So I’ve been taking a tour of a dairy farm today and the tour guide’s been eyeing me weirdly. Even stranger, I still haven’t seen any cows. They keep promising me I’ll meet them soon… Any idea what’s up with that?
Such a precarious situation. Perhaps the crumpled papers you found can give you some context:
Entry 1
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here.
The last thing I remember is the end of the farm tour. The guide... that guy with the small, mean eyes... said I was special. He said I was going to get a "behind-the-scenes" look. Then, I think I blacked out. I woke up in this room and I've been here ever since... Banging on the walls for hours, screaming for someone to let me out, but the workers just walk past. There are two of them standing right outside the door right now, talking like nothings wrong. It's making me sick.
One of them finally brought me a bowl of this thick, white sludge. I didn’t want to drink it, but I’m so thirsty, and my throat feels like it’s full of sawdust. It tasted weird... bland and chalky.
Fuck.
Why am I here? What do they want? Why won't the talk to me? If I can just keep my head clear, maybe I can find a way to break the lock when they come back to feed me.
I have to stay focused. I can’t let them see how scared I actually am.
Entry 2
I didn’t sleep at all last night. Every time I started to drift off, I heard that low, rumbling sound from down the hall... like a hum, or maybe someone grunting. It didn't sound human. I kept pressing my back against the wall, trying to stay as far from the door as possible.
I... I thought I was having a heart attack today. My chest feels... weird. There's this dull, throbbing ache right under my skin. Maybe its from how I was laying? Anxiety? Fuck... it just feels so heavy and sore. My nipples too... they feel sensitive. Whenever my shirt rubs against them, it sends this sharp, stinging sensation through my whole torso. It doesn't hurt, but it's definitely noticeable. It’s probably just irritation from the fabric; I’m probably just making it a bigger deal than it is because I’m so stressed out.
The workers came by again this morning. They didn't say a word, just slid another bowl of that sludge through the slot. I really tried not to drink it, but I’m starving, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself. It went down so easily, almost like my body was craving it.
I checked the walls again. Still nothing. No windows, no cracks, no way to climb out. I tried to ask one of the workers what's going on, but he ignore me. Doesn't look like they'll be of any help.
Entry 3
My chest feels heavy. Really heavy. It’s not just a dull ache anymore... it’s like the muscle is actually pushing against the skin, stretching it tight. When I looked down this morning, it definitely looked swollen. Puffy and sore. I pressed on it to see and fuck it hurt so much I had to stop. Just this horrible achiness. I haven't touch it since.
I heard them talking today. The workers. They stopped right outside my room, acting like I wasn't even there.
"The new one is coming along fast," one of them said. "Look at the tissue development. He's going to be one of the best producers we've seen all season."
"Producer." That’s what they called me. What does that even mean? I wanted to scream at them, to ask what they were doing to me, but my voice just died in my throat. They didn't even acknowledge that I was listening; they just acted like I was some kind of animal they were grading.
I’m so scared. I keep trying to think clearly, trying to plan a way out, but my mind feels… fuzzy. Like I’m moving through water. I just want to go home. Please, I just want to wake up in my own bed.
Entry 4
They came in today. Three of them. I tried to back away, to scramble into the corner, but there’s nowhere to go in this steel box. They didn’t even argue. They just grabbed my clothes... my shirt, my pants... and tore them off like. I’ve been completely naked since. I’m trying to huddle up, knees to my chest, trying to cover myself with my arms, but my chest is so sensitive now that even the air in this room feels like it's stinging me. Every time I breathe, my nipples ache, like they're being pulled or pinched.
It’s humiliating. I just want to hide, but they keep staring.
Then, they brought the sludge. They didn't even put it in a bowl this time. One of them just threw it at me. It splashed all over my chest and arms. It’s so thick, so sticky. I was so disgusted at first, but I couldn't help it. I started licking it off my arm, and it… it tasted so good. I couldn't stop. I even licked it off the floor when it dripped down.
When I looked up, they were watching me, and they seemed so satisfied. Like I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I noticed my arms while I was licking the stuff off. There’s hair growing, thick and dark, more than there was a day ago. Why is this happening to me? My head feels so heavy, like I can’t quite think straight, but I keep wanting more of that drink. I hate it, but I’m so hungry.
Entry 5
There's something wrong with my body. I woke up this morning to find my chest wet. I thought maybe I had spilled some of that sludge in my sleep, but then I felt it. A slow, warm trickling down my chest. It was coming from my nipples. They were leaking, a thin, white fluid that was matting into all this new, dark hair that’s sprouted across my chest.
Before I could even wrap my head around it, they came. They just dragged me out of the room. I felt so small, so exposed, as they marched me down the hallway.
They strapped me into a machine. It had these cold, metal cups that suctioned right onto my chest. I tried to fight them, I really did, but my muscles felt sluggish, heavy, and weak. When the machine turned on, a pulse of electricity or suction... I don’t know what it was... shot through me.
It was an overwhelming, jolting kind of pleasure. I arched my back, my breath hitching as the machine squeezed and pulled at me, forcing the white fluid out. I felt helpless, exposed, and utterly humiliated, but I couldn't stop the moan that ripped out of my throat. I heard the workers talking, their voices echoing off the tile walls.
"Look at that output."
"The volume is already exceeding the previous batch. He’s a natural."
"Customers are gonna love his milk."
"See how his pecs are already hardening? He’s going to be a prime producer. Keep the vacuum pressure steady, we don't want to over-tax the tissue this early."
They talked about me like I was a piece of equipment being calibrated. I just hung there, my head lolling back, completely unable to do anything but take the sensation. When they finally detached the cups, I felt lighter, like the heavy pressure that had been building for days had been drained away. I felt… relieved.
But it didn't last. By the time they dragged me back to my room and tossed me inside, I could already feel the throb starting again. The pressure is coming back, deeper and faster than before. I’m scared. I’m so, so scared, but I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when they forced it out of me. What is happening to my head?
Entry 6
They moved me. I am in the big pen now. I thought it was just me, but... I was pushed into a giant room with the others.
God. God. What are they?
I am hiding in the corner. I don't want them to see me. I want to be small. But I am not small anymore. My chest is huge. It feels tight, stretched, like it’s going to pop. And the others… they are monsters. Men, but they aren't men. They're huge... hairy... They're just standing there, or crawling on the floor, drooling. One of them, he has these massive, sagging pecs, and he’s just… groping them. Pulling at them. Grunting.
I’m horrified. I tried to back away, but another one came over. He looked at me with these empty, glassy eyes. He reached out with thick, calloused fingers and poked at my chest. I screamed, but he just grunted and drooled on my shoulder. It was warm. Disgusting.
I heard the workers on the catwalk above.
"The herd is agitated," one says.
"They’re just getting used to the new producer," the other one laughs. "He looks frightened. Good. The adrenaline spike always makes the first week of production more potent."
"Look at him," they say, laughing. "He’s trying to stay human. It’s cute."
But I am a person. I am...
Why are they touching me? Why is it so hot in here? Why do I want to grunt back at them? My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly hold this pen. I need to get out. I need to get out now before I start acting like them. I don't want to be like them. I don't.
Entry 7
Everything feels so slow. My head... heavy. Like thick mud.
Machine again today. Dragged off. Everything is loud and bright. The workers are talking, talking, talking... words don't make sense. Sounds like noise. Just noise. They want the stuff. They always want the stuff.
The machine was hard. Fast. Pulled so much out. I felt... empty. But the good kind of empty. Back in the pen, it started again. Fast. Leaking down my chest. It’s sticky. Everything is sticky. My chest, my cock... So big...
Another one came over. A big one. He saw me leaking. He didn't look at my face, just my chest. He started pressing. Hard. Hands all over, kneading, squeezing. It hurt a little, but... it felt right. Helped me get more out.
I started helping him, too. Pressing into him. His chest is so big, so full. So hairy. His nipples taste... so good... We just sat there. Grunting.
Why am I doing this? I don't know. The pressure in my chest is better now. Just want to sit. Feel pecs... Just want to be close...
Entry 8
head hurt so bad. to much thort. chest is so big now. hevy. look down and just see pecs. hair everywhere thick and black.
the sweet drink come today. i lick it from floor. want more. allways want more.
the other ones touch me. grabed my meat. squeezeing. i leak and leak. i grunt at them. they grunt back. we just stand close. warm. it feel gud.
workers on wall laugh. make noised. i dont look up. dont care.
chest full again already. aching. hot. just want the hands to squeeze. want it out...
Entry 9
the big ones here now. hands all over... squeeze hard. pullin at my meat. i pull back. gruntin. mouth open. droolin on the floor.
big cock... he pushes inside me. squeeze my pecs. so much pleasure. so much ache. push. squeeze. empty out.
don't want to think. head quiet. just heat. just pressure. just hunger.
big hands. wet skin. thick heavy pecs. need to be squeezed.
need to leak.
more.
more.
more.
....................
Your hands tremble so violently that the paper crinkles, your fingers slick with the same sweet residue that still clings to your lips. You barely register the cramped, steel-walled pen they just tossed you into. Too busy trying to make sense of what you just read. Too distracted by the throbbing, achy pressure of your increasingly heavier pecs, where thick, dark hairs are already beginning to sprout and itch against your sensitive, stretching skin.
You glance back down at the scrawled note in your grip, but you're already having a hard time rereading the words.
A grunt breaks you out of your increasingly slower train of thought, and you look up to see one of them. His massive, hair-matted, leaking pecs blocking your view. His chest heaving with each guttural breath. His glassy eyes lock onto your chest. And as his calloused hand reaches out for your swollen, aching pecs, you don't recoil. You can't.
The room quickly fills with your own mindless, gutteral grunts.
Scott was your average American. He wasn’t too smart either. So when his roommate put on a Spanish film with subtitles, Scott rolled his eyes and immediately turned it off. Scott took the disc out of the DVD player and chucked it out the widow. But what Scott didn’t know was, the DVD was actually cursed.
Over the next few weeks, Scott experienced some changes. His white complexion slowly became darker. His skin beginning to look more... tan. More hispanic. But Scott was oblivious to the change. He just thought he was getting a good tan. He had been playing football with his bros in the sun after all.
Scott’s body had gotten bigger too. His muscles slowly grew over the weeks. The growth was noticeable. Scott’s lean body had gotten bulkier. His lean pecs jutted out becoming big and round. His biceps became as big as a body builder’s. But Scott wasn’t going to complain. He was starting to get bigger than all his bros. Anyway, it’s probably cause he’s been spending so much time in the gym, right?
Scott’s body hair progressively got darker and thicker over the weeks. He would try and shave it off, but his body hair would just grow back throughout the day. He would shave his face in the morning only to have a full thick beard in the evening. His once hairless chest had grown a thick pelt. His shaved armpits now covered in hair.
Scott dismissed it. Maybe it was just all that testosterone in his body. Scott only started to worry when strangers began to assume he was hispanic. Store clerks would talk to him in Spanish. The girls he went on dates would often ask when he moved to America. Scott was always offended by these assumptions. He was as American as they come, right? How could anyone mistake him for some hispanic?
On the third week of the curse, everything changed. Scott woke up unable to speak a word of English. He screamed and shouted in his new Spanish accent. His mind began to be erased. It emptied and emptied until he couldn’t even remember his own name. Scott stood mindlessly in his room. His new big hulking hairy body stagnant as he stared vacantly at the empty wall. His face relaxed. His jaw hanging open. Suddenly, Scott began moaning. His mind being filled with memories. New memories. Memories of a life in Mexico. All memories of every having ever lived in America were wiped from his mind. All he remembered is that his name was Juan. He was born in Mexico City. He’s always had dreams of moving to America. But he just can’t bring himself to do it. He loves Mexico too much. Juan’s surroundings shifted into a cheap dirty apartment in Mexico City. His wardrobe began to change, filling itself with Mexican attire.
Juan was ready to begin his life. He confidently strode out of his bedroom. He looked at the TV to see that a Spanish film was playing. The same Spanish film from his past life. Juan grinned.
“¡Mi película favorita!” Juan laughed.
Scott definitely won’t be needing any Spanish subtitles anymore.
me as a teenager: man it sucks to have no privacy or autonomy but i guess its for a good reason. when i turn 18 i will realise how young i was and understand why they did all that.
me as an adult: teenagers are an oppressed class, their abuse is normalised and systemic and they need to start killing people
You were going about your day as you felt pain in every part of your body. The painful spasms took over you in an instant and you fell on your back. You'd heard of regular guys exploding into muscle beasts incapable of thinking of anything besides gym and sex, but you never thought it was real, nevermind that you'd be the recipient of such a cruel fate.
You felt every muscle fiber in your body tearing apart and reforming, each time a little bit larger, stronger. The searing sensation overtook your senses, it was like a thousand workouts hit you in an instant. Your body was being burned away and replaced by that of a gym-obsessed freak. REALLY obsessed with the gym. You groaned loudly as your pecs blossomed into prominent fleshy pillows. Your legs spasmed into thick muscular tree trunks, your arms exploded in size, your abdomen pulsated before receding into perfectly cut abs with cum gutters to match. Every moment that passed, muscular fibers twisted and knotted, coalescing into thick slabs of meat.
From the moment it started, the only thing your brain could compute was the excruciating transformation you were going through. The intense process produced so much heat that your sweat evaporated into steam right away. The longer the transformation went on, the more you realized that the fuel that powered this sudden growth was none other than your brains. To your horror, you could feel your neurons, your intelligence, dissolving away, fueling the violent change.
MEAT
FUCK
DUMB
PECS
MUSCLE
MEAT
BRO
These thoughts consumed your brain. As your body swelled, your mind shrunk around these most basic thoughts. The physical metamorphosis slowed down, but you were powerless to resist against the dimming of your intellect. You were unable to form new thoughts beyond the most basic functions of human cognition.
You grunted like an animal, like a bull. You felt yourself slipping, you didn't want this. You didn't want to be a braindead muscle freak. a muscle bull, a meat monster. Fuck ... these thoughts ....
MEAT
SWEAT
MUSCLE
BULL
GRUNT
PIG
FUCK
FREAK
Your body betrayed you. You flexed, unintentionally. That's what you were now, a muscle bull, that's what you'd become. Fuck meat. Just a big dumb slab of steaming muscle. You gave in to your instincts. Just a bull, a muscle pig, a monster consumed by growth. Your facial features hardened, jaw widening, brows protruding, giving you a primal appearance. Your hair follicles vaporized, as if fueled by massive amounts of steroids.
You grunted, thoughts extinguished. You rose to your feet ... not as a man, not anymore. You grinned like the big dumdum that you were. For the first time in your life, everything was clear. You were something primordial, a beast controlled by the urge to grow and spread you seed. A monster representing the future of men everywhere : powerful, strong, dumb
Your turn will come soon enough bro. Don't resist, it's not like you have a choice anyway. Give in
Agent Fisher reports on his roommate's transformative descent into being a father figure straight from a 90's sitcom as he tries to pretend he's not into it.
Dad and Bear Tf's are always some of my favorites to write and this one is no different! Took the flavor but not the style of a certain foundation! Enjoy this daddification from the POV of a desperate agent who has failed his station and by the end suffers the same transformative consequences. -Occam
This is a report from Special Agent Fisher on a previously unidentified anomalous artifact. Delivered to my apartment while I was away on an expedition, a VHS tape labeled Dad’s Den was opened and watched by my friend and roommate who, unaware he should resist, succumbed to its effects and in time was replaced by what can only be described as a stereotypical dad. As if he were straight out of the video tape he couldn’t help but watch.
Given I was on foundation business during the encounter and have already suffered through the loss of my dear friend Clayton, I would request leniency. I submit this thorough report of the VHS tapes effects as evidence and when guaranteed both my personal safety and continued employment I will deliver both the video footage and the anomalous artifact in question.
I understand how this will be perceived but know I only hold the foundation’s best interests at heart. This is simply not my fault and I refuse to be demoted due to a situation out of my hands that I have already suffered beyond measure from. If anything I deserve a promotion for resisting the tape’s allure and effects, though at present I simply want guaranteed and continued safety for Clayton and myself.
Please read the following account of what I have dubbed AA-0646: ‘The Fatherly Film’ before coming to any decisions.
Consummate professional that I am, my installed cameras were able to capture Clayton’s entire encounter with the anomaly. Delivered in a box addressed to my true name, Clayton was none the wiser. Under the impression that I worked for the Parks service, my roommate was entirely unguarded when he decided to just open the box. Perhaps this is a failing of your protocol regarding cohabitants but I digress.
As soon as the package was in his hands there began an audio static in the recording. Isolating it I am able to confirm it was the sound of a laugh track, like you might find on the very same schlocky sitcom that is now in my friend’s hands. At this unfortunate point it is my professional opinion that it is already too late for my poor roommate. Proof of this is the dusty VHS player that appeared under our tv when he tore open the box.
When he moves to the television Clayton inserts the tape into a VHS player we didn’t have moments ago before flopping onto the couch. Then the true effects begin as Clayton is completely lost to the screen. Hardly moving for hours as the tape plays far longer than any cassette could possibly last, Clayton doesn’t blink as dated jokes and shoddy sets beam into his mind with no end.
Previously my roommate could hardly go half an hour without pulling out his phone to aimlessly scroll. When I’d at last convinced him to watch Fellowship of the Ring with me I had to constantly get on his ass for getting distracted by notifications and summarily doomscrolling. I’d be annoyed at him suddenly finding attention span to spare for this drivel were I not distraught by what happens in the following days.
After about six hours of this, Clayton finally starts to doze off. Eyes that were locked on the screen despite their ever-present glaze flutter shut before closing altogether. At the very same time the screen turns off. Overnight little of note occurs. Head lolling back against the couch, the sound of his heavy breathing can barely be caught on my cameras.
Every so often his mouth hanging open twitches into a grin as hands resting on his stomach scratch aimlessly. It feels safe to say this is when true biological changes begin. Never one to grow stubble by the time daylight arrives there is some darker fuzz surrounding his mouth and scattered across his jawline.
When he at last awakens, decidedly earlier than I’ve seen the perpetual night owl ever rise on his own, his arms twitch and rise as his mouth opens to audibly yawn. The quiet cracking sounds of his arms stretching as some heft is revealed on his waistline is covered by the shockingly loud sound of him yawning.
At this point I had hoped he was free from the tape as when he stands there’s a clear look of confusion on his face. Clayton clearly recognized something wrong was happening. If only I was there. Wandering into the kitchen, Clayton appears to grab a pizza from the fridge and return to the living room. There he removes his shirt and tosses it onto the floor before doing some very noisy stretching.
Body bared it’s suddenly obvious that even without actively watching the tape that he has continued to change. Clayton was always complaining about his inability to grow any body hair, whining that it makes him feel like less of a man. Clearly this desire is being preyed upon as a treasure trail suddenly begins to crawl up his already slightly heavier stomach.
Even more apparent is the generous spread that has begun to prickle across his thin chest as it too starts to grow, having been freed from the shirt he slept in. Returning to the couch and sinking back into the same position he slept in, the new weight on his upper body settles in a manner I personally would describe as more attractive heavier.
Thoughtlessly he reaches for the remote and puts his new favorite show back on. Entranced once more, now that his whole chest is out it’s clear that Clayton is visibly growing. Frequently his fingers scratch his chest as each twitchy grin from what he’s watching shoots a few new strands of hair to scatter across his developing pecs.
So too does a small but wide treasure trail begin inching upwards, onto his belly as the distracted man just eats and laughs at jokes he must have heard half a dozen times by now. A few times he raises an arm behind his head to reveal the most drastic hair growth thus far.
The action takes a tad more effort than I’d expect, surely due to the new mass on his bulking arms, or perhaps he’s already growing less flexible. At any rate, there is an unmistakable bush of hair hiding under his arms. Slightly shiny on the film, the strands look to almost be as long as those on his head. It’s quite, well, distracting.
While I remain physically and mentally unaffected from my briefest of encounters with Clayton, something about his scent has left my mind foggy if I focus too much on his pheromones, if that is the correct word. It was quite overwhelming, I- let’s just say it’s fortunate that such an esteemed employee encountered this brutish bear of a dad, this anomaly that is. Keep this in mind as you continue to read, I’m a perfect employee. You can’t just replace me.
Moving on, on day two his changes accelerate. Though it took all night for his first few patches of body hair to bloom, now that he’s mindlessly watching Dad’s Den again they are flourishing. In one episode his chest is wholly overtaken by thick chest hair. By the next it connects with his paltry treasure trail before that too expands to cover his still bulking stomach.
And as he continues changing he laughs all the more. Wide smile on his face as his lips are tickled with stubble, Clayton rubs his stomach as each guffaw is louder than the last. Ruffling the dense coverage on his stomach, his hands can’t help but reach under his waistline for a scratch or two.
Doing so a distinctly different glazed look overtakes his eyes. Still smiling blankly, Clayton’s head lolls back as he kicks off his pants to expose legs that have grown their own garden of fur as they’ve been hidden from sight. When at last the jeans fall to the floor his feet bounce back a few sizes larger as the coat atop them is just as thick as that on his calves and thighs.
Hand still seemingly magnetized to his tangled bush and apparently needy cock, the expression on his face shifts to one of desperation. Leaning back so far I can barely make out him biting his lips as some spit trickles into his beard. Core twitching as the bulge in his pants grows heavier, and heavier I-
Apologies. Again.
After Clayton tuckers himself out, he falls asleep in exactly the same position he has still yet to move from. One sullied hand stuffed in his pants, the other behind his head allowing his sweaty pit to aerate our living room. It’s unclear what precisely launches the next wave of changes but it is at this point that our home begins to change.
Something of a neat-freak before he began watching, it’s increasingly clear his cleanliness will not survive the change. Morphing into a man almost proud of his filth, the pizza box falls to the floor next to a hamper of clothes that have clearly already been worn more than once. His cozy antique love seat gives way to a gaudy la-z boy recliner as our once quaint living room shifts irreparably into a dad cave.
That night, in between snores that rise to a degree loud enough to almost shake my camera, Clayton also begins murmuring in his sleep. It quickly becomes clear to me that he’s telling jokes. Repeating lines from the show. I don’t make an effort to listen to them of course, they’re always almost annoyingly bad. Here’s a recording of him for an example:
Ah well that’s a pretty good one no? Suppose I could include a few more. If you’re interested? Men-toes. Heh. I uhm- Back to it, of course.
In sleep he continues laughing at each and every one of these jokes he dreams up or retrieves from Dad’s Den. And with each reverberation of struggled snores and raucous guffaws he bloats all the larger, and ages all the sightlier. By midnight his coat has grown enough to cover him like a proper pelt.
The sweaty bush in his pits connects with the blanket of even coverage painted from his neckline to his pubes. Perpetual stubble that now decorates his face is slightly speckled white as it reaches upward to connect with messy hair that is beginning to thin. Meaty muscle continues to pack on just as fast as the mouth-watering heft growing on his gut.
The next day he awakes before sunrise. Launching into a massive stretch and not yawning so much as yelling, his back cracks wider as he moans at the feeling of relief. Scratching his heavier ass to reveal a few lengthy curls decorating his backside, Clayton meanders into the kitchen. His footsteps fall like flippers as our apartment’s new wood panelling creaks under his weight.
Jokes about rising and grinding and what a brew-tiful morning it is resound in the kitchen accompanied by giggling crackling deeper. Until now his voice had maintained at least a familiar tone but with each pun to nobody it’s like his voicebox is aging as his resting tone sinks deeper and deeper. And credit where it’s due I do find myself enjoying his puns more and more.
When the morning sun does stream into the den, Clayton returns with a black cup of coffee. I’d be surprised he’s able to stomach it given his preference for incredibly sweet lattes, but the grand reveal of his new fatherly form is far too stunning to describe anything else. Uhm, scientifically speaking.
Resting his massive feet on our coffee table, Clayton leans back and starts downing his dark roast as the television just starts up without him even needing to lift a finger. Now mouthing along to the dad’s dialogue as if he were voicing it himself it’s clear my roommate is more Dad than his old self.
Crow’s feet etch into his eyes as smile lines trail down his cheeks, hidden his thick stubble. It’s difficult for me to tear my eyes away from his masculine form. I didn’t even notice at first that the dad- that Clayton had changed into a jock, but as his much larger dick twitches under the tight fabric. As his toes curl and the arches of his feet crack wider. As his bulky biceps bulge larger with each raise of the steaming dark cup, streaking into his beard before he wipes it with his rough hand fuck shit
Clearly there are some hazards involved with watching this process but I can guarantee that there is nothing memetic or mind-altering besides watching the tape itself. Which I have taken care to completely block from my recordings. You’re welcome again.
Back to it the changes in our apartment have similarly accelerated, where we once had posters and framed art there now exist bizarre family portraits. Clayton with some college aged offspring though from the best I can tell there isn’t a single one with a wife. Perhaps related to the plot of the show? Perhaps because my roommate’s gay. Not to sound like a broken record but if you want any further of my hypotheses you know what to do.
Skipping ahead, I’d figured that his changes would have slowed since to my eye his dilfy form had reached its apex, but I was quickly proven wrong. Today as his hairline continues to thin and his body hair continues to thicken, his body starts to truly bulk. I’d heard of dad strength but it’s almost ridiculous watching him grow heavier and stronger.
Eyes almost rolling back into his head Clayton’s stomach finally grows into a proper dad bod as heavy pecs hang atop it, bloating themselves into the perfect canvas for his thick curls. Beside the growing barrel of a torso rest arms increasingly patterned with throbbing veins and twitching with strength.
His forearms are covered with the type of hair you’d balk at in person. I could hardly believe it when I did see them in person, they’re like a second layer of skin lifted almost an inch off the arms, so thick at points you can barely see the veiny, muscled guns beneath. To say nothing of the very same curls trailing up his massive biceps. How they twitch with the slightest movement of his sausage fingers. How they grow larger as he continues watching the show. As he continues watching. As-
Ugh god this report is giving me such a headache.
Over the following day it seems the anomaly starts skipping and fading away on the, much larger, TV. Clayton doesn’t seem to react though, he continues just mouthing the lines to himself as he goes about the house. Grunting with every movement like a man decades older than he should be, my new fatherly roommate ambles about with a toolbox I swear he’s never lugged out before as he goes about any chores that don’t involve tidying up.
Slight baldspot on his increasingly speckled head and thick hair crawling up his ass from tacky cargo shorts, it’s at some point this day which I’d say the artifact has finished its dirty work. As Clayton interacts with confusion to whatever aspects of his old self remain they rapidly adjust to fit his new life.
Everything in his wardrobe lengthens more than a few sizes before morphing and restylizing to lose even the slightest amount of fashionability. The man oozes practicality as much as he does raw masculine sex appeal. Soon there’s not a trace of our old home, even my bedroom seems to have been corrupted into that of a son who’s gone off to college.
I’ve yet to do an investigation as to the nature of his apparent new family but should I be allowed to once more use the agency’s resources. And, to prove I’m acting in good faith, there is one remaining object from his past, a photo of the two of us together which is now an image of myself and him in his current form. It was this I found him looking at when I at last returned from my mission.
He set it down softly when I entered and leaned against the wall. Obviously I instantly knew something terrible had happened. I tried to convince him to drop everything and come to the lab but he wouldn’t listen. I- he just kept saying these stupid, stupid jokes. Obviously I know now what happened but even then I felt like I was talking with a character rather than a person. Rather than my roommate.
But I couldn’t really look away. The way his weight shifted as he moved, the musk that filled the whole place- I know I said watching his transformation wasn’t mind affecting but being in his presence very well could be. Even now I find myself craving that scent. God he was so fucking-
I digress. As soon as I found myself starting to enjoy the shitty jokes he kept firing off, I shook out of it and realized Clayton’s expression shifted from when I first entered. At first he looked blankly at myself before his eyes softened as if he seemed to recognize me. Not as his friend or roommate though, no. Instead he said his kiddos had been telling him about a coach that was moving in next door.
I’d be lying if I said this didn’t suddenly give me dry mouth and butterflies in my stomach. But I acted quickly and according to protocol. I immediately left and retrieved my security footage remotely after sealing our apartment for Clayton’s safety and the safety of anyone who might accidentally stumble into our place.
Returning later with the proper physical and psychological protection, I retrieved the anomalous artefact in question and Clayton. At present myself, the artifact, and Clayton are in my safehouse unknown to the agency where we will remain until I am guaranteed continued employment. After retrieval the only further effect was changing my prius into a station wagon. Which doesn’t bother me for some reason or another.
Apologies again for the underhanded tactics but I know at least one supervisor who attained his position acting similarly during that banana protein shake disaster. Time is of the essence so the quicker you approve my demands the quicker we can get this contained.
Yours. Agent Fisher
AGENT FISHER: DEMOTED
One day after receiving Agent Subject Fisher’s missal he was found, reprimanded, and retrieved for further testing. AA-0646 victim “Clayton”, furthermore named AA-0646-A, was taken in for questioning and, as Fisher described, his previous identity and mind have been subsumed by this new dad persona.
Agent: Do you recall your life before you were a father?
Clayton: Awh gee there it’s just been so long y’know? I’m not one for dwelling on the past. My kiddos always used to whine and winge like you wouldn’t believe! Ohh but before I settled down I did think about being a historian, matter of fact!
Agent: Really? Well-
Clayton: Course, there’s no future in that! Hah hah hah! Heh.
Agent: Mmhm I see.
When Fisher came up in questioning, AA-0646-A went glassy in the eyes and produced a second variant of AA-0646 from his robe, distinct from the original; this version is decorated with a garish title sticker labelling “Coach Next Door”. Lou over in processing is confident the tape is porn but as the Agency demands, we must discover everything about this Anomalous Artifact, and there is no better test lab rat than our newest Subject Fisher.
While AA-0646-A allegedly changed over the course of a few days, Fisher’s changes were far hastier. Perhaps exacerbated through his frequent and ill advised contact and borderline obsession with AA-0646-A.
As Fisher suggested Agents have neglected to observe what the program actually consists of, but given the subject’s excitement it seems to be somewhere between outright porn and a classic sitcom. After the first viewing, the subject has begun to exhibit increased muscle mass and hair growth.
When momentarily prevented from viewing AA-0646, the subject began to grow frantic before being assuaged by the suggestion of physical exercise. Following this subject’s mass began to increase with even more haste. Subject continued to exercise even after AA-0646 was returned, more so when it began to play once more.
On the second loop the subject grew in height and body hair began to accelerate to a degree agents describe as ‘above average’. While his upper body develops pecs and biceps, his jaw sharpens as it too is overtaken with stubble that befits his new self.
Agents tell me the subject at this point appears to be an ‘otter’. I neglect to follow up. From the images delivered however it is clear the subject is no longer the Fisher we knew and tolerated. Almost nude in the test room, subject’s malfitting underpants are stained and filled with a notable bulge.
Finally, on watch three, much like on subject AA-0646-A’s Day three, the transformation accelerates to totally excise whatever remains of the subject within. Muscle mass still rising, it is soon displaced by fat that befits an ex-jock, clearly the coach next door in question.
Body hair has accelerated from ‘above-average’ to ‘extreme’ and the messy stubble on his face has begun to be speckled with a few white hairs. Subject’s surely thinning hairline is covered by a cheap sweat-stained baseball cap allegedly not given to him by Agents, nor were the jock strap, whistle, or tube socks.
Given AA-646’s ability to generate matter and shape reality Doctor Marquez suggests subjects AA-646-A and AA-646-B, that is ‘Fisher’, be quarantined and their respective instances of AA-646, sealed away from them. The idea is broached with A and B and surprisingly they are amenable, as long as they are quarantined with access together.
This request is deemed acceptable and the Agency will see fit to keep the affected subjects under constant supervision. Though, given the agent’s best guesses as to what is to occur between the pair it remains unclear what intelligence will be gathered. Still, knowledge above all else. We shall see to it that someone decidedly lustless shall oversee the continued research on instances of AA-646.
While Special Agent Fisher’s prior demands may be neglected, at the very least he and Clayton, that is 646-A and 646-B, shall have their needs met by the agency and each other.
Recommended follow up: Agents are to remind cohabitants letter of the federal law to not open mail addressed to others. Agents are to exercise caution around VHS and other vintage recordings. Furthermore any Agents with daddy issues or kinks are to avoid Block 600A until further notice.
Big Pete Parker loved being a jock. He loved being the star quarterback, loved playing the part of the golden boy, loved walking around with his muscular chest puffed out, loved the feeling of his huge biceps pushing against his letterman jacket, loved having a cocky smirk plastered on his chiseled face. He loved each and every part of it. But lunchtime? That was Pete’s absolute favorite. It wasn’t just that he didn’t have to suffer through all the stupid classes, since he spent most of those just goofing off with his friends and flirting with girls anyways. It was because lunch was the one time each day he got to feel everyone's eyes on him. As Pete pushed open the doors to the cafeteria and swaggered towards his table, he could feel the eyes of the entire school on him. From the envious glares of the nerds and losers, to the undisguised lust of the cheerleaders, and the deep respect and admiration that everyone else seemed to have, Pete basked in the attention. For a moment, he almost considered stripping off his jacket and shirt to give these people a real show, but decided against it. He didn’t need another write up for something stupid like “breaking the dress code” or “making out in the middle of class” or “beating another student into a pulp.” Even if he never got in any real trouble, those meeting with the spineless principal were goddamned annoying.
Eventually Pete finished letting everyone admire him and headed over to his table, where all the other jocks, popular girls and cool guys were waiting. Flash Thompson, the second coolest jock in school and Pete’s best bro, was currently flirting with Liz Allen, one of the hottest cheerleaders in school and one of Pete’s many regular hookups. To his right sat another one of Pete’s teammates, Kenny ‘Kong’ McFarlane, a popular if somewhat dim defensive lineman who had a ridiculous amount of meat on his tray, and to his left sat Harry Osborn, another one of Pete’s best friends and both the richest and fastest jock in school. For a moment Pete felt something itch in the back of his, and could swear that Harry looked smaller, but shook it off. Of course Harry was a jock. He was one of Pete’s best friends, and Pete didn’t hang out with goddamned losers, so Harry had to be a jock. Pete looked past Harry and felt his grin turn almost predatorily lustful as he saw the two people sitting across from Harry, and next to Liz, Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson. Pete quickly slid between the two cheerleaders and placed his hands on both of their waists as he sat down with them. Both of them gasped slightly at his touch, not in shock or anger but in poorly disguised lust. MJ and Gwen were the sexiest, most popular girls in school, and they were goddamned putty in Pete’s manly hands.
“Hey Tiger~” MJ purred, running her hand across Pete’s bicep as she leaned into his touch. Gwen, almost simultaneously traced her hand across Pete’s chest, the two practically worshipping Pete on instinct.
“We’ve been waiting for you? You always take so long getting to the table.” Gwen said with a pout
Pete smirked and casually flexed for both the girls, his girls “You can’t rush greatness babe.” He said, his voice a deep, manly rumble.
“Goddamn Pete, you’re the fucking king.” Flash said with a fond, impressed chuckle. Pete simply kept smirking. He really did have a goddamned perfect life didn’t he? It felt like it was almost tailored for him. Pete continued to flirt with both Gwen and MJ, chat with his fellow jocks, and discreetly show off to the rest of the school. He was in the middle of bragging about his latest conquest, a cute blond named Debbie who practically worshiped him, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye that made him pause.
Across the cafeteria, sitting at one of the slightly nerdier tables that would normally be below a beefy seniors notice, was someone Pete swore he recognized. It hurt his head to think about, but there was something about the dark skinned teen and his red and black hoodie that seemed familiar. What was his name again? Mike? Miles? As Pete tried to remember where he, the most popular jock in school, would know an average looking sophomore from, he missed the strange orange glow that seemed to come from between his pecs. Pete felt the pain in his head fade as the light grew slightly brighter, before disappearing entirely. What had he just been doing?
“Hey bro? You ok?” A familiar voice said. Sitting across from Pete, as if he had always been there, was Myles Morales. In this new, updated world, Miles wasn’t Peter’s super hero protege, or some random sophomore that Pete vaguely recognized. In this world, Myles was Big Pete’s favorite lil bro. A fellow jock and future ladies man, Myles Morales was a beefy black stud who was bigger than any sophomore had any right to be. The star player of the junior varsity team, Big Pete had discovered Myles natural talent back when he was a freshman, and had been training ever since. After a year of working out together, wingmaning each other, and ruling the school side by side, Pete became Myle’s mentor and idol, while Myles became Pete’s successor and honorary little brother. Pete felt a grin cross his face as he saw his lil bro, a sudden sense of pride and affection coming over him.
“Fuck yeah bro, I’m ok. Just thinking about the game this weekend. We’re going to fucking crush those losers over at Horizon.” Pete said with a smirk, getting an equally cocky grin from Myles “Hell yeah big bro. Those guys are so pathetic I bet I could beat their team all by myself.” Myles joked, getting a dumb, cocky guffaw from Pete. Pete looked around at the table, at his friends, his girls, and his little bro. He really did have the perfect life, didn’t he?
Of course… it could always get better…
---
The long awaited sequel to my Spider-man to jock tf! I hope you guys like it and keep reading my stuff! Don't think this is the last you'll see of Pete or Myles either. There are a lot of Spiders out there who could be next~
Hey, does anyone in this sub have any experience reverting bodily modification spells? I called some girl at the bar a fugly bitch and said that I was way out of her league, so she cast some spells and now I’m some kind of freaky manslut. I grew to 6’4 and my muscles are now fucking huge, I could probably crush some heads with my biceps and probably some melons with my thighs. My cock is now freakishly large and I’m so so so so FUCKING horny all the time I can’t even think straight, probably because she made me gay too. No guy can take this log without going to the ER so I just have to jerk it hourly. Every piece of clothing I wear now is either super short of super tight, so I just look like an attention whore all the time. Need help ASAP, if not to reverse the changes just to milk my dick. THX in advance
If you ever reblog a post where the punchline is “gay men should die for flirting with people” you are invoking Gay Panic Defense and you need to examine that. Full Stop. It happened with Tommy Kinard and now it’s happening with Scott Hunter.
Ravi closed the distance between him and Pierce. Placing a hand on Ravi’s waist, Pierce gently moved him closer. They had come to visit their brothers in the big city and were getting more out of the experience than they ever bargained for.
Their bodies were different. Older. Stronger. Height, muscle, and looks, all enhanced for what was about to happen next.
They could hear the trepidation in the other’s breath as their lips hovered inches from each other. Their movements were instinctual, not practiced, yet they were in sync regardless.
Lips met secretly and their world ignited.
—
The story started at the point of contact. Not in a shared living space, but in 2nd grade.
Ravi Crivelli and Pierce Donaldson had a lot in common. The most important part of which was both being younger siblings, who preferred staying indoors over the company of others. Ravi’s older brother, Damon, was on his way to being the town quarterback for a few years, people loved him and praised his throwing arm. Pierce’s brother, Arthur, was on the baseball team and skilled in his own right, hitting home runs easily.
Growing up there was only ever one real debate between the boys: Who’s older brother was cooler? Not something they could settle head-on as their brothers ran in different social circles. There was no chance the two would ever meet even when their brothers begged. Even attempting to start a feud between them didn’t compel Arthur or Damon to act. They didn’t care to compete against a stranger for respect points from their younger siblings.
Years passed and eventually Ravi and Pierce grew out of the ‘siblings competing’ stage of childhood and moved on. Damon and Arthur went off to college. Every year they’d return during their breaks, talk about their sport, classes, love life, and friends. There was never much new information, just prepackaged responses that sounded more at home in a sitcom. So indeed, it was a big shock when during a Crivelli and Donaldson joint Christmas dinner, the two brothers announced they’d be moving together after graduating. The room had gone silent. No one was upset, just shocked. Damon and Arthur had arrived in the same car back from college and that had already put people in a spin. For all the years their little brothers knew each other, neither older brother seemed interested in meeting the other.
Now here they were announcing their relationship in front of both their families. Questions flew back and forth. When did it happen? How? Who confessed first? Why do they wait until now?
Arthur spoke up first, stretching in his chair. “I think we always liked each other, but didn’t want to risk it, you know?”
Damon continued, “And when our little bros became friends it was awesome, but it wasn’t like that was a good conversation starter. Not to mention,” He rubbed Ravi’s head, "These guys were always trying to get us to fight. So, I thought there was a good chance he’d sock me if we ever met.”
“Then one day, I saw him on campus and I thought: why not?”
“Saw him walking up to me and thought the same.” Damon shrugged, “Next thing I know we’re back in my dorm and he’s tossing me on the bed—
“Ahem!” Mr. Crivelli gave a fake cough, head nodding towards the boys.
“So anyways,” Arthur picked up the conversation, “we got to know each other better.”
As they stated they did indeed move together, and their brother pestered them for a visit all the time! Their parents did as well, but they were only relenting to one force, and their brothers were the lesser of the two evils.
So, Ravi and Pierce arrived at their older brothers' love nest, and it was…actually quite boring. Two cool dudes in the same space did not make for a sick ass party pad. Video games, a few posters but what else? The city was more of the main star of their trip. Skyscrapers, food carts, rude drivers. The two loved it all, they had their brothers take them everywhere. No one could recall when the few sneezes or coughing fits started, but it got worse. Eventually, Ravi and Pierce were holed up in the Loft while their brothers went and got takeout and medicine.
Strangely neither actually felt all that sick, tired made be but nothing strenuous on the body. Ravi sat on one end of the couch blanket over his legs, while Pierce’s entire body, except his head, was wrapped up. Their eyes would creep over to the other and roam their figure before their eyes met. A game of cat and mouse. They couldn’t help it. This was more than a friend hangout session, even the air was changing between.
“Do you smell that?” Pierce sat up sniffing. “Smells good.”
“Yeah…really good.” Ravi said, confused. The two got up off the couch, moving their tired bodies towards the source: Their brothers’ room. The aroma was all over, deeply in the walls in the clothes. They hadn’t figured it out yet, but it was pheromones. The two found a way into their brothers’ shared bed, heads buried in pillows, hips grinding. Then they passed out. As they slept their bodies changed, accepting the influx of their brother’s mixture. Ravi’s clothes faded away as a pair of Damon’s boxers appeared on him. Pierce’s clothes did the same as Arthur’s brief clutched tightly to his waist. They’re bodies grew, stealing all the free space on the bed.
Ravi’s body cut as mass filled him out. Chest hair broke out over his pecs, and a light dusting went down to his brother’s boxes. His face cracked as Damon’s features granted him a beard and mustache. Light body hair covered his forearm and legs. The front of the boxers stretched as a big cock pressed against it. His ass firmed up stronger than ever, ready to power his leg.,
Pierce got muscle too, but he kept stretching beyond even Ravi. He bulged in Arthur's briefs, but it was his ass that bubbled out the most. His own features solidified but didn’t harden in the same way Ravi’s had. There was an inherent softness that his older brother bestowed on him, as Pierce’s body kept a genetic smoothness until his legs.
When the two got up the confusion and screams didn’t last long. They wanted something more than each other. Which is how they ended up invading each other’s personal space.
“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you man.” Ravi said with a foreign voice not quite his or his brother’s. A string of words that sounded half like an apology and an obvious fact.
“Not if I fuck you first.” Pierce cooed back, voice even deeper.
They were feeling exactly what their brothers felt for each other. No denying it. And why would they when the sexual tension was all consuming. A tug of war between what they wanted and what they shouldn’t do. Ravi and Pierce thought they loved each other before, but this was a layer that deepened their connection.
Their bodies moved closer, Ravi held Pierce's arms up by the wrist with one hand, his other sliding behind the curve of his friend’s back. The heat of Pierce's bulge rested above his own.
They kissed.
—
Damon and Arthur opened the door to their apartment, delayed by traffic, to find Ravi’s ass slamming into Pierce on the floor. He moves like a piston shoving his cock in before sliding it out.
“Fuck, take this cock man.” he growled.
Pierce was bent like a pretzel, legs up by his face, toes curling, as he moaned out, brain going stupid. Ravi pounded his ass with all of Damon’s skill, claiming it for himself. He was relentless. Hips shaking, as his own ass jiggled in the air, creamy cum spilled from the center of those cheeks.
“Gonna knock you up on the fucking floor? Is that what you want? For me to dump my kids in you on this floor, like you did me?
“Hell yeah, give’em to me!”
“FUCK!!!!” The apartment shook, when his balls rose and emptied themselves deep into Pierce’s ass. The two collapsed. “Oh, hey bros.” Ravi said, sweaty.
“What’s up,” Pierce gave a half-hearted wave, huffing.
Damon and Arthur were left shocked, having watched their own dirty talk play out in front of them like a parody.
The faint sounds of car engine and honking from above seeped through the thick layer of concrete. It had been a while since the last time Liam set foot on Cowper Street– or under it. Which was not that unusual: some parts of the city hadn’t been friendly to pedestrians since forever, and they would continue to be that way for years to come. Liam would’ve also gone some other route if his car didn’t break down that morning and circling around this subway to reach the tram stop would cost him another 15 minutes.
Dim outdoor light slowly gave in to a moodier one. Fixtures hanging where each wall met the ceiling illuminated the path, while patches of darkness sat broodingly in the corner. In a volatile and uncertain world, it’s lovely and delightful in a way to see that some things hadn’t changed much. This tunnel was one of those.
Smelly, dirty, full of graffiti, walkable.
A statistical breakdown of the area’s recent notable events would indicate that there’s nothing objectively dangerous about this place, and the worst thing that could happen would be an occasional encounter with a benign yob. Still, to Liam, there existed a risk– one of hygienic nature. A man strutting in a spotless navy-blue suit and highly-polished pair of black Oxfords, were mishap to befall him, would expose himself to certain odours that any business-minded people awaiting him at his destination will scoff at upon sensing even the slightest hint of their presence. In the best-case scenario, Liam just needed to stay away from any suspicious puddle or unidentified mass. But what if that misfortune manifested in the form of a stinky local delinquent?
Thankfully for Liam, it was a gloomy day, and, tried as he might, he could not spot any human figure within his line of sight.
As his footsteps echoed through the walkway, he had the feeling that he was being watched.
“Oi, lad”, an energetic voice boomed somewhere to his left.
A sigh escaped his mouth. That’s his signal to keep going. That intonation, in this kind of place, built up in his mind a certain image, and struck his psyche with a certain feeling.
Not the best kind.
Liam liked to rely on stereotypes and put people into boxes, and this had often earned him uninvited snide remarks about his moral standing amongst friends. Habitually he would just reassure himself, just like in this very moment, that there was nothing questionable about his character if the people to whom he mentally assigned unpleasant descriptions all turned out to be unpleasant. And he was sure for whomever that just uttered those two syllables, that would be true as well.
He kept on walking. Or to be precise, he kept on maintaining the façade that he was walking. To any bystander, the speed at which he was lifting up and stomping down his glossy shoes resembled more that of an exhausted jogger about to finish his run. His number one rule in dealing with these types of interaction was to reduce the number of encounters to zero. And that meant getting away from this place as soon as possible.
And then, he stopped.
Strange … where did that come from? He thought.
When he entered the tunnel, there was nobody there. Up until the point when he heard that voice, his feet were the only source of all possible sounds. Of course, there was the occasional rustling of a kebab wrapper that someone had probably left behind after devouring the content inside an hour ago. But still, that didn’t explain Liam’s befuddlement.
He looked back.
No one was behind him, and no one was in front of him, either. Discreet was not what Liam would usually describe this type of people.
“Oi”. That annoying voice again, this time right to his left – almost like its source was standing next to him. As morbid curiosity claimed victory over his avoidance tendency, he turned his head, ready to be greeted by whatever surprise that awaited him.
… A painting?
Caught in the centre of Liam’s vision, on the graffiti-filled wall that had seen better days, was a man. A painting of one. He’s probably the same age as Liam, albeit taller and not as formally dressed. His body was covered in grey. Grey hoodie, grey sweatpants, grey Nike Air Max. The lighting and the rust on the wall had also made the off-white colour of the Stella Artois can held in his hand turn a darker grey, leaving the tiny, barely-visible red part of the emblem the only object of this painting that was not something in between black and white.
Wow, he really does look like what I’ve expected him to be. Bemused Liam.
He must admit, whoever had made this piece deserved all of his admiration. The painting looked almost like a real person. The grey colour buried amongst thousands of other vibrant, eye-catching blobs and lines nearby hid it away from his perception – the reason why he didn’t notice it right away. Every detail was immaculate, from the texture of his clothes, the contour of his bulging muscles, the toothy grin to the veins on his hands and even faint shadow showcasing what’s he got to show down under.
He stepped closer to the wall and, instinctively, looked around the painting for any camera, any teeny tiny devices that someone probably had planted to spook him and film his reaction. Maybe a whole content-creating team had tinkered with this part of the subway in hope of capturing a viral moment where a clueless corporate bloke screamed upon sighting a hyper-realistic painting of a beefy yob. It was the most plausible explanation Liam could think of.
He looked up, down, left, right, front, back.
Nothing was found, neither had nobody jumped out to say that he had been pranked.
Weird.
Now that he'd spent some more effort to put his brain to use, the situation appeared even more unusual. He’d never considered himself a connoisseur in street arts, but enough exposure to it had acquainted him with its most typical expressions – ugly tags, political messages sometimes sprinkled with a touch of racism and football references from the obscure to the obvious. The conspiracy theorist part of him would say that this was definitely an ad, either for the shoes or the beer, but that begged the question, why the bloke in the middle? He didn't look like any famous person that Liam knew, and Liam knew quite a few. This was not some high-traffic touristy city, surely even pranksters would find no pleasure giving this third-rate hellhole their attention.
He reached out his hand to feel the painting, right where the lad’s chest was. Not exactly flat, warm to the touch, and slightly smelly. The smell of cheap beer and body odour. Liam felt vindicated. Someone really was here just a moment ago.
The moment Liam’s fingers stopped at the tracksuit’s sleeve, an invisible force pulled him in, sealing his arm shut. The stench of stale sweat and alcohol wafted up his nose, and he heard an impish laugh bellowing out of the surface inches away from him – the painting came to life, and on the other side of the wall, Liam could feel his hand being held tightly in the beefy lad’s grip.
“Oi, calm it, yeah? It’s not gonna hurt.”
Liam’s head was racing. The situation left him no clue on how to react. If he had had a first thought, it would have been to blurt out “what the fuck”, and then scream for help as loud as possible. But there was no thought in his head, and his body acted like on autopilot. Reflexively, he tried to break free, but his effort was in vain. The mismatch between his strength and his captor’s aside, whatever substance surrounding his arm seemed to be semi-liquid– a very dense one that voided any chance of him manoeuvring around to put his body in a better counterattack position. He raised one leg in attempt to kick the other man in the balls, or just simply to get himself off and out of this sticky situation. But his opponent was quicker, grasping Liam’s foot in a split second, and pulled it into the wall with lightning speed.
“Sound move, posh lad. Why didn’t ya answer when I called?”, said the voice from inside the wall. The concrete and paint next to Liam turned semi-translucent, then a round lump started to bulge out from it. The surface broke up, and the other male’s head emerged out of it to let out a loud, cheeky laugh. The substance coating his head receded back into the wall shortly after.
With both hand and leg trapped, the well-built man quickly pulled Liam in, and, with remarkable strength, pulled the latter hard to his right side, thereby turning Liam around to face the opposite wall. Liam’s lower body had been almost subsumed into the painting, with only the tips of his shoes still jugging out. His upper half was suspended in an odd angle, where his hands were still stuck behind but chest, and stomach were free to lean forward, leaving his head slightly farther away from the wall than his torso.
“Let me out. Please. I haven’t done anything to you”, Liam begged frantically.
“ᴇᴀꜱʏ, ʟᴀᴅ.”
Liam’s body shuddered. The word reached his ears with such deafening intensity that limbs went into panic mode, the kind that shut them all down instead of jolting them all up with electrical craze to go all-in for a fight-or-flight response. Not the kind of loud sound that blasted by some giant speaker to make you deaf, but echoing, reverberating, first to his ears, then to his psyche. He felt as though the weight of all the concrete around and above him had condensed together to lend power to that thundering command. It clapped his eardrums and struck down his psychological resistance into pieces. His mind went blank, and his movements enfeebled.
The lad’s head sticked out some more, so that it was on the same level as Liam’s. For the first time, the latter had a close look at the young man. Patchy moustache, face flushed, thick neck, prominent Adam’s apple. Emanating from him was an aura of caricatural masculinity – strapping, simple-minded, but in an endearing way. There was not even a crumb of malice coming from him, likely the consequence of being airheaded.
“Don’t get shy now, pretty lad. You’ll like it in a sec!”, the lad said while looked at him with beaming eyes. The other man’s hot breath laced with of alcohol glided on his face and assaulted his nostril. Liam couldn’t help but to breathe it in. The sloshedness was contagious, and seconds later, Liam’s mind was already in a new state. Liam looked into his glinting eyes, and the infectious fervour flowed back into him, soon also reflected in his eyes.
ʀᴇʟᴀxᴇᴅ.
“Y’alright there, posh lad?”, boasted the lad enthusiastically, wrapping his big sweaty arm around Liam. His tipsy breath continued to invade Liam’s nose, but it was enhanced by another smell – the stench of the lad rank, sweaty armpit. Bare and pure, undeodorized, accumulated from years of toiling labour, gruelling work-out and dirt-cheap fast food, suffocating Liam with testosterone. As Liam drew in his concentrated signature scent, his mind had lost its last battle against the foreign dominant personality that was breaching into his head. His brain had turned into mush, and his innermost self was now nothing but a malleable mass, ready to be reshaped into something better.
He let out a dopey grin not so different from the hunky lad.
“Sound”.
His words were already slurring.
“Fucking sound”, he repeated.
“Aye, that’s more like it.”
The lad pulled Liam forward into a kiss. The bigger man made quick work of Liam’s tops, and in a matter of seconds his torso was already bare for the wind to caress. Once again, the strange material swelled and budged, and Liam could feel dampness and heat inches away right behind him. Soon, the gap was closed as wall of sweat and muscles slowly pressed against him, and Liam could feel the former’s growing member sliding along his ass crack. Massive, oozing.
Hand in hand, Liam’s arm was dragged out of the wall to the front, laying gently on his navel. The lad pressed hard against it, and his flesh sank into Liam’s own. His tiny office-worker hand was being consumed by the heftier, stronger one. For a short while, Liam felt like that hand was his. He felt his own digits getting bigger, rougher, tougher, burlier. He felt the itchiness on the back of his hand as a lotus tattoo slowly appeared on it. But that sensation soon stopped, and he was disappointed. He wanted more. He pressed hand arm back against the lad’s, and was rewarded with that hit of ecstasy again. His forearm thickened up with muscle, and hair started to sprout on across its length. His bicep soon followed through, ballooning to a size that far surpassed that of his puny neck. And the high, just as it came, shortly disappeared. His hand and arm were moving on its own. They had become the lad’s hand and arm, which had just begun to fondle his belly. It felt good, but not as good as before. He would give anything to reach that state again.
The lad’s other arm shot out of the wall, in its grip the beer can from earlier. He quickly transferred it to his left hand. The cold spread from the lad bulky arm up to Liam’s shoulder.
“Down it”, the lad said, patting Liam’s belly. He then promptly raised the beer can to Liam’s mouth.
Yes. He needed to gulp down his dissatisfaction. It didn’t register to him that he was being commanded. How could that be a command, if he himself had already think of it just a moment ago? It was as if he had just reunited with his best friend whom he hadn’t met for years, and they were on the same wavelength again. His friend understood exactly what he really needed.
In synergy with the lad’s hand movement, Liam guzzled half the content of the can. The cold froze his brain, and he hung his mouth agape, only for the lad to lean up and charge in with his tongue. Their hairy merged hand explored his body. Calluses reigned over his chest, stomach, and meaty palm caressed his growing bulge. The other hand unfastened his belt, then unbuttoned his trouser, and slid his pants down. As his clothing came into contact with the substance inside the wall, Liam felt every tiny inch of them being pulled away from his skin, as though the wall had disintegrated them, until nothing could be felt around his legs and ankles anymore.
The lad pulled Liam’s other hand out of the wall along with his, and began to feel up Liam’s package.
“Heh… decent cock, that”, said the lad playfully.
As the lad’s fingers interlocked with Liam’s, the latter once again descended into mania. Giving up– no, sharing his hand and arm with the lad, feeling them explode with muscle and imbued with his intoxicating scent, until the numbness settled, as the lad took control of his remaining arm. Now two mighty hands connected to his shoulders were touching every part of his body, and he was in heaven.
The lad held up the beer can again, and downed the rest of its content. A clanking sound reverberated through the tunnel as he hurled the empty can away. They kissed. Some amount of beer still left in the lad’s mouth sloshed into Liam’s. It’s lukewarm now, and mixed with his spit. Liam swallowed all of it, moaning softly as more of the lad’s essence penetrated his throat. The lad’s cock had reached full mast, and was dripping profusely on Liam’s rear, enough to form a puddle on the ground had they not been half-contained inside a wall.
One of the lad’s hands had moved behind Liam, smearing and spreading the natural lube into his hole, working it up for a grand entrance. With his other hand, he put two fingers inside Liam’s mouth. The latter eagerly suckled on them, and the lad promptly placed his digits, wetted with saliva, inside Liam’s cavity. It was a bizarre feeling. He was aware that he exerted no control over the hands that were tinkering with his pucker and spreading his cheeks, except that were connected to his shoulders, and from that angle it did look like he was playing and fingering his own bum. Every time their merged limbs touched his body, there was a brief moment where he could also sense them, as if they were still his own, and it made his brain go crazy, but soon the sensation would stop. And his mind would be screaming for more.
“Yeah, our arse’s gonna look mint”, exclaimed the lad. Liam could only reply with a loud, needy moan.
And the lad went all in.
Pleasure coursed through Liam’s veins. His body was opening up, literally and metaphorically. The lad was pouring into him, and he was becoming the lad. He was drunk. Drunk from pleasure, from cans of cheap beer, from undiluted masculinity, from the courage he had just gained to give up, and from the bliss of giving up itself – his life, his worries, his thoughts, his very own identity. Everything that was his, would soon belong the lad’s. They would share everything in this word together.
The two men moaned loudly in tandem, voices practically indistinguishable from each other. There was no delay between vocalisations, as if all regulated by one source. Each man spotted a dumb, blissful grin on their face. Their combined hands stroked the man in the front’s cock, cupping and fondling his balls.
As the lad pushed in more and more, that feeling came to Liam again. More intense. More spread out. More rapid. His chest had turned into two hairy mounds of muscles, and once more an itch spread across one pec as a tattoo of a scorpion emerged on its surface.
the lad hastened his pace, ramming up Liam’s rear with increasing speed and strength. He dug his giant, stinky feet into Liam’s petite soles, and the latter felt his own body stretching out and up to accommodate its new mass and height.
The lad’s voice was no longer behind him, but all around him and inside. It had become his own voice, booming out of his expanded voice box, bumping up and down his giant Adam’s apple every time they moaned.
Only Liam’s head and pelvis remained unfused. And he was so desperate for it. He could feel, against all physical possibilities, the lad’s cock reaching closer and closer to his cock, and the lad’s face somewhere next to his face. Not behind, not in front, just … there. Ready to share and be shared.
Then the lad became him. He screamed. And came.
His limbs were set free. His balls were churning hard. They drooped and swelled, unfazed by the amount of sperm exiting his body, as though ready to resupply him with billions more. They kept tugging at his crotch while euphoria was seizing his body.
Ropes of cum shot out of his cock that was growing with no sign of stopping. He continued to stroke it. His glorious, colossal cock, hefty and heavy in his meaty hands coated the ground with his essence.
——————————————————
“Liam” stood in front of an oddly-shaped patch of wall, sweaty and breathing heavily.
Beneath him, a thick puddle of cum glistened in the light.
His hand dipped into the wall, and pulled out a pair of grey trackies, dirty from grime and stained, possibly from a combination of potent bodily fluids. “Heh… gonna need a proper clean after this”. He quickly donned the pair, struggling somewhat to properly place his dripping monster cock and jumbo balls inside them, as, the lack of undies aside, the article of clothing obviously wasn’t made to accommodate his size.
Next came a pair of supposedly white socks. Their soles were nigh blackened, and a funky stench emitted from the cloth. His trainers, in contrast, looked relatively new.
Liam was about to reach for something else, when a loud, long and obnoxious burp escaped his mouth.
“Fuck me, why’s it boiling in here?”
He darted his eyes around, then grinned mischievously.
Trackies pulled down, his cock, hard and wet with both pre and cum, let out a stream of yellow liquid onto the strange wall.
“Fuckin’ right”, he said with an exaggerated moaning.
It took a long while for his bladder to finish the alcohol-induced number one. By then his cock had gone semi-soft. He gave it a nice shake, and pulled it back inside. The oversized member left behind a tiny wet spot on the already dirty article of clothing.
He departed, leaving behind the thoroughly desecrated tunnel with its graffiti wall.
Some days later, the city maintenance workers came over to clean up the place. The sun had evaporated the most noticeable parts of the battlefield, only a distinctive smell remained. A worker bent over to pick up an empty beer can.
On the wall in front of him, a peculiar image stood out. The area untouched by paint and dirt seemed to take the shape of a man ...
... at whose feet lied a crumpled pile of clothes.
You were just leaving the Student Wellness Center after putting in your best effort to bulk up. You had been doing pretty well at making it a habit but you were really wishing there was some sort of cheat you could do to speed things up.
As you were nearing the double glass doors of the exit, the guy in front of you had something fall out of his gym bag. Without thinking, you scooped it up and were just about to call after him when you realized the thing you were holding was kind of damp and a bit musky. You look down and realize you had unthinkingly picked up this man’s jockstrap.
You spotted the garbage and were about to toss it when something deep within you made you pause and quietly pack it into your own bag. After that, you went about your boring day of classes and didn’t think about it again until you began your homework that evening.
You tried so hard to concentrate but you kept thinking about the jockstrap in your bag and how sexy the hairy muscular football player that dropped it was. You stare at your notes for a couple unproductive minutes when at last you can’t resist it anymore and run to your bag and snatch it out.
It’s still a bit damp and the musk emitting from it is ripe but in a way that begins to make you so horny that your cock begins to get hard. Timidly, you lift it up to your face and take in a deep inhale. You can almost feel the musk as it penetrates deep into your lungs. ‘God, this scent is intoxicating’ you think to yourself as you take another whiff before you head back to your desk to resume your studies.
For a couple minutes you manage to put in some real effort to complete your homework but are interrupted by a tingling sensation across your body. Goosebumps don’t seem to be the case here as it feels more intense and the tingling quickly becomes a sharp pins and needles feeling. You’re so distracted by the feeling that you don’t even notice as chest hair begins to form and slowly curl its way through the neck opening of your t-shirt. Your armpits begin to itch as well while your pit hair gets longer, thicker, and sweatier.
The sensation makes you give up on homework for the night and you head to you bed. Along the way you decide to grab the jockstrap again because what’s the harm in another sniff? You don’t even bother to take off your clothes before hopping on the mattress, jock in hand, and begin the take deep inhales while you play with your hard on beneath the zipper of your pants.
Laying there all gooned out, you don’t notice as your cock begins to elongate and gain some heft. You just assume it’s still getting hard because of how turned on you are right now. You do however, notice the tingling sensation down there as your shaft begins to become hairy and a thick dark bush of pubes sprout at the base of your cock.
You can’t take it anymore and you begin to strip your clothes off revealing all the new hair growth along your body. Your arms and legs have a nice black carpet of hair and your stomach has a tidy little treasure trail leading down to your cock. That’s when you finally notice that your dick has miraculously gained 3 inches in length making it a whopping 8 inches long. The length isn’t the only thing shocking as it’s also about as thick as a beer can now.
It’s a good thing you stripped too as you’re about to need a whole new wardrobe. As you stroke your new fat cock you see the skin on you stomach start to churn like waves rollling across a see of pink. The churning starts to ease as thick washboard abs begin to form their way up your abdomen creating a six pack that you could never have imagined being there before. It doesn’t stop there though, your pecs start to swell and inflate under all of that new chest hair as they gain muscle mass and your nipples harden at the feeling of pleasure this is all bringing you.
You grab the jock and inhale deeply again as you begin stroking your cock even harder. The changes start coming on faster too as your feet go from a size 9.5 to 12 inches. Your calves expand as well as your thighs, the look of them is so astounding that it almost reminds you of the marble statues of nude male forms that you’ve seen in museums except a lot hairier!
You feel a bit of precum on your cock and instinctively move the jock down to wipe it up and then continue your bait sesh. As you stroke, you see your arms begin to bulk up as your biceps and triceps start to bulge out from your arms and the veins in your arms began to strain as if ready to pop. The ecstasy of this sudden growth is finally too much and loads of cum burst from your new thick hairy cock, drenching your chest hair and even the bedsheets.
The transformation leaves you exhausted and you pass out from finally having achieved release. When you wake in the morning you head to the bathroom and admire the muscular form you see looking back at you with its thick cock twitching in anticipation of another go. You head back to your room to get ready for the day before realizing that none of your clothes fit anymore. You see the jockstrap on your pillow and don’t even hesitate to grab it and slide it on. The fabric hugs your cock perfectly and the straps frame your hairy muscular ass like it’s a prized oil painting. ‘Thank god I found that jockstrap’ you think as you give the straps a playful snap ‘it’s the only clothing I have that fits.’
This fat redneck wearing overalls just walked up to me insisting I'm his son. Can you get him to stop bothering me?
*sigh* "why do I always get the crazies...." I mutter under my breath. "Yeah, I'll go talk to him."
I walk into the other room and close the door behind me, obscuring your view.
"Sir, I can't have you disturbing our customers."
You hear the faint conversation through the door.
"Wait, what are you doing. Sto-"
*Thud*
"Please don't!"
My voice suddenly becomes muffled.
"Oh god, what is happening to me?"
You hear the sound of me stumbling around the room.
"Why does this feel.... So good."
My voice is barely recognizable as it starts to become deep and gruff.
"Ohhh... Fuck yeah, I feel so fucking strong."
All you hear is grunting and growling from the other side of the door. Then, all of a sudden, the door busts open.
I squeeze through the door, struggling to fit my broad shoulders through the door frame. I tower over you, my hairy chest is at your eye level, giving you prime view of my hulking body. As your head tilts up to meet me eye to eye, you see my magnificent beard, it radiates more masculinity than you can comprehend.
"Just had a word with pops back there," I say in a thick southern accent, "since talkin' clearly ain't workin' for ya, he says I get to deal with ya myself."
I grab the back of your head and pull you in. You try to pull away, but I don't budge. I lift my other arm and stuff your face into my armpit. You hold your breath as you desperately try to push yourself away from me, but it's no use, it only delays the inevitable.
"You're gonna have to breathe in eventually boy." I chuckle as I rub your face deeper into my pit.
After a few more seconds, you take a deep breath through your nose. You recoil at the musky smell, but I hold you in for a bit longer and make sure you get a few more whiffs.
"That should teach ya a lesson." I say as I let you go.
You quickly spring backward, stumbling to the other side of the room.
"What did you do to me!?" You yell at me as you struggle to catch your balance.
"You'll see..."
You start to feel a tingle in your face when suddenly, thick hairs begin to sprout above your lip, forming a small mustache. You slowly bring your hand up to your face and brush your finger along the wiry hairs.
"Ah! What the fuck?"
The sensation is quickly followed by an intense itchiness that engulfs the lower half of your face as short hairs emerge along your skin, creating a patchy five o'clock shadow. Then your sharp jawline starts to melt into a soft double chin, making your face look even more unkempt than it was before.
And if that wasn't bad enough, you watch as hair starts to fall from your head in clumps, making your hairline recede a couple inches and thinning the rest.
"There's the family resemblance."
I put a baseball cap on your head to hide the hairline.
"Get used to wearin' these, you'll need em." I let out a hearty laugh.
"This... This... Is..." You stutter.
"It's feels great, don't it. Just let it happen boy!"
You start to groan and grunt as your voice begins to deepen. You grab your stomach in pain, then, your stomach suddenly shoots out into a sizable beer belly.
*Uuurrrrppppp!* You let out a nasty burp while your shirt slowly rides up your gut.
A satisfied look takes over your face as you slowly rub your new belly. You're so distracted that you barely notice when your pecs inflate into round man tits that are barely contained by your tiny shirt.
"Bro... Urrrp... I'm getting so ripped."
You chuckle as you flex your arms, barely showing the muscle underneath a layer of fat. Meanwhile, curly hairs begin to sprout all over your body. You're still a far way away from being as hairy as your older bro, but most men dream to be as hairy as you. Hair starts poking out above your shirt collar and over your shoulders while they spread across your exposed belly. That's not even mentioning the forest of hair covering your back.
"Do ya think these pants make me look fat?" You say with a deep southern twang.
"Quite yer' whinin', they look fine."
I give you a slap on the shoulder, sending you off balance. Meanwhile, your pants are on the verge of ripping. The button is holding on for dear life as your fat ass strains the fabric. It only gets worse when the bulge in your pants starts to grow. You try to adjust it, but it only gets worse as your dick starts to snake down your pants leg.
"Oouuugghhh fuck!" You moan as your transformation slows.
"Now that's a man that'll make this family proud!"
"Y'think so?"
"You're built like a real breeder, like me an' pops." I slap you on the gut. "Now why don't you come have a word with me an' pops, we got somethin' to tell ya."
"How much longer is this gonna take?" Ethan shifted, pretending to look interested. He had an exam coming up and a hundred places he’d rather be, but the man across from him only grew more animated by the second.
"So we came up with our slogan, 'Be PrEPared.'" The man practically beamed. "The boys in marketing really outdid themselves, don't you think?"
"Yeah..." Ethan caught his mind wandering and forced a smile. "I'm happy to be involved. I think population health is undervalued."
"Preach, babe." The man snapped his fingers.
Ethan grinned internally. The guy was eating out of his hand, and Ethan knew it wasn't just his answers. From the tone to blatantly checking him out, this guy fit every gay stereotype Ethan knew. What could he say? The gays loved him.
"But enough about me," the man laughed, leaning forward. "Tell me about you, hun. Why join our campaign?"
Ethan’s smile widened. He could tell the truth: he didn't give a shit about population health. He wanted a cushy specialty, and residency directors liked well-rounded resumes.
"Well, I think this is a great opportunity to support..." Ethan trailed off as the man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "...support marginalized groups. Happy to help de-stigmatize this stuff."
The man stared, then broke into a grin. "Oh my God, you're adorable."
Ethan let out an awkward chuckle. "That's a first." When the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory, he leaned in. "Look, I'd be good at this. Promise you won't regret bringing me on board."
The man tapped a finger against his chin. "Hmmm..." Really? Had this guy even looked at his résumé? This wasn't exactly a difficult decision, "Who would you prescribe PrEP to?" He finally asked.
"Uh…" Ethan wasn't expecting that. "Guys who sleep around, I guess." He paused, catching himself. "You know what I mean. Gay guys. Men who have sex with men."
"And would you use PrEP?"
"Uh, no." The answer shot out too quickly. The man’s eyebrow climbed, "I mean, I'm not the target demographic," Ethan corrected with a nervous laugh. "Nothing against it, but I'm not looking for sex with other men."
The man studied him for a beat, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, Ethan, I think we're gonna get along just fine."
"So that's a yes?"
"Oh, babe. That's absolutely a yes."
The tension left Ethan's shoulders. Perfect. One more line for the application. "Awesome. I appreciate the opportunity."
"We're excited to have you." The man reached beneath his desk and pulled out a small BePRePared tote bag. "Take this, hun."
"What's in it?"
"Everything you'll need for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
The man's grin somehow widened. "Don't you worry. We'll be in touch."
-----------------
"That took longer than I thought." Ethan returned to his apartment, tossed the BePRePared tote bag onto the couch, and sat at his desk to study, "Fuck, I'm behind."
He stared at his digital flashcards, trying to prepare his best for his upcoming exam. But the text blurred. He blinked and stared at the card.
"What the hell?" He knew the answer to this, or at least he did yesterday. A suffocating brain fog rolled over him, as a dull ache started behind his eyes. His mind went completely blank, "Am I getting sick?"
Shoving himself away from the desk, he ran his hands through his hair. His neat trim felt dense, curling thickly between his fingers. He paused and ran his hand through his hair again, slower this time.
"How...?" Suddenly, the room tilted and sweat broke out across Ethan’s forehead, his joints throbbed, "Shit..." He couldn't afford to get sick, not when he had his first gig with BePrEPared tomorrow. The thought made him stop, "What am I thinking? Must be the fever... fucking with my head... Need water..."
He stumbled toward the kitchen and reached for a glass, barely noticing the fabric of his sleeve straining against his growing bicep. He quickly chugged his water, and froze when he wiped his chin. There was thick, rough stubble there. As if he hadn't shaved in a week.
"Fevers can... cause... hallucinations." He reasoned, although his thoughts were coming slower now, "Need... sleep..."
The room spun and his temperature spiked as he stumbled over towards the couch. He weakly pulled his scrub top off and threw it aside, his palms brushing through the thick, dark mat of body hair sprouting across his chest. But he barely recognized any of this, as his vision blurred and body grew weaker. He grabbed the tote bag on the couch and dropped it to the ground, the contents spilling out.
"What the fuck is this?" Ethan muttered, his voice dropping an octave, settling deeper. He felt a surge of irritation. This was a joke. They couldn't be serious. He was a medical student, for God's sake, not a...
Yet, as he stared at the blue speedo, his mind drifted to thinking about the happy, muscular campaign ambassadors he remembered seeing on the website. No exams. No residency stress. Just having fun and being noticed.
"Must be nice..." He fell onto the couch, and wiped sweat away from his forehead, "Fuck..." He smiled weakly, "I bet I’d look good in that Speedo." he thought.
He blinked, horrified by his own thought. Where had that come from? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but the movement only triggered a vicious wave of nausea.
"This isn't… a normal virus," he muttered. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, "Something's... wrong... with me..."
Ethan's hands drifted across his torso, tangling in the growing, dense dark body hair that was spreading now across his stomach. Beneath the coarse mat, his pectorals had swollen into heavy, solid shelves of muscle, hard and burning to the touch. He squeezed his own chest, a delirious, breathless laugh escaping him as his thumb traced over a newly sensitive, hyper-reactive nipple. He pinched it, and a sharp, slutty jolt of pure pleasure shot straight to his groin.
"Fuck," Ethan groaned, "Fuck... fuck... fuck..."
The room was spinning now and he was starting to see things that he knew shouldn't be there. He saw Joshua, sitting and smirking in the corner of the room.
"You're... not here." He slurred, "Leave me... alone..."
He closed his eyes tightly, and the hallucination of Joshua blurred and shifted. He was suddenly surrounded by nameless men crowding over the couch. He could feel them. Their heavy, rugged palms gripping his broadened shoulders, rough fingers digging greedily into his newly full, heavy ass, squeezing his thickening muscles. With a grunt, he flipped onto his stomach, and arched his ass.
"Ah... fuck..." Ethan groaned, drool leaking from his mouth. He whimpered as he felt something press against his exposed hole, "Pl...Please..."
His hand slithered past the tight elastic of his boxers, wrapping around a cock that was longer, thicker, and harder than it had ever been. He began to pump it in a frantic, heavy rhythm, his muscular thighs flexing with every stroke. He didn't care about the exam. He didn't care about residency. He just wanted to be a dumb, hot object. He wanted to be used.
“Would you use PrEP, babe?” Joshua’s voice echoed in his head.
"Wh-why... would... I?" Ethan moaned, "I'm... not... Oh... fuck..." He gagged suddenly as he felt the heavy pressure of a thick cock pushing deep into his throat, stretching his jaw and cutting off his breath, while another massive, rigid shaft slammed brutally up his ass, "Th... this isn't... real..." He thought, even as his jaw ached.
Every thrust of the thick, veiny shaft plugging his throat made his eyes water as he gagged. Simultaneously, he felt his ass being stretched wider as the skin-on-skin pounding drove his lower body forward, burying his face deeper into the cushions with each wet, heavy slap.
“What’s the doctor word for... not breathing?” he tried to ask himself, “Can't... think of it. Mind... fuzzy. So heavy.”
The ambient hum of his laptop fan and the quiet of the night vanished, completely replaced by a deep, thumping electronic base that vibrated directly through the cushions beneath his chest. His brain couldn't quite process the switch. Even the clinical definitions of auditory hallucinations felt too distant, too complicated to grasp.
“Music?” Ethan thought, his cognitive processing slowing to a crawl. “Music... nice... feels good...”
Even the scent of the room was suddenly different. A thick, heavy cloud of cologne, raw male sweat, and latex filled his lungs with every desperate, choking gasp.
“Smells... good,” the simple thought drifted lazily through his mind, “Warm. Thick. Smells like... men. Sex."
He let out a choked gasp as the cock went deeper down his throat. Panicking with what little logical faculty he had left, Ethan whipped his hands upward, fully intending to push away whatever hallucination was blocking his airway and clamping his jaw open.
“Get it out... need to study... am a doctor...”
But instead of empty air, his palms connected firmly with hot, sweaty flesh. The solid, moving hips of a man rhythmically thrusting down his throat.
“No... Wha...? Not a dream? Real. Big. So big. In my mouth. Up my ass.”
He reached out desperately, trying to find leverage, but instead his thicker palms and fingers clamped directly around two pulsing, rigid cocks. His broadened shoulders flexed automatically as his palms wrapped tight, his fingers squeezing the thick shafts as he began to stroke them in a frantic, heavy rhythm. His body knew exactly what to do, even if his brain could no longer define it.
“Stroke them... make them feel good,” his dumbed-down thoughts hummed, completely content to abandon his studies. “Good boy. Do what they want. Just a hot object.”
The thumping music grew louder, accompanied by the rapid, rhythmic click-whir of a professional camera shutter and deep, masculine groans of approval close to his ears.
"Look at him take it," a deep, gravelly voice chuckled right above him. "The new guy's an absolute natural."
Flash. Flash.
An intense, blinding glare of white-hot light penetrated right through his closed eyelids. The searing heat radiating against his skin wasn't a fever spike anymore; it was the burning warmth of professional studio lighting hanging directly overhead.
Ethan’s eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in his apartment. No, he was pinned face-down on a leather sofa in the center of a roaring photography studio. He could see his reflection in a mirror. Bulkier, hairier... sexier... sporting a toy stethoscope over his hair-covered chest and a tiny blue Speedo that was completely soaked through.
"Oh my gawd..." He thought, eyes watering.
A tall, rugged model stood over him, holding Ethan's face up by a tight fist in his thick, curly hair as he slid deep into Ethan’s throat. Behind him, a massive, tatted model was burying himself ruthlessly into Ethan’s expanded, aching glutes, slamming his hips forward with a heavy, wet slap. To his left and right, two more models leaned over the couch, grinning down at him as Ethan’s large, rough hands rapidly pumped them.
"Fuck... where'd you find this guy?"
Ethan's eyes were wide now, but the panic he expected to feel never came. His mind was too beautifully empty, too saturated with testosterone and pleasure. Board scores, residency applications, the endless stress of his old life...
“I’m the PrEP boy,” his thoughts drifted, “Dumb... hot... please... use me.”
"Keep going, hun, you're doing amazing," Joshua called out over the music, gesturing to the lens. "So, let's hear it for the campaign! Would you use PrEP?"
The thick cock down his throat pulled out with a wet pop, a line of drool running down his heavy, stubbled chin. He looked straight into the camera lens, his mind completely wiped of medical terminology. None of that mattered anymore. He was a BePRePared model. He was beautiful, he was being used, and he loved it.
"Y-Yes..." Ethan gasped out, his voice a deep, thoroughly broken baritone. His hips gave a desperate, simple twitch against the man behind him. "Yes... God, yes..."
The photographer grinned, clicking the shutter rapidly. "Perfect! That's the money shot!"
With a final, shattering surge of friction, the man behind him buried himself to the hilt, releasing deep inside him. Simultaneously, the model in front of him painted Ethan's face and thick, hairy chest, while the two men in his hands blew their loads over his fingers. And Ethan's own massive, leaking cock throbbed and fired a heavy stream into his tight, blue speedo.
"So good..." He moaned, falling back onto the couch and looking up at the other models with a dumb, happy grin, "More…?" he slurred, a thick bead of drool tracking down his chin and mixing with the man's seed. "More… please… use me more…"
"Don't you worry." Joshua patted him on the shoulder, while the other models chuckled, "You're our star now, Ethan. We've got plenty of work lined up for you." He nodded over at the photographer.
"Next shoot is in twenty minutes, boys," the photographer called out, adjusting his lens with a grin. "Clean him up just enough to do it all over again."
Looks like the daddification shampoo he bought was working. He had purchased a bottle at the store he found called “MaxMasc” which guaranteed “instant results”, however he had failed to read about what exactly those results were. Now as he steps out of the shower, he finds a moustache growing in and his muscles expanding as him body filled out and became more hairy. He can’t help but pose as he finds himself become more dominant and manly, feeling a powerful musky aroma emit from his now-hairy pits. What will happen when his partner gets home to find him fully transformed into a daddy?
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