting George go to football camp this summer? It’d be so cool having a friend there. I don’t want to be gone all summer, but I guess my dad and big bros think I’m too much of a runt.”

“I’m sorry, Colton. He and I looked over the information last night, but we haven’t decided yet. Don’t worry; we’ll talk it over tonight. Colton, Brad, I assume you already know Mr. Sanders. He was the basketball coach at Madison when your dad and I were there.”

Coach Sanders got solid handshakes from both of Tyler’s boys. “Nice to see you, Coach,” said Colton. “If you don’t need us, I’d like Brad to get us home. My main dude here,” he said, indicating George, “helps me with my homework, and I’ve got a ton of it tonight. I don’t know what I’d do without him. I wish I could be smart like George, but he’s super great at, like, explaining stuff to dumb bros like me.”

“I’m sure George inherited that trait from his fathers,” Coach Sanders said.

“Colton, don’t think of yourself as dumb,” said James. “You’ve got different strengths. Schoolwork’s just not as easy for you as it is for George. You’re a good kid,” James continued, roughing up Colton’s shaggy hair. “And believe me, you’re no runt. But you’re making it sound as though George does your work for you, and I know he doesn’t.”

“Oh, I know, Uncle James, I mean, Mr. Evans!” Colton said seriously. James tried not to smile. “It’d be so much easier if he did! But he keeps, like, trying to get me to learn stuff. It’s SO hard! I just want to, like, get it over with as soon as I can, you know?”

“Okay,” said James unable to hold back a chuckle, “I get it. We’ll let you young men get out of here.”

To be continued: https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/809143146349035520/the-son-of-the-cupbearer

[jd07201990]

I am so, so thrilled to see the concept of The Cup kept alive 9 years after that tiny little caption sparked it! This is fantastic addition and WOW does it keep getting better with each chapter! I cannot tell you how happy this made me while doom-scrolling! Awesome work @mulletpermsicantlookaway !!

[devinpink]

Possessed by Dad

It felt strange to be in my son's body. At first, he was confused when I took control, but he quickly became furious when I told him my plans to change him. He begged me to reconsider, but I was determined not to have a son who would live a life I disapproved of. No way was I going to accept that. His body was all mine now!

Speaking of his body, he's tall, muscular, and handsome. I couldn’t let him waste all that masculinity on a life I found unacceptable. I needed to show him where he truly belonged.

I started by removing all his piercings and giving him a military-style haircut. I couldn't resist getting him inked with the same tattoos I have. I had always wanted us to have identical tattoos! Next came his wardrobe. Gone were the pastel crop tops and cut-off shorts. Instead, I replaced them with respectable black, white, and gray gym attire. Now that he looked like a man, it was time for him to act like one.

I decided that Claire, the attractive girl next door, would be the perfect match for Connor. I had always thought they would make a great couple. When I started flirting with her, she was initially shocked, but I convinced her that "my" coming out was just a phase. After our first date, we ended up having sex, and believe me, Connor was incredibly furious. He was filled with pain and agony as I took away his virginity. However, deep down, I could sense a transformation beginning to ignite within him.

Initially, it took me a moment to adjust to being intimate with Claire through Connor's body, but the experience was incredible. She's excellent with her tongue, and don't get me started on her perfect, tight pussy!

I realized my influence was growing when I sensed his rage beginning to simmer. I could feel his inner struggle: he was starting to enjoy the transformation, yet he was reluctant to accept it. I encouraged him, telling him it was okay to let go, to give in, and to embrace this new life I had made for him. I could feel his fear and anxiety as he hesitated. Eventually, I sensed him yielding to the change. That's when I decided to intensify the conversion. I watched countless straight porn videos and took every chance I got to be with Claire. I could sense his pleasure; he was starting to enjoy being with her. I proposed to Claire, and I felt his joy at the prospect. I was almost ready to let him go. I began having unprotected sex with Claire, hoping to get her pregnant. At this point, Connor and I were in sync. I could feel his desire to become a father. At that moment, I knew it was time to give Connor back control over his body.

I was initially apprehensive, but Connor seems to have embraced his new life. I thought he would resent me, but instead, he told me it was the best father-son bonding experience we've ever had. That night, hearing Connor and Claire have sex confirmed that his transformation had taken hold.

Some time has passed since then, and Connor and Claire are now expecting their fourth baby boy. My son is as straight as they come, and I couldn't be prouder. I just hope none of his sons turn out differently; otherwise, I'll have to take matters into my own hands again.

[devinpink]

I'm Curious...

If a conversion pill actually existed and could turn you 100% straight, would you take it? 😈

Yes.

No.

Voting ended onJan 31

[devinpink]

Making a Man Out of Him

A freshman in college, average, not interested in joining any clubs. Or at least, he was. The Frat Pres wasn't about to have the family name ruined by his little fag brother, so they took him in and fed him up. Putting him through grueling workouts. He bulked a big, brutish body, but still wasn't used to it. And now, they've just told him it's time he gets his first taste of pussy. Even though he isn't into it, his own body betrays him; the hormones running through him cause his shoulders to pull back, his chest to thrust out, and his cock to throb in his jockstrap. This is it, they're about to finish the job, make a man out of him. With that slightly worried look, he undoubtedly knows fucking pussy is gonna turn him straight.

[devinpink]

Feeling Fuzzy (2025 Version)

I can't believe how much I've changed since I got a therapist! I'm like a completely different person! No longer a scrawny gamer but a gym addicted mega jock! Funny, I never used to like working out before seeing him. He must have unlocked… something inside… of… fuck, there I go again, getting all fuzzy! It happens whenever I think of my coach… ugh, therapist! Weird, I keep accidentally calling him that. I guess he is like a coach? He's smart, motivating, and has a great body… muscly… manly… a manly, muscly body I aspire to have. I want to look just like him… be just like him. I want to. I need to. I… ugh, getting all… fuzzy. I need… I need… to work out! I need… to be bigger! I need… to be… just like coach! Yeah… just… like… coach.

[devinpink-deactivated20251009]

Pit, Boy!

I had my stepbrother trained well. All you gotta do is command, "Pit, Boy!" with a snap of the finger, and he shows it off like a good obedient mutt! The best part is that mindless expression, not changing even when I sniff and lick his stinky pits clean! He'd be so fucking pissed if he ever found out what I've done to him, especially since he's straight… for now.

[jd07201990]

Gotta love them str8 bro pits!!

[devonpink-og]

Welcome to the Frat, Bro!

Felix closed his locker, ready to hit the showers. He couldn't wait to thoroughly scrub the sweat and stink of his brutal workout off his chiseled body, especially his ripe pits. Nothing disgusted Felix more than the stench of body odor. Turning around, he was surprised to find someone's worn-out black cap on the locker room bench, considering it wasn't there a minute ago. Upon closer inspection, he discovered it was embroidered with an obnoxious green weed symbol, offending his highbrow taste. His nose was then abruptly assaulted by an overpowering scent of weed, cheap deodorant, and masculine musk, clearly coming from the hat. It unquestionably belonged to one of the gym's many frat bros, who utterly annoyed him.

The smell was vile but strangely gave his cock a pleasant twitch. Even though it was entirely unlike him, he was compelled by the unexpected twinge of sexual pleasure to pick it up and sniff it. The scent was revolting, yet at the same time, it made him feel surprisingly turned on. He couldn't help but drop his towel and start playing with his hardening cock, taking deep sniffs. He didn't understand why he enjoyed doing something so out of character; it was as if he was suddenly possessed.

"Fuck. This smells so fuckin good, bro." Felix moaned, muffled by the hat. He was shocked at how casually that came from his mouth. It was as if he abruptly lost all sense of self. He wanted to stop but couldn't. He needed more. "Fuck, bro." His brain felt fuzzy, taking in such an overpowering scent up close, but he couldn't stop. He desperately needed more. "Fuck yeah, bro!" His cock was hard as a rock, dripping pre like crazy. He stroked faster, slinging pre all over the floor. "Fuck. My donger's so fuckin hard, bro!" He couldn't believe how dumb he sounded, but it felt so fucking good. It got harder to think straight with each deep sniff, but it didn't stop him. Nothing could stop him. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro." He felt so brainless, unable to not talk like a stoned frat bro. He always hated weed and those who partook, but he could go for a fatty right now.

Suddenly, Felix heard the sound of low-pitched humming. It took a second in his slow state, but he eventually realized the sound was coming from the embroidered weed symbol on the cap. He squinted at it, utterly confused. "What the fuck, bro?" The weed symbol then started to glow bright green, transfixing him. He stood there slack-jawed, mindlessly staring into the radiant green glow as the low-pitched humming got louder. The sound was hypnotic, making him feel like whatever was left of his brain was melting into his balls. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro." The weed symbol then abruptly flashed into his eyes, blinding him. "Fuck!!!" He looked around, squinting in pain. Everything looked green, like his eyes had a heavy green filter over them. "What the fuck, bro?!" Then, instantly, the pain was replaced with pure euphoria. His head felt magnificently empty, and his balls felt full. He simply stood there smiling like an idiot, forming drool. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro."

Utterly mindless, Felix placed the douchey frat bro cap on his head, sealing his fate. The hat then suctioned itself to him, making him laugh like a dumbass. "Fuuuuuuckkkk yeaaaahhh, bro." It started to vibrate, making his whole body shake. His eyes rolled back in pleasure like he could cum any moment. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro." The vibrating kicked up in speed, making his throbbing cock twitch. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro!!" Instantly, his quivering cock shot out ropes of hot sticky cum all over the locker room floor, hands-free. "Fuuuuuuckkkk yeaaaahhh, bro!! Holy fuck!!"

There was a brief moment of silent afterglow, broken by the opening of the locker room door. Felix, now dumb as a brick, didn't think to quickly cover his large cum splodge on the floor and instead just stood there like a proud dumbass. One of the gym's many idiotic frat bros came around the corner of lockers, smiling at the sight of Felix's cap. "So that's where my hat wandered off to! It seems to have taken a liking to ya, bro!" He then looked down at all the cum on the floor, amazed. "Fuck, bro! Looks like my frats just found its newest member!" He walked up to Felix and took his cap back. He placed it on his head and threw his sweaty arm around Felix's shoulder, getting his sweaty pit reek all over him. "So, ya gonna shower before we go, bro?"

"You know the stink makes the man, bro!" Felix cockily grinned. He then flexed his arm and gave his ripe pit a deep sniff. "Fuuuuuuckkkk yeaaaahhh, bro!" The two chuckled like dumbasses and walked off, leaving the sticky remains of Felix's old self on the locker room floor.

[jd07201990]

And old classic from @manlysun !

[reformhim]

Becoming Rafael

A word of thanks to the incredibly talented @rowdy317 for the graphics to this story!

Part 1: A New Man Awaits

Jenna had always been proud of her body. She was the kind of woman who turned heads without trying—pale, flawless skin; soft, full breasts; long legs and a waist like a wasp. She lounged in her silk robe in front of the mirror, brushing her honey-blonde hair and admiring the curve of her collarbone.

It was day three of her solo retreat—an Airbnb tucked into the humid, jungled edges of southern Mexico. She was supposed to be relaxing, disconnecting, finding herself. But something odd had begun.

It started subtly: a warm flush across her thighs and shoulders the night before. She figured it was the sun. But by morning, her skin had deepened—not burned, but bronzed. Perfectly golden. It glowed. She stared at herself, running her fingertips down her forearm. “Did I… tan in my sleep?”

The glow wasn’t just her skin. Her body felt strange. Warm. Restless. Her thighs tingled, her core buzzed. She slipped off her robe, exposing her bare body—and frowned.

There was… hair. Coarse, dark hairs dusting her navel, her lower back, the tops of her feet. She touched them in disbelief. “What the hell?”

By noon, her legs looked like she hadn’t shaved in weeks. The hair grew thicker by the hour—up her thighs, under her arm pits, across her belly. She gasped when she saw it spidering across her chest. “Okay, okay, this is a dream or something,” she whispered, voice trembling. But it wasn't. It itched, pricked, smelled. She was producing a faint, warm musk, like a man after a workout. Her robe no longer felt right. Her panties dug painfully into her hips as they subtly thickened.

By nightfall, Jenna’s reflection was almost unrecognizable. Her jaw looked… stronger. Her cheekbones more angular. Her once-delicate arms had a new heaviness to them, a swell of muscle beneath soft skin.

She lay in bed, sleepless, her hands roaming over her changing body. Her breath quickened. Her nipples felt numb. Her groin pulsed strangely—like something new was stirring beneath the skin. She touched herself and moaned—but it wasn’t a soft, high moan. It was lower. Raw. Masculine.

Part 2: Waking Rafael

The next morning, Jenna awoke with a start. Her voice cracked as she yawned—and her Adam’s apple bobbed for the first time. She touched it with trembling fingers. “No way…” Her voice was rough, deeper. Still feminine, but slipping.

She threw off the sheets.

Her breasts were gone.

Well—mostly. The soft roundness had flattened, firmed into the beginning of pecs. She cupped them in disbelief. “Fuck.” Her chest was dusted in thick black hair now. Her shoulders broader. Her feet—she stared in horror—were visibly longer. Her toenails looked… masculine. Her thighs were heavier. Muscular.

Then she felt it—pressure between her legs. She clutched herself, gasping. Something had pushed forward—parting her folds, stretching into shape. It wasn’t quite a penis yet. But it was happening. Becoming.

She spent the day in isolation, pacing the tiled floor, staring at herself in the mirror as her body completed its shift. Each hour brought more change: deeper voice, stronger hands, thicker beard shadow crawling across her jawline. Her waist tapered into her hips. Her back grew broader. Her height increased inch by inch—until she loomed over the sink, her blonde hair darkening at the roots into thick, jet-black waves.

And then… it happened. She stood at the toilet, driven by a curious impulse. The pressure in her groin was unbearable. Her hands trembled as she pulled down the loose boxers she’d found among the old clothes in the house.

And there it was.

Long. Uncut. Veiny. Hanging heavy between her muscular thighs.

She moaned, trembling. “Oh my god…” Her voice was deep. Rich. Sensual. Her cock pulsed with pride. Her testicles sat low, full. She needed release.

But more than that—she needed to use it.

With a grin, Rafael—because she knew that’s who she was now—stood tall, gripped his cock, and let go. The sound of piss hitting porcelain was ecstasy. So direct. So liberating. So fucking manly.

Part 3: Embracing Him

By the third day, Rafael was fully formed.

His skin was golden brown, kissed by sun and heat. His body was a masculine dream—thick chest hair across hard pecs, a narrow waist, broad shoulders, strong calves, huge feet. His hands and arms were veined and powerful. His face, once porcelain and delicate, was now chiseled and rugged, with a jawline dusted in stubble, a bold nose, and full, dark eyebrows.

And his cock—thick, perfectly shaped, leaking with anticipation—was his pride. He stood in the mirror, stroking himself slowly, lovingly, moaning deeply at the sight of his own reflection.

“Fuck… I’m so hot,” he muttered, his deep accent surprising even himself.

He thought about sex now—constantly. The smell of his own musk turned him on. His voice turned him on. His power. He was the kind of man who made others weak. He had gone from a beauty to a beast—and he loved it.

The awkwardness of day one was long gone.

Now, he was addicted to being Rafael.

And he’d never go back.

[occamstfs]

Typecast Troubles

After turning down twink roles for too long, Henry needs work. Now. Offered one final lifeline in the role of Brutus, a stereotypical meathead, he has no choice to accept. Worry not, by the end of the audition he'll be more than muscular enough to embody the brute.

Here's an actor learning the hard way that some roles can change you whether you like it or not. Muscle growth and himbofication! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Henry desperately needed some work. For a few years now he had been consistently acing auditions and getting roles, never a lead but never out of work. After being typecast one too many times as bitchy twink and gay best friend he was ready for something else.

Unfortunately for the C-inching towards D-list star the industry did not care about his desire to move on. Never was he in a position safe enough to turn consistent work down. It has now been long enough since someone’s expressed any interest in having him on set that the theoretical actor has begun to search for other work.

Inches away from applying to some unenviable job out of showbiz, his phone rings. Seeing it’s his agent Jeremiah calling, Henry slams his laptop shut and bashes his phone into the side of his head from the excitement. This does not distract from his anxiety at the pile of bills lying in front of him nor the fingers crossed that a solution is on the line.

“Okay Henry, I know what you said a few months back. I fought you on it at the time, after all why shoot yourself in the foot when you’ve got a mouth to feed.”

Henry’s halfway to agreeing and begging his agent to send his resume to every shitty teen drama and made for TV movie out there before he hears Jeremiah continue, “But, I think this little gambit might have paid off. The studio apparently asked for you by name, my friend!  Of course there’s still auditions…”

His agent presumably continues, explaining details about the show and its production, benefits for taking the job, people who might be part of the audition process, but Henry doesn’t hear that. Despite the mail pile filled with aggressive red text still sitting in front of him, with the prospect of work on the horizon, Henry’s mind is preoccupied with what the role is. The fact that he was asked for my name obviously ringing alarm bells that he’ll be back in the circuit of playing teens at least a decade younger than himself, “so what is the part then exactly? Do you have the script?”

There’s a clear hesitation as if Jeremiah isn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, “Don’t you worry now Hen, as demanded it is not at all like your usual stuff. No screaming yaaas or clapping back to your fag hag. No, no nothing the studios y’know, want you to do.” The agent pauses and resets, putting on a saccharine tone as if he knows he’s about to pitch shit as gold.

“Okay! So all goes well, you’ll be going in for a series regular role as Brutus! He’s well- I’ll just read the casting call specs: Brutish and barely literate, this oaf has a heart of gold and mind like a sieve, loves hanging out with his bros-” With each word Henry’s face scrunches tighter. Eventually he has no recourse but to interrupt his agent.

“Jere? What the fuck is this? They asked for me, specifically to come in for this? Is this some kind of a joke?” There’s another pause before Jeremiah releases the telltale sigh of a man at the end of his rope, “Look, Hen. Kid. I get it, you got these big ideas about dream roles and artistic integrity, but you gotta understand. This is what you got, what we got. You know the agency’s breathing down my neck about cutting dead weight. I- Look, you don’t gotta take the gig if it’s no good, but if you’re not willing at least hear ‘em out. I mean shit kid, you’re the one who asked for new ground yeah?”

Were his piling bills and draining savings not enough of a wakeup call, Jeremiah’s words were. Maybe it’s ironic casting, or an animated project, Jere probably said as much earlier when Henry tuned him out. He doesn’t really have a choice. After a prolonged groan, Henry pinches the bridge of his nose and gives in, “Ugh fine- whatever. Just send me the details and I’ll, I’ll do my best.”

Ever the professional, and hearing his client despondent,  Jeremiah shifts gears yet again, “Aces kid. Gonna be a star yet, remember they wanted you. They need you not the other way around. Sent you the information, let me know how it goes. Phone’s always on me.”

The audition is early the next morning, earlier than the actor usually prefers to be awake. The call said something about Brutus being an early bird which, whatever. Henry’s well past the luxury of getting to do what he usually prefers. He briefly tossed over dressing up in character, though checking his wardrobe there is simply nothing that would fit the bill of Brutus.

Instead, he just cleans up as he always does and heads out the door. Wearing a button up and borrowed shoes, with each step closer to the studio he must continually remind himself that they asked for him specifically. For reasons he can’t understand. For reasons he will hopefully understand soon. His questions certainly aren’t answered when he arrives.

Before the actor even enters the lobby the receptionist rushes to greet him, “You must be Henry Harris! We’re so excited to have you in today!” Escorting him to the elevator, Henry is on edge at just how much the secretary seems to be fawning over him. In between what can only be deliberate attempts at massaging his egon Henry catches a few strange remarks, ‘can’t wait to see what you become’ ‘hope you brought a change of clothes.’

It is upon this bizarre encounter Henry reflects as he rides the slow elevator up to the casting office. There he almost recoils away from the door as he’s greeted by another secretary, almost identical to the first who treats him similarly bizarrely. Frequently eying up the actor like a slab of meat, tossing cryptic wanting flirtations as they go. “Here we are! Director Marlowe’s office. Hope you have a productive meeting in there Brutus!”

Henry sneers at the strange escort, “It’s Henry.” For the first time he notices the glassy, almost mechanical look in the eyes of the secretary. Despite being too chatty in their time together, at this his guide simply tilts his head with a grin before turning away and wandering back towards the elevator. Under his breath Henry complains, “Ugh, already ready to write this whole thing off.”

“Mr. Harris, Henry, do come in!” Henry flinches as he turns to find the bearded tank of a man behind him. Welcoming him into the office with an outstretched hand, Henry shifts into his poised polished self and offers his own dainty hand to shake. “You must be, Director Marlowe? Thank you so much for having me in today! I simply cannot wait to see what you have in mind for me. This Brutus character is absolutely the kind of role I’ve been waiting for.”

The director’s wide toothy smile only grows wider as his face betrays nothing besides a desire to get this process started, “Please come in, come in young man, have a seat.” The director leads Henry to a cozy chair opposite his desk before going to sit down himself, “Of course Henry, after all what actor wouldn’t be excited at the idea of a role made for them in mind. Though let’s cut to the chase. You must be wondering why in the world we came to you for this role hm? Quite the leap from twink-phenom to thoughtless gym rat is it not?”

Henry was on the backfoot from the first moment he saw the man, his dark eyes and darker, well-groomed beard were more than enough to set the actor on edge. Now that the man has directly addressed the one line of question that has been preoccupying his thoughts from the moment he heard the name Brutus, Henry is not sure what his next move is to be.

Easily catching the smallest break in the actor’s facade, the director pounces, “Worry not Mr. Harris! Whatever questions you might have will surely be answered by the time you leave today! For starters though, I hope you won’t mind signing a small NDA and consent form? We’re trying something experimental with this show and we can’t risk the exciting details getting out early. I’m sure you understand.” 

Only now does Henry notice the contract sitting in front of him on the desk. This isn’t his first rodeo though and he’s no fool, his eyes narrow at the document and he begins to open his mouth to assert that he’s not going to even humor signing a document without legal advice. Though just as soon as the thought appears he’s reminded how lacking he is in funds for a lawyer. His desperation and curiosity begin to mount his waning caution.

Marlowe raises his hands, feigning sympathy, “Oh of course, by all means if you want to go through the document with a fine toothed comb be my guest, we also have a legal team on site should you need clarity.” The director has a few more droll lines planned on how excited they would be to have Henry on board, perhaps even revealing some of his hand to further entice the actor. Though this is unnecessary as the actor’s apparently even more desperate than they had assumed. 

Biting his lip and already kicking himself for the foolhardy action, Henry Harris signs on the dotted line. Caught off guard, the director frowns in surprise, “Well! Just like that is it? I do believe we can start this process outright Henry.” He reaches and tidies up the paperwork before filing into his desk. Templing his fingers his wide smile returns as he looks down at the actor who nervously stares off into space. 

“The network wants to try something new. I’m sure you’re aware original content is suffering on streaming and the powers that be are tired of finding new creatives. My solution is simple: mold actors into characters so truthful to themselves that the creation of content is simply second nature. Does this make sense to you Henry?”

Having signed away at least some degree of autonomy, wholly unaware just how deep a commitment he just made, Henry decides to focus on the matter immediately at hand, sighing. “Sure yeah. Why me? This guy’s supposed to be a gym bro right? I mean, just look at me!” Motioning towards his pale, purposefully thin body Henry scoffs before looking at Marlowe. 

The director’s expression shifts severe, chiding. “Now Henry. This negative self-talk, don’t you think it’s unbecoming of Brutus?” Henry reflexively rolls his eyes and scoffs, as he is wont to do. Or no, he tries to roll his eyes and does not. He tries to scoff but instead he finds himself nodding, agreeing. Brutus wouldn’t talk about himself like that. 

He glares at the director as underneath thoughts of Brutus slowly flowing into his mind, he realizes something greater than himself has happened. Something sinister has begun to influence his thoughts and he must understand the rules before it is too late. Having spent a solid chunk of change at drama school he is well aware of Faustian bargains. The director simply grins, exposing too-white teeth, “You were saying Hentry?”

Henry’s mouth squirms as the name hits him like a punch. He knows it was deliberate, he knows it is not his name. He struggles to decide if he should dispute it but instead plays along, clinging to his years of experience at keeping up the act. “Sure. Mr. Marlowe, I am of course quite excited to see where the studio goes with this. As you know I will do my best to fill Brutus’ shoes with aplomb. I love a challenge, and playing this character will be more than interesting.”

Pleased, the director sees blood in the water, “Ah yes. His shoes you say, now what size shoes would those be.” Henry, Hentry? hesitates, struggling to play whatever sick game of 4d chess this is. His attention flicks down to his shoes and he discovers just how supernaturally outmatched he is. He knows he’s a size 8.5. He squeezed his feet into size 8 shoes he borrowed from his corporate friend forever ago for this audition, so it’s no wonder his feet feel a little squeezed.

This does not explain how his feet seem to be pushing against the shining leather with each passing second. Hentry’s hand flies to his mouth as he gasps at his feet bursting the seams of his friends shoes. His shock is displaced by grunting pain as toes burst from dress shocks and shoes he does not have the money to pay his friend back for are left tattered on the floor. He feels his soles stretch wider than the soles as his toes splay further, flexing from the pain as they surge onto the carpet of Marlowe’s office. 

Clinging to reality in the wake of this impossible happening, pushing down the visceral bizarre feeling of his feet growing, stretching against socks before bursting from their containment, Hentry finds himself hung up on how much those borrowed shoes cost. Somehow making him more anxious than the fact his body has changed beyond his control. Drawing his attention more than the feeling of thicker soles and a wider foot flexing out of his control. Then from some recess of his mind comes a ripcord. What’s the problem? Why was he wearing dress shoes anyway, surely he should be wearing his gym shoes like always.

To the delight of the director, Hentry’s eyes shift slightly duller as he stares blankly at his feet as shoes begin to reform. The actor doesn’t hear the sound of leather stretching to hide his newly massive feet, doesn’t see as the tanned leather shifts to cheapening fabric, new laces bursting forth and knotting a few times over as the cheap shoes still struggle to contain feet that absolutely do not wish to be contained.

“Much of a runner are you Hentry?” The actor slowly shakes his head, uncomfortable with the memories that begin to surge through it. Clenching his jaw he can’t prevent his mouth from answering, his voice sloppy and slow, “y-yeah. Sometimes I’ll jog, I think? Gotta get the blood pumping before an- umph!-” Whatever admission of gym time that was surely coming is cut off as Hentry forces his arm into his mouth, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from finishing the sentence. 

The wheels have been set in motion however as, sticking out from well-worn ratty gym shoes, slightly discolored socks begin to worm their way up his legs. Launching up past his smooth ankles they struggle to reach too high as new muscular legs begin to form. Eyes determinedly ahead at Marlowe can’t help but steal a glance downward as his calves begin to itch and burn. His mind races with new memories of running on treadmills and down streets as his legs surge larger. New muscle fibers and thick curls strands sprouting forth with every must-be artificial memory. 

They flex in place as Hentry sits there. His calves bulge larger with every faux flex, soon enough they’re the size of baseballs yearning to burst from his dress pants. There’s no risk of this however as his pants rapidly pull up into shorts, exposing the hairy calves to the cold air of this corporate studio. They are however not nearly fast enough on the draw to make it unscathed as thighs larger than his waist begin to bulge into existence.

The chair creaks under the weight of his legs alone as his pale thighs send a few tears into his new gym shorts. Marlowe’s eyebrows raise in shock as he seems almost impressed. Seeing this, Hentry is unsurprisingly of two minds, though for their varied reasons they both yearn to address their boss’ surprise. Jaw slightly sore from pain, he removes his arm and allows his mouth mobility once more. His original self thoroughly convinced that the director's simply so impressed at how well he’s fighting back, Hentry can’t help but try and get a dig in. “Betcha didn’t think I’d put up such a fight huh big guy?”

Perhaps a sign at just how much his mind has been eroded already, Hentry fails to see through the truly pathetic performance Marlowe gives, “My my Huntry! Indeed my terrible powers have been unable to change you at all! Perhaps it is the strength of your legs that allow you to stand so strong in the face of my wicked ways!” He does a twee flinch back, leaving one eye locked on the actor to see his reaction.

Arms crossed and smirking, Huntry’s eyes narrow as he finds himself agreeing with Marlowe, that is after the name of course. His name is, uhh. Doesn’t it start with a B? His eyebrows knit together as he skips past this and tries to find what else is bothering him from the director’s words, his legs are built? He works hard for them after all? Squirming in his chair he feels his powerful ass push him higher as he fights the urge to stretch. 

Failing to hold back, he grunts as he stretches taller. His dress shirt coming untucked from the elastic waistband of gym shorts they had no right of being tucked into to begin with. Midriff exposed it is clear that changes have not arbitrarily stopped at his lower body. Across his thin torso muscle has begun to pack on from nothing. His clumsy fingers scratch at his waist as a treasure trail begins to prickle up and decorate his new lowest rung of abs. 

Eyes closed, Huntry’s mind is totally distracted by the pleasure of his body burning as it grows. Forgetting himself and where he is, Huntry feels his cock pulse as the growing pains of his massive form feel decidedly pleasurable. Feeling the beginning of new muscle on his chest his tight lips twitch into a grin as nipples larger and more sensitive are dragged against his button up by a growing chest.

In no time at all, under the frequent barely quieted moans of delight, his sleeves are strained by biceps  that must have taken years to grow. His blue balls become much more of a problem as he feels the fabric begin to tear, thick arms wholly outsizing the tight sleeves by an order of magnitude. Raised in a flex his veiny biceps send tears down the length of his sleeves as they refuse to be held back. As they refuse to be the scrawny twigs that they may have once been.

Huntry bites his lips he feels pre begin to stain his briefs, no, his jock. His shaky hand begins to reach down, getting so far as gracing his new thick bush of pubes before his quest for relief is interrupted  by the director clearing his throat. “Mr. Buntry? If you recall, we were in the middle of your audition?”

Buntry snaps back to attention, gasping in shock in a deeper voice at having been in such a compromised position in the middle of something so significant. His slightly thicker brows, now jutting out ever so slightly over his eyes, furrow again as he realizes he isn’t embarrassed. Though- why should he be. He’s just a dude, sometimes you gotta adjust right? Yeah. A dumb smile plasters its way across his face as his jaw thickens, his pretty boy appeal falling to the wayside as he shifts to become not quite leading man material, but someone who could easily play a soldier, a goon, a brute. “Whaddya need from me next boss man?”

Shaking his head Marlowe is shocked at just how well this has gone, “I believe you were about to take off your shirt. This is after all quite a physique intensive role if you recall.” Buntry guffaws and scratches his chest, seemingly pulling his pecs larger with every pass of his clumsy, calloused fingers. “Why didn’t ya say so boss huhuh!” He goes to unbutton the shirt before stupidly groaning as he finds obviously he’s not wearing a button up. 

The sleeveless garment has turned into a tank, slightly stained around his pits from deodorant that was instantly rendered obsolete by his heady musk, joined by a dark sweaty patch in the center of his massive chest. Eyes caught up on the strained shirt, he gulps as he tries not to get distracted by his pecs overhanging, by the unmistakable hard nipples showing through the tight top. Barely hanging in there, he gets his fingers under the hem of the shirt hugging his abs and yanks. It gets stuck over his head and he laughs again, trapped in a prison of his own design, pits exposed to the open air as thick curls blossom further from his underarms.

Marlowe’s smile flickers as he wonders if this process was almost too effective. Lost in thought he watches as Buntry stands and struggles to escape, knocking over the chair behind him. Eventually the shirt tears before coming off and the brute guffaws once more, “Sorry boss! Guess I don know my own strength huhuh!” Free from the shirt however, he does what he has done in every audition he can recall and begins to pose. 

Sweat courses down from his hairy pits and shines across his burly chest as he flexes and awaits Marlowe’s feedback. The director’s hitherto constant smile flickers as he wonders how he’s going to be able to run a set with a man who can scarcely find two two brain cells to rub together. Lost in thought he loses track of his polished persona and thorough plan and speaks aimlessly, sniffing the air he complains, “Do you smell that?”

The jock pauses his performance and turns to look at his own pits, bending his thick neck down he laughs and confirms that it’s him. “Huhuh Sorry bro! Thought you wanted me to come au natruale y’know! You’re always saying you want the real Brutus! Well here he is huhuh! Hup!” Grunting he launches into a most muscular, crab pose. 

Marlowe’s eyes widen as the actor refers to himself as Brutus. Clicking his tongue, the director can’t help but feel this has gone off the rails somehow. The plan was to create a perfect combonation of actor and character, but clearly something has gone awry, whispering ‘god damnit’ under his breath, Marlowe forces a smile back on his face as he addresses the man who has yet to stop posing, flinging sweat across the room with every clearly practiced adjustment. “Bunt- er Brutus, yes? Would you mind taking a load off?” 

The new bodybuilder smirks and nods with a “Yuh! No problem boss huhuh!” The director feels a migraine coming on as he sees the behemoth crash to the floor as he sits in a chair that can absolutely not hold his weight. “Oh shit! Sorry Mr. Marlowe!” His mouth is hanging vacant as he struggles to lift his impossibly heavy form. Panting as he often is, when Brutus stands he opts to take a load off on the directors desk.

“Pardon my asking, Brutus. But you are an actor, are you not?” The massive man scratches his defined jaw as his face finishes its transformation into a face that could sell any schmuck some protein powder, “Yeah guess you could say so? I’m always puttin’ out content y’know? Definitely a star huhuh.” A gym influencer? That Marlowe could work with. He temples his hands as he schedules a date to potentially give this process another go. See if they can’t bring back some of Henry’s refinement. These things are complicated after all.

Just to test the waters before concluding this ‘audition,’ Marlowe opts to toss out one final question, “Does the name Henry mean anything to you Brutus?” 

In response the man lights up, “Yeah! Course it does boss! That’s my- uhhh?” Somehow the perpetually confused man looks even more confused for a moment, scratching his balls he holds back from smelling his hand in front of the director before continuing, “‘S that my last name boss? Do I got one of those?” Marlowe waves off the questions, foolish of him to try that. 

“Let’s get you to the locker room hm, Brutus? The young man outside should lead you to the setup we have on site.” Without a second thought Brutus sprints out the door, like a dog chasing a squirrel. He runs right past the secretary, apparently already knowing his way around. Marlowe’s phone vibrates as he sees a text that the next actor is apparently on the way up. Some angsty goth who the network has requested to audition for the role of the show’s rich prep.

Hearing heavy footsteps racing down the hallway he wonders if they are biting off more they can chew. No matter though, these are not his calls to make. Still he sighs to himself as he checks the notes for his upcoming meeting, another tall ask, “No rest for the wicked,” Marlowe complains as a pale frowning form is ushered out of the elevator. This time perhaps he’ll try and take it slower.

[devinpink-deactivated20251009]

Fucking With the Class Fag

The inferior gay twink has no idea his superior straight bullies have been messing with his playlist, secretly adding more and more conversion hypno tracks. His gay brain is completley fried, endlessly being filled with the sounds of hetero fucking and orasmic female moans—too dumb and zoned out to hear his bullies cackling like hyenas, especially at the pitched tent in his silky basketball shorts.

[jd07201990]

Short, sweet, hits the spot! Welcome back! =D

[the-masculine-alpha]

Father Son Turned Into Meatheads

#Hypnosis

John, a powerful executive in his late 40s, and his son, Alex, a young and ambitious executive in his early 20s, were the epitome of success. They were wealthy, well-respected, and had it all. However, their lives were about to take a drastic turn.

One day, while attending a high-profile business conference, they stumbled upon a mysterious and charismatic figure, known only as "The Hypnotist." With an air of confidence and an uncanny ability to read people, The Hypnotist began to weave a spell around John and Alex.

Under the guise of a motivational seminar, The Hypnotist began to hypnotize the audience, including John and Alex. His words were like a gentle breeze on a summer day, soothing and calming, yet laced with a subtle, insidious power.

As The Hypnotist spoke, John and Alex felt their minds begin to cloud, their thoughts growing foggy and disjointed. They tried to resist, but it was too late. The Hypnotist's words had already taken root, planting a seed of obsession deep within their minds

When the seminar ended, John and Alex felt... different. They couldn't quite put their finger on it, but something had changed. They looked at each other, and for a moment, they saw themselves in a new light.

The next morning, John woke up with an intense, burning desire to go to the gym. He couldn't explain why, but he felt an overwhelming urge to pump iron, to feel the rush of endorphins, and to push his body to its limits. He looked in the mirror, and for the first time, he saw a soft, flabby executive staring back at him.

Alex, too, had woken up with a similar obsession. He felt a sudden, all-consuming passion for weightlifting, and he couldn't wait to get to the gym and start pumping iron. As he looked at his reflection, he saw a scrawny, weak young man, and he knew he had to change.

Without a word, John and Alex began to transform their lives. They started hitting the gym every day, sometimes twice a day, pushing their bodies to the limit. They devoured protein shakes, creatine, and steroids, determined to build the perfect physiques.

As the days turned into weeks, John and Alex underwent a radical transformation. They grew bigger, stronger, and more muscular, their bodies sculpted from hours of intense weightlifting. They became obsessed with their reflections, spending hours admiring their muscles, flexing, and posing in front of the mirror.

Their business relationships began to suffer as they prioritized their gym sessions over meetings and conferences. Their friends and family grew concerned, but John and Alex couldn't stop. They were addicted to the rush of endorphins, the feeling of power and strength that came with each new muscle gain.

The Hypnotist watched from the shadows, a sly smile spreading across his face. He had created two muscle-obsessed gym addicts, and he knew that John and Alex would never be the same again.

As the months passed, John and Alex became local gym celebrities, known for their impressive physiques and their relentless dedication to weightlifting. They started competing in bodybuilding competitions, and their confidence soared as they stepped onto the stage, their muscles rippling beneath their skin.

But as they stood on stage, flexing and posing, they caught each other's eye, and for a moment, they saw beyond the muscle and the hype. They saw two men, once successful executives, now reduced to mere objects, obsessed with their own reflections, and controlled by a mysterious force that they couldn't understand.

And in that moment, they knew that they were trapped, forever bound to the gym, forever chasing the perfect physique, and forever under the control of The Hypnotist's insidious power.

[devinpink-deactivated20251009]

Fratification

Daniel was quiet, well-mannered, and stuck out like a sore thumb among his rowdy fraternity brothers. It's not like joining a frat was his decision; his father forced him to uphold family tradition. He tried adjusting, but it was impossible. The frat life just wasn't him, especially as the only gay guy. However, right before depledging, his fraternity brothers were able to successfully "change" his mind at the last second.

When the frat realized how hard it was for Daniel to adapt to their way of life, they knew he needed a little fine-tuning. After successfully pressuring a few beers into him, weakening his resistance, a few brothers used their infamous hypno skills on his newly mushed mind. They spent hours of what could have been spent on partying assimilating his mind and personality to theirs, so it totally was their good deed of the day! From that permanent conversion on, Daniel was interchangeable with any of the loud, cocky, and insanely wild frat bros.

The new and improved Daniel, "Danny-boy," is dumb as a rock, an aggressive pussyhound, and extremely obnoxious with his belches—proudly coining himself "the belch king!"

[coatlic]

haruto sakuraba

[jd07201990]

😵‍💫 There's definitely a story / caption in there somewhere!

I thought this was one of the (incredibly sexy) Kpop guys for a second!!! 😵

(edit edit: I do also like the big dude in the pics! I bet he throws his opponents over the ring! Also apparently they ARE (were) in fact a singer.. a JPop idol! 😵‍💫 🤤 )

[bigwishes]

Bulked Up

Ryan sat in the sauna listening to his stomach grumbling once again.

He had been cutting just under 2 months and it was starting to become unbearable, His abs were starting to look incredible and the veins on his arms made him look like a giant however his constant grumbling stomach made him question if he even wanted to stick to it.

Once again his stomach grumbled and Ryan moaned out of discomfort.

"fuck dude, I wish I could be full and not starving all the time, just get to fucking eat"

Ryan's could feel what he thought was a large bubble rising up in his gut, he didn't know what the sensation was but, he slowly stopped feeling like he was starving and started to feel more content.

---

Later that night Ryan was sitting on his bed, he expected to feel like he was starving to death by now but nothing, if anything he felt ever so slightly bloated, as if he ate too much for breakfast.

His body dysmorphia began to creep back in as he saw his abs starting to slack, looking like when they were only just starting to show at the start of his cut.

Ryan stood up and wandered over to the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to bed. He looked in the mirror noticing a few extra pounds and it was only confirmed as he pinched the side of his waste to see his finder tips fill with a grip of bulk season fat.

"err, i swear I was leaner by now"

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPP

A massive belch suddenly blasted out from Ryan's mouth.

---

The next morning Ryan woke up and slowly rolled out of bed, something was weird, he was feeling, stuffed, like he had eaten 3 family dinners to himself, but his mind quickly faded from those thoughts when he saw himself in the mirror.

His abs were almost entirely gone at this point, his gut and muscled were bulked up and he looked like he had taken a bear mode bulk too far for over a year.

"What the fuck, how come I'm getting bigger, Ive hardly eaten anything!" Ryan's gut let out a loud grumble and his grabbed it with both hands gritting his teeth. His stomach slowly started to expand and his barely visible abs completely disappeared under his muscle gut. His muscles slowly got bigger and bigger too, although covered in a slight layer of winter weight. a pound of muscle for half a pound of fat. Bigger and bigger, Ryan had no idea what was happening to him, he wanted it to stop, months of work to see his abs again vanished in an instant.

By the end of it, he was a giant beast, you still knew he was a bodybuilder but it looked like he was on the ass end of a 3 year bulk.

He felt so heavy, he was the biggest he had ever been. You could still see his powerful muscles and core underneath the bearish meat and the moment he flexed there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was a bodybuilder, even his abs powerfully poked out on the sides.

Ryan groaned as he rubbed his stomach, feeling totally stuffed. As he walked across the room to get a closer look his his new bigger body in the mirror he couldn't help but grab a protein bar from the box on top of his dresser and start eating it.

He flexed in the mirror, unable to even process he was chowing down on his 2nd protein bar within 50 seconds, all he really knew was he was big, and was so full he thought he'd never need to eat again.

As he swallowed another mouthful of double choc protein he felt it struggle to get to his stomach, like he was too full for anything.

"fuck, wish I could get rid of some of this pressure"

-uuuurrppp

Ryan chuckled, at the perfect timing of his words when he suddenly let out another ridiculous belch.

"uughh"

Ryan stumbled backwards sitting on his bed leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked up at the mirror and his mouth cocked open UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP!!!

a titanic belch echoed out of Ryan's mouth.

"fuck" he muttered as he mindlessly bit off another chunk of the chewy protein bar. Almost the instant he swallowed he let out another beast like burp.

---

Poor Ryan couldn't figure out the power his words had, he didn't know some guardian angle was following him granting his wishes to make his life easier and more enjoyable, but hopefully he works it out soon as the beast only had one wish left...

[devinpink-deactivated20251009]

"Get a piercing," they said. "It'd be cool," they said. I've always struggled with resisting peer pressure. Just my luck, getting pierced by a witch or whatever he was. I knew I saw his eyes glow purple when he pierced my sensitive nip, but none of my stupid friends would believe me! Fuck, my body won't stop growing. I can't believe how much muscle I've put on! A few minutes ago I was a scrawny twink and now I look like I could go head-to-head with the jocks on the football team! I'd probably win too, with these new massive biceps. My god, why does it have to feel so fucking good! I don't want to be a dumb jock, but losing my brain feels better than any orgasm!

[devinpink-deactivated20251009]

Over 1,000 notes???!!! Holy fucking shit! Thank you so much!!

[devinpink-deactivated20251009]

Live Life to the Gayest

"Is it really possible to change yourself?" That was the question on Will's mind while perusing the aisles of his town's new transformation shop. His heart raced with anticipation, running his curious fingers over the endless bottles of conversion potions. They had everything, from mere mental changes to all forms of physical transformation.

Finally, he came across the small glittery bottle he'd been looking for. "Live Life to the Gayest," the label read in fancy pink cursive. Nervous yet excited, he flipped the bottle over to read the back, "Designed for heterosexual men in need of a fabulous change! With just one fruity sip, your sexuality will instantly go from heterosexual to homosexual!"

Will never had much luck with women but always got hit on by men, they simply couldn't get enough of his cute nerdy awkwardness. Finally, after years of secretly longing to be one of the gays, he had the solution in his hands.

He immediately purchased it and downed it right there in the store. Only being a mental transformation, there was no need to take it in privacy. Just as the label suggested, the sexual transformation was instant. Within seconds, all desire for women was erased and replaced with attraction to only men—he was finally gay, gay gay.

He wanted, needed, cock—a man's hard gay cock. He desperately needed a hard gay cock up his tight virgin gay ass. So, he went out and got it, lots of it. He hooked up with all of his gay friends, including married couples, all of whom were more than happy to break in the former straight boy. Finally being able to enjoy and reciprocate gay desire was electrifying.

Shortly after satisfying his cock craving, he quit his job as a librarian's assistant and worked his way to become a super successful webcam model and escort.

All the attention has turned him into a complete slut, his holes getting wrecked practically every night. He hopes to find Mr. Right one day, wanting to settle down and start a family. But until then, he'll happily settle for just being a slut.