MALE TF STORIES.
18 and over ONLY!! If you are not this age, LEAVE NOW! A collection of of my favorites stories (via self made, or from around the net) of guys transforming into other guys in some way, be it a muscular transformation, Straight-to-gay transformation, Age Progression, Age Regression, and alot more. NO FURRY RELATED STUFF HERE. SORRY
Back from the dead again, for now. Created a new blog that features lots of AI gen TF mini vids I've been messing with. Will feature all sorts of tfs such as Race Change, Inanimate, Female to male, and more... eventually even Skinhead stuff.
Please visit...
https://maletransformationaislop.tumblr.com/
if you are interested.
That said, I will no longer host anything AI on THIS particular blog.
(Note: The author RIK has LONG since purged his tumblr blog of pics/stories. However, I have several full-length stories from him on my SSD saved, which I'll archive here. BE WARNED, there may be some minor edits from the original story that wasn't present.)
Obsessive Compulsive Cleaner
by RIK
Barry was diagnosed as obsessive compulsive about two years ago. That was when his then boyfriend decided that Barry’s behavior was definitely in need of attention and some help.
Barry’s obsessive and compulsive behavior centered around his need for everything to be clinically clean and tidy. If his bed sheets were creased he couldn’t sleep, if he thought he hadn’t thoroughly dusted, washed and sprayed disinfectant over the furniture, he would have to get out of bed and do it until he believed the last germ had been eliminated.
The obsession required him to spend up to twenty hours every day cleaning, sterilizing, re-arranging, ironing out every crease in every piece of fabric in the house. He couldn’t bear his ornaments to be touched by anyone but himself. They must be placed in size order in exactly the right spot on the shelf or piece of furniture. Even inside his cupboards his clothes had to be clean, pressed and arranged in color order, the sight of a red shirt in amongst the blue shirts would send him into a panic.
The obsession was taking over his life almost completely and although he had managed to hold down a job and begin a relationship, they gradually became much less important to him than making sure his kitchen was clean and ordered. The relationship suffered first, largely because his boyfriend was under strict orders to make no mess whatsoever inside Barry’s house. This became impossible to comply with so the boyfriend suggested Barry might need some form of psychiatric help.
Barry was reluctant to see a psychiatrist. He said there was nothing wrong with him other than wanting things to be nice and clean, however he realized that his boyfriend was not going to stick around unless he sought professional help.
After various tests and consultations Barry was officially diagnosed as “obsessive/compulsive” and was offered counseling sessions that would help him to address his problem and perhaps overcome it.
The counseling did at least persuade Barry that he had a problem but did virtually nothing to alleviate it. He still continued to spend hours each day cleaning, cleaning again, tidying and fussing over the smallest of details. His boyfriend could tolerate no more and so they went their separate ways.
Worse was to come because Barry was spending so much time cleaning that he barely got any sleep and was often late for work. Even when at work he could not concentrate and after several warnings was dismissed from his job.
Without friends, boyfriend or job Barry now had all the time in the world to indulge his obsession to the full.
Barry was a quiet and shy lad of 31. He had lived with his parents until he was 25 and tolerated their less than perfect cleaning regime, although to most people their life and habits would be seen as perfectly normal. As soon as he could afford to rent a place of his own he was out of the parental home and then his obsessive behavior really came into its own.
He was always the same with his personal appearance. Not a handsome young man but quite attractive and always well dressed. He wore his hair with blonde highlights, plucked his eyebrows so that they were neat and would shave his face so thoroughly that not one bristle ever showed. Barry would fuss over showering several times a day, cleaning his nails to perfection, trimming his body hair to an exact but short length and continuously washing his hands. He barely touched alcohol, never smoked and figured that his exertions in house cleaning were as good as attending any gym to keep his body in shape.
Without any focus in life once he had lost his job, Barry himself began to realize that his constant cleaning was ruining his life and he knew he needed to control it in order to have any sort of normal life. It was with this attitude that he spotted an advertisement in the local paper for a support group where he could meet others like himself and talk through his problems. He made up his mind to go along to the next meeting.
Barry was pleasantly surprised to discover that the meetings were quite enjoyable and he met people who were like him and actually understood what it was like to need cleanliness all around. It was good to talk and be totally open about himself without others tutting their disapproval. After a few weeks of attending the group Barry began to feel a lot happier although it did little to stop him spending hour upon hour cleaning and worrying about cleaning.
During one of their meetings they had a guest speaker who was a television producer from a big production company. The producer explained that they were launching a reality television program that would place obsessive cleaners with people from the opposite end of the scale. The program would send an obsessive compulsive to visit the home of a compulsive hoarder or someone who never cleaned their house and the object would be to give the obsessive compulsive the task of cleaning up this person’s act and their home. It would all be filmed and the hope was that the two extremes brought together might actually help them both to overcome their respective problems.
The meeting was buzzing with the thought of taking part in something like this. Most found the idea positively repulsive and wanted nothing to do with it, whereas others were quite intrigued. Barry wasn’t that keen and didn’t like the idea of airing his private life on television and was about to ignore the prospect when Jean, a lady he’d become quite friendly with, approached him positively bubbling over with excitement.
“Barry! We must do this! Come on lets sign up, if you do it I’ll do it!”
Barry was carried along by Jean’s enthusiasm and soon found that he’d signed up to appear for an audition with the television company.
A couple of weeks later the auditions were held and Barry seemed to go down really well with them and they said they felt sure Barry would be ideal for an episode of the program. He left the television company offices with promises that he would be hearing from them very soon.
Sure enough a week or so later he received a telephone call to say that he was in and that a researcher would be contacting him to arrange the details.
There was enough of a delay for Barry to feel regret at agreeing to do this television program and a part of him hoped they would forget all about it. However the researcher finally got in touch and arrangements were made for Barry to be filmed meeting the person whom he would help to clean house.
He dreaded what might be in store for him but was relieved to hear from Jean, his friend, that her experience had been wonderful. She had helped a dear old lady who kept lots of cats and was rather untidy but very grateful for the help in tidying up. Barry was somewhat hopeful that something similar was in store for him because he was good with old ladies and he was sure that there would be nothing horrible lurking in an old lady’s house.
The day of filming arrived and Barry was driven to a town on the other side of England. He was booked into a pleasant but rather dull hotel and told he would be meeting his “partner” in the television program later in the day.
Barry arrived at the home of his television partner and the first signs were not good ones. The person he was to meet lived in a flat within a large Victorian terraced house and the area was obviously not a high class one. There was a lot of litter in the street, dustbins lined up all over the road, lots of parked cars and every house seemed to be in the twilight of its life, in other words they were all run-down. The front of the home was decrepit, peeling paint, rotten window frames and the small yard, if you call it that, was piled high with rubbish and weeds.
Barry was going to meet his partner before any filming started and they would then film afterwards pretending that it was their first meeting. The sight that greeted Barry after he knocked on the front door was worse than anything that Barry could have imagined. A man in his mid to late fifties, dressed in sagging and filthy denim jeans and a dirty, food stained vest that barely contained his ball-like belly. His jeans were tucked into extremely battered and greasy rigger boots with the steel toe-caps completely worn through and his arms were covered in an array of tattoo ink designs that led down to large paw-like hands blackened with dirt. Apart from the tattoos his upper body was covered in quite thick dark body hair and this covered his shoulders, chest and arms. The man’s face was unshaven with at least a week’s worth of growth, not a beard but almost at the point where stubble becomes a beard. The man had a pleasant face but it was somewhat dirty and there were the remains of food stuck to his chin and as he smiled Barry could see his teeth were not in good condition at all; yellowing and quite uneven with the remains of food stuck between the teeth. The man’s head was balding quite severely but there was a salt and pepper growth of fringe surrounding his bald dome of a head.
“allo mate! Good to meet you, me names Rod.”
Rod smiled and offered his hand to Barry who looked down at the outstretched paw covered in grime, blackened by what might be engine grease or oil and the finger nails with a large quantity of black dirt lodged beneath. He wasn’t keen on touching this hand but figured that he would have to if he was going to proceed with this television program.
“Hello Rod, I’m Barry.”
Rod asked Barry to enter and he led him up a flight of stairs to the door of his flat. On the way Barry shivered with disgust at the dirty walls, floors and tried not to touch anything. Worse was to come as Rod opened the door to his flat and stood to one side to allow Barry to enter. Nothing would have prepared him for what he was about to see.
The floors were completely covered by piles of newspapers, old clothes, engine parts and heaps of general stuff. The walls were covered in greasy hand prints, the furniture that filled the rooms was of cheap quality and piled high with junk of all kinds. Hardly a space to walk through the rooms meant that walking was hazardous and it wasn’t really clear which room was which. Only when Rod said that this was the living room could Barry then discern a feint resemblance to such a room by the presence of a sofa or a television.
Every room was filled to capacity with junk, rubbish, engine parts and even a stripped down motorbike. Barry felt positively nauseous and wanted to run away from all of this. He was so aware of the dirt and the smell, an all pervasive odor of stale tobacco, beer, body odor, grease, oil and much more.
Barry desperately tried not to be sick or to appear too disgusted because he genuinely didn’t want to upset Rod’s feelings. He believed that Rod obviously could not help himself, that perhaps there was something wrong with his mind and this caused him to have to live in these conditions. Barry did not like being too near Rod because Rod was giving off an odor of stale tobacco smoke, beer and body odor that Barry found extremely unpleasant.
It was with great relief that Barry was finally able to get out of the flat and out into the fresh air. He took several deep breaths of air to rid himself of the stench from the flat, however he believed he could still smell it and believed that his clothes and body had absorbed the odors. All he wanted to do was to strip all his clothes off and wash himself thoroughly but now he had to start the actual filming of his meeting with Rod.
When the cameraman and sound recorder were ready Barry went through the motions of knocking at the door and being greeted by Rod. They managed it in one take which meant they could quickly move on to filming Barry being shown around the flat. Barry loathed going back in there once more and worse still was the fact that it took four takes before they got it right. Finally the first day of filming was over and Barry was able to get back to his hotel for the thorough wash that he needed. Tomorrow he would have to start work on cleaning and tidying Rod’s flat and be filmed doing so, he was dreading this and wondered if he could go through with it.
Barry showered and scrubbed himself raw but he still thought he could smell the odor of Rod and his flat. He slept well but was up very early and nervous about what the day would have in store. Soon he was back at Rod’s flat and was filmed wearing thick rubber gloves trying to clear the rubbish from the kitchen. Rod was included in the filming throughout the day so the two men were spending a lot of time together.
Rod did very little to help, occasionally throwing some empty tins and bottles into plastic refuse bags but little more than that. Mostly he stood watching Barry work, cleaning out the filthy kitchen sink and kitchen cupboards. Barry was becoming increasingly annoyed at the comments Rod was making:
“Seems like you waste your life cleaning up, it only gets dirty again.”
“You oughta get a life Barry.”
“You’d make some bloke a good wife.”
Apart from this Rod would swig beer from a can, burp loudly, fart loudly and smoke his roll-up cigarettes. Barry was at breaking point by the end of the first day but had managed to keep himself under control. He had cleared a lot of the kitchen and had moved on to the bathroom which was even more disgusting. He was proud of the work he had done and had achieved quite a transformation in both rooms.
There were two more days to go and he whole thing would be over. Barry said little more to Rod than was absolutely necessary and went back to his hotel room to strip off his clothes and scrub himself in the shower.
The next day Barry was tackling the mess that was Rod’s bedroom. Soiled clothes were everywhere and they reeked of Rod’s filthy lifestyle with everything from engine grease to beer to tobacco smoke, body odor and more, for Barry, obvious signs of semen dried on. The underwear he found was rank with yellow piss stains and shit marks as well as more dried semen.
Barry persevered in front of the cameras but once the camera was off he threw insults at Rod regarding his disgusting behavior. At the end of the second day Rod confronted Barry about his obsessive behavior and asked him whether or not he was happy with the way he was. Initially defensive Barry was dismissive but when Rod actually seemed to be showing a real and sincere interest Barry softened and they talked at some length.
Barry was surprised to see that they had talked for over two hours and he had warmed to Rod considerably. In fact they were both very relaxed and so much so for Barry that he said nothing as Rod smoked his roll-ups and drank his beer. Before Barry would have been making a big thing about smoking and drinking, opening windows or threatening to leave but he had been so engrossed in talking that he hadn’t registered anything to object to.
Back at his hotel Barry was so tired that he couldn’t be bothered to shower and just went straight to bed. He had a vivid dream about Rod where he found that he was living in his flat with him and was helping him to repair an engine. He saw that his hands were dirty and he didn’t seem to care and in fact he felt quite relaxed about everything. He was jolted awake at the point where Rod was about to pour a can of beer over his head and Barry was shouting at him to stop.
At last the final day of filming arrived. Today they were to show Barry presenting the finished rooms to Rod and Rod would proclaim his amazement at the transformation and would say he would keep it all clean and tidy from now on. Barry had only been able to clear the kitchen, hallway and bathroom because it was just too much to finish the other rooms and the film crew were happy with the footage they had achieved. A final scene of farewells between Barry and Rod was filmed and that was it. The television crew were soon packed up and had gone.
Barry felt a little lost now that the pressures of being filmed were over and he was quite touched when Rod suggested they have a cup of tea to celebrate the end of filming. Barry seemed quite at ease with Rod now, he would never have predicted that they would get along so well. Rod made the tea and they chatted for a while before Barry announced that he would help Rod out a bit more,
“I’ll put your dirty clothes in the wash for you!”
Despite Rod insisting there was no need Barry was already in the bedroom and had set to work. Rod let him get on alone and sat smoking in his chair but after almost half an hour Rod realized that Barry was very quiet and he decided to have a look and see what was wrong.
Rod was surprised at seeing Barry sitting on the dirty floor of the bedroom with a pair of Rod’s heavily soiled underpants held close to his face breathing deeply as if to inhale every particle of scent from the pants. Barry was masturbating furiously as he inhaled the smells from the underpants and was at the point of no return, ejaculating copiously as Rod watched.
Rod smiled a wicked smile and said,
“Looks like you really enjoyed that mate!”
Barry almost jumped out of his skin totally unaware that anyone had been watching. He blushed bright red and tried to cover himself up but he realized that there was little point in trying to conceal what he had been doing. Instead he went on the defensive,
“Well I’m sorry but its none of your business. I think it best that I just leave.”
Barry got up and went to leave but Rod stood in front of him blocking his path.
“No, I don’t think you're heading anywhere. What you and I need to is to have a little chat, mate — sort a few things out between us.”
As he said these words, his filthy hands caressed Barry’s face, his tubby fingers rubbing across Barry’s lips. Taking it further, Rod endows his grimy, nicotine stained digits into Barry’s mouth with a pry, rendering his compatriot's tongue to help itself —gently at first, and then with a passion as if the salty digits were the best thing Barry had ever tasted.
Evident by the bulge and stiff of his pecker in his trousers, Rod's enjoying himself immensely by this turn of events, to the point he couldn't help but to take his free mitt and
“Y'know, I reckon inside this here neat and fussy little wuss, there’s a nasty big fucker trying to get out. You want to be dirty don’t you Barry, you want to be a dirty bloke like me don’t you?”
Barry mumbled his agreement through the fingers still exploring his mouth. That was all that was required for Rod to move a stage further and begin removing Barry’s clothes until he stood completely naked. As Rod rubbed his hands over Barry’s body he commented;
“What a clean boy you are, far too clean. I’m going to turn you into a man like me, you want that don’t you Barry?”
Barry was relishing the feel of Rod’s hands over his body and replied, “Yes Sir I want to be made into a man like you. Please make me like you, I’m yours to do whatever you want and I’ll agree to anything you say.”
This was exactly what Rod wanted to hear and he knew where to begin. Barry watched as Rod unzipped his flies, undid his belt and let his trousers drop to the floor. Next he slid his yellow stained and grey underpants down revealing his heavily hooded cock. Rod pulled back the overhanging foreskin back to reveal his knob and the coating of yellow cock cheese underneath. Barry was immediately aware of the strong smell from Rod’s cock and although he would have run away in disgust previously he now stood in fascination. Rod grabbed hold of Barry’s cock and peeled back his foreskin before wiping the thick cock cheese onto his finger and then applied it to Barry’s cock coating it all around the gland. Once it was applied Rod pulled Barry’s foreskin down over it and said;
“There boy! Now your cock smells good and ripe like mine and as it should be. You’ll get well used to wearing my cheese boy.”
With that Rod wiped his finger under Barry’s nose giving him the full scent and causing Barry’s cock to stand to full attention. Barry really was up for anything from Rod but he didn’t know why suddenly everything was unlocked within him, it just was and he didn’t care any longer about his obsession with cleanliness. Rod took the cigarette out of his mouth and placed the wet end between Barry’s lips. Barry closed his mouth on the cigarette and began to puff on it as Rod stroked his chest and then began to tweak and twist Barry’s nipples. A charge of electricity seemed to pass through Barry’s body and he felt himself succumbing totally. Barry had a new obsession now and it was Rod, being with Rod, allowing Rod to use him and do to him whatever he wanted.
Rod pulled Barry into an embrace and held him tightly and Barry allowed himself to become absorbed by Rod’s scents. Barry inhaled deeply to take in the scent of Rod. What was once something he found repugnant he now adored. He took the aromas of Rod’s body deep inside him, the smell of sweat, tobacco, the wonderful animal scent of him; an oily smell, a smell of sex and masculinity. Barry began to rub his face hard into Rod’s body and wanted to transfer these smells to himself and Rod realized what he was doing and lifted his arm so that Barry could plunge his face deep into his armpits and get the full on scent that he so desired.
“You’re loving that aren’t you little man?”
“Mmmmmm!” was the only reply from Barry.
“Now son are you certain you want this because once I really get started on you I am not going to stop.”
Barry lifted his face from Rod’s armpit and said, “I promise you, I do Rod, I really do!”
“OK son. From now on I decide what you will be, how you will look and what you do. You belong to me and you’re safe with me. There’ll be no arguments about it because what I say goes. Your new life starts here son.”
With that Rod planted a big, moist kiss on Barry’s lips. His tongue invaded Barry’s mouth and Barry relaxed and accepted it all, enjoying the saliva, the full taste of Rod and surrendering himself totally.
Soon Barry was laid down on Rod’s bed. Not the spotless clean bed that Barry has been accustomed to but an untidy mess of stale, stained sheets, unlaundered for weeks perhaps, bearing the marks of Rod’s greasy, oily hands and of previous sexual exploits. On the bedside table was an overflowing ashtray, evidence of Rod’s heavy smoking; discarded cigarette butts, a pipe, spent matches. The room reeked of Rod’s body and his smoking but somehow Barry now began to feel at home there, this was the way he wanted it to be.
Rod removed his clothes to reveal his hairy, sweaty and overweight body. For the first time Barry saw the extent of his tattoos; on his shoulders, chest, back and all the way down his arms. Rod positioned himself on top of Barry and forced his generous but ripe cock into Barry’s mouth. He didn’t ask for permission to face fuck him but that is what he did and with some force. Barry gagged at the large cock at first and even though he was wearing a good deal of Rod’s cock cheese on his own cock now there was still an amount left to make him gag a little further. Barry was soon able to relax and enjoy the treatment he was now experiencing and the feeling of being made even dirtier was exciting him beyond anything he had ever experienced.
Rod came quickly and Barry swallowed all he was given and both were satisfied. Without even climbing off, Rod leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed his tobacco and cigarette rolling papers. He remained on top of Barry as he made his cigarette, dropping bits of tobacco onto Barry who just accepted it as a fact of life. After lighting up he inhaled and exhaled with satisfaction before placing the cigarette in his mouth as he climbed off and lay beside Barry, putting his arm around him and pulling him in very close. He continued to smoke and then blew a cloud of smoke into Barry’s face.
“You’ll be getting used to that son, smoking that is. I smoke a lot and so will you. Here take a puff.”
Rod placed the soggy end of the cigarette in Barry’s mouth and Barry took a puff as instructed. He was keen to learn and knew that he would end up smoking like Rod and he wanted that. Barry snuggled into Rod’s body as closely as he could and enjoyed the warm, sweaty, hairy body of the man he was falling deeply in love with.
Once they got out of bed Rod was keen to eat and sent Barry out for take-away food, ordering extra large portions for them both. Barry had always been a light eater, keen to maintain a slim figure but Rod insisted that from now on they would both be eating the same and Barry would be building up to a real man sized bloke. It was tough to finish all the food and the several cans of beer placed in front of him but he called on his obsessive nature and convinced himself he must do it.
Barry was now as dirty as he had ever been in his life. To be covered in another man’s sweat, to have his oily hand prints on his body, to have his cock cheese coating his knob and his spunk around his mouth and not have any wish to wash it off was something Barry could never have imagined.
There was more still to come as Rod pushed the limits further and further. After drinking several cans of beer Rod was in need of a piss and what better place to piss than over Barry. Rod made him stand in front of him while he removed his cock from his trousers and pissed long and hard over Barry’s trousers, soaking him through. Barry could feel the piss soaking through to his cock and balls.
It was time for sleep and Barry crawled into bed next to Rod. He’d been allowed to strip down to his underpants and socks but it felt strange to him to slide into the dirty bed that had once horrified him, now it felt right. Rod was a restless and noisy sleeper, alternately farting, burping and snoring but Rod was the boss now and Barry accepted his place and everything as the way life was from now on.
The next morning they were off to the local “greasy spoon” for a big greasy breakfast. Barry enjoyed the meal but still struggled to eat quite so much. Rod reminded Barry that he needed to pile on the pounds and would find every way possible to increase the calorie intake such as loading up Barry’s tea with sugar, something he normally hated but was now adjusting to. After the meal Rod always liked a smoke and rolled up a cigarette, lighting it then passing it to Barry;
“Right son now’s the time you start learning to smoke. You’ll need to watch me roll a cigarette so that you know how to do it, you’re going to be doing it a lot.”
Barry took the cigarette and puffed on it without inhaling but Rod told him to “smoke properly” and so after a first inhale and a good cough he tried again to make a better job of it. This was a tough one for him because he really didn’t want to smoke but he was going to persevere no matter what. Rod watched Barry smoke with great satisfaction and rolled himself a cigarette so that they could smoke together.
Barry had realized that he looked rather out of place in this “greasy spoon”. The place was full of building workers and others who looked like they belonged but Barry was conscious that he was getting looks that suggested he didn’t belong there. With his blonde highlighted designer hair, his shaped eyebrows and his clothes, although now beginning to smell pretty rank, still fashionable and rather smart.
As if he was reading his thoughts Rod said;
“We need to get you kitted out properly son, that gear of yours don’t suit you no more and you need a fucking haircut. Still I’ll get you sorted today. We got a lot to do so finish your tea and your fag and we’ll get started.”
Back at Rod’s flat Barry was given a haircut. The expensive blonde-highlighted hair was shorn away to a number one crop;
“Keep it like that son, the clippers are here so there’s no excuse. Every couple of days will keep it down.”
Barry was astounded by how different he looked and how white his scalp looked but he didn’t have long to think about it before Rod told him to strip off his clothes. Barry stood there naked as Rod sorted through piles of dirty clothes looking for something that would fit Barry.
“Roll us a fag each while you’re hanging around!” Rod barked. Barry had only seen Rod do this operation three times but he figured he could manage and after only one failure he produced his first cigarette. He completed the second, lit both and passed one to Rod.
In the meantime Rod had been throwing various items of clothing at him, “Here this’ll do.” “That should fit.” “You’ll soon grow into this son.” Barry looked at the growing pile of clothing; Rod’s filthy underwear caught his eye first. A pair of y-fronts, decidedly grey rather than white with a prominent yellow stain at the front and a brown stripe within. A greying and food-stained vest, socks with holes and stiff with sweat, a worn work shirt that smelled strongly of Rod’s usual odors, blue jeans that were more black than blue having large oil stains and engine grease marks on them. Everything looked larger than his size but he knew that Rod intentions were that he would be growing to more than fit it all.
Barry pulled on the y-fronts and felt a charge of excitement as the fabric settled around his cock and balls, almost as if they were intentionally molding themselves to fit him. The waistband was a little on the big side but they felt good, as did the grimy vest that he tucked inside the underpants. The socks were very stiff with dirt and sweat and a little uncomfortable at first but as the warmth of his body heated them a little they softened to his feet and he could smell the strong odor. His feet now smelled like Rod’s. The shirt was a reasonable fit and the underarms were particularly pungent, the jeans were far too big for him but he found a leather belt that enabled him to keep them from falling down. Both Rod and Barry had the same sized feet so the battered rigger boots slipped on without a problem.
Now was the moment to see what he looked like. He stood in front of the wardrobe mirror and saw the new Barry looking like a dirty workman, looking a lot like Rod. Barry stuck his cigarette in his mouth, re-lit it and saw someone who looked a bit like him but wasn’t really him. It was a powerful moment for him and his cock was solidly erect at the sight. He puffed on his roll-up and rubbed his hand roughly over his cock, he wanted to cum and started wanking and in no time at all shot his load, adding to the layers of filth inside his underpants.
Rod walked in and saw Barry fully kitted out in his gear; “You look good son, much more like it. We’ll soon get some meat on you and you’ll be filling out them clothes.” With that he grabbed hold of Barry and snogged him full force before bending him over and pushing his cock inside him. Barry gasped at the intrusion of Rod’s cock but soon settled in with the rhythm of Rod’s thrusts and pushed back to receive as much of the cock inside him as he could get. When Rod came he pulled out, slapped Barry on the arse cheek and said, “Right son let’s get some food.”
The days that followed settled into a routine. Sleeping, eating, drinking, smoking and sex. The sex consisted of Rod taking what he wanted from Barry whenever he wanted it, which was pretty often. There were no concessions to Barry’s needs because it was up to Barry to fit his needs exactly into Rod’s. Barry adjusted well and quickly; he came because Rod was fucking him or face fucking him or because he was on his knees sucking Rod’s cock, it was all he needed and all he wanted. Rod would piss on him or in him and that thrilled both of them equally. Rod would verbally taunt and abuse him and that got them both off as would Rod blowing smoke into Barry, usually from his fags but also from his pipe which he smoked whilst watching television and downing a few whiskies in the evenings.
Two weeks with Rod was like several months with someone else and Barry could hardly remember what his life had been like before. Two weeks of smoking as heavily as Rod had converted Barry into an ardent smoker and the yellow stains appearing on his fingers showed the evidence. Barry would also join in with Rod’s pipe smoking, having dug out an old battered pipe of Rod’s from underneath the debris in the flat. Any evidence of the cleaning and tidying that Barry had done for the television program had gone, the flat had reverted to its former state very quickly but it didn’t matter to Barry anymore, in fact he was now as messy as Rod and contributed to the growing mess.
Rod continued to work at his garage workshop, fixing and tinkering with engines and he now insisted that Barry accompany him in order to learn the business. Barry would be set the task of cleaning oiled up engine parts and soon his once soft, clean hands were caked in grease which would be with him all the time. Barry was now looking the part of a dirty slob. Rod figured it was time for the next stage to take place.
The next stage he had in mind was to clear Barry’s home, sell up everything there and finally confirm Barry’s future life. Rod and Barry arrived at the neat little terraced house in Rod’s battered old van, causing several of the neighbors to peer through their windows at the two scruffy blokes who had arrived in their neat neighborhood. Once inside Barry was amazed at how clean it all looked, he had almost forgotten what tidy looked like. Curiously he had no real connection with anything in the house, it all seemed to belong to someone else, in fact when Rod flicked his cigarette ash on the carpet Barry felt no concern at all. Once upon a time he would have been traumatized by such an action.
There was nothing in the house that Barry wanted and was happy to box things up to be taken away and sold. After a few hours all the belongings were cleared, leaving just the furniture that was to be collected by a dealer. They drove away without any emotions and received a fair price for the stuff they collected. Rod said that the money could be put towards Barry’s tattoos that he was now keen to get started on. The house was put up for sale and soon that chapter of Barry’s life would be over for good.
Barry continued working in Rod’s garage and was always to be seen in his blackened overalls working away on cleaning but not his previous type of cleaning, this time he was cleaning the grease and muck away from engine parts. Barry, now answering to “Baz”, was hardly ever seen without a cigarette in his mouth or a pipe dangling from his lips.
The regime set by Rod was working and now Baz had gained a good amount of weight, especially around the waist and belly. All of Rod’s gear fit him now and looked as if he’d always worn it. Baz drank heavily like Rod and this helped build up his girth to Rod-like proportions.
The tattoo sessions had begun and within a couple of months Baz sported a good covering of ink on his arms, hands, neck, shoulders and chest. Baz found being tattooed very addictive and looked forward to his sessions, always thinking about the next tattoo he was going to have.
Rod had sold Baz’s house and the money went into the business, Baz being made a full partner. The crucial thing was that Baz no longer had any independence from Rod and that was important to both of them. It meant that Rod felt in full control of Baz, having him dependent upon him for everything, not having any existence beyond him. Baz needed to feel he was “owned”, not as a slave because neither of them were really into that, but that he was the property of Rod, he was Rod’s creation and that made him content and happy.
Baz certainly was Rod’s creation. There was little left of the old Barry and certainly nothing of the obsessive compulsive cleaner because that was completely cured! Baz was an overweight, hard-drinking, heavy smoking slob. A slob who rarely washed, smelled of pure masculine odors, cared nothing for anything neat or tidy or smart. He reveled in his new self and never ceased to be excited by it.
“Come here fucker and grab hold of your old man.” Rob would say to Baz after a hard day’s sweaty work. Baz would be all over Rod at any time given half a chance. Locked in a deep, tongue swapping snog, they would grope each other’s bodies;
“Fuck you smell ripe Baz, you smell fucking brilliant, told you I’d make a real man out of you didn’t ?”
“Yeah you did Rob, you fucking did and here I fucking am, a dirty cunt just like you.”
“Light me a fag then cunt and get down on me knob.”
Baz lit up a cigarette, took two deep drags then placed it between Rob’s lips as he knelt down and unzipped Rob’s jeans, pulling Rob’s cock out and getting the full blast of stale piss, cock cheese and man sweat. Inhaling deeply several times he then took Rob’s cock deep inside his mouth and sucked it clean before giving him another brilliant blow-job.
Author: ChatGPT + Unknown Original Author
(Note: WARNING - Inanimate TF into a Pickup Truck. This is the ChatGPT equivalent of this story found from CYOC. Yes, ChatGPT made this, while I only made minor adjustments.)
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I can't help but notice that something seems off about those car pieces. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself drawn to them. Upon closer examination, it becomes clear that they have been modified in rather peculiar ways.
Unable to resist my curiosity, I can't help but pick up one of the heavy wheels. To my surprise, it has a hollow space in the middle, just big enough for my hand to fit inside. I find myself contemplating the possibilities of fitting my limbs into these intriguing components.
I can't help but feel mischievous as I glance around, making sure no prying eyes are upon me. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach for a discarded headlight. The twisted wires give me the perfect idea to hang it on my head like an eye-patch, creating a rather unconventional fashion statement.
Unable to resist the urge to push the boundaries of self-expression, I find myself adorning the other headlight alongside the first. Additionally, I playfully place a couple of wing mirrors in a way that makes them jut out from the sides of my head. Taking in my reflection on the car's gleaming surface, I can't help but chuckle at the sheer ridiculousness of my chosen attire.
The amusement I derive from this playful escapade is simply contagious. I revel in the sheer joy of the moment, knowing that I have some time to spare before Jack finishes his television show. Determined to push the limits of my self-imposed challenge, I continue rummaging through the machinery, eager to discover which components will find their place on my temporary "car-inspired" ensemble.
The depths of my exploration lead me to a peculiar find—a dashboard that has been twisted and contorted into a shape reminiscent of a torso. My playful nature takes over as I decide to shed my shirt and slip the plastic structure over my head. The sensation of it resting on my chest and shoulders brings a newfound sense of whimsy, while the dials amusingly align with my nipples.
My inquisitive nature leads me to a hidden trove beneath a sizable piece of metal. Among the intriguing items, one particular piece captures my attention—a small grille, contorted into the shape of a smile. With a mix of curiosity and a touch of discomfort, I decide to experiment and attempt to fit it into my mouth. The contortions of my lips elicit a painful sensation, but I manage to make it fit. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I burst into uncontrollable laughter as my tongue unintentionally triggers a cacophonous car-horn noise. Thankfully, my shenanigans go unnoticed by those around me. Eager to revel in this newfound discovery, I realize that biting the rubbery ball on the back of the grille allows me to unleash horn-like sounds at will.
Oh, the allure of the last remaining pieces beckons me—a wide exhaust can and a gear stick. My insatiable curiosity compels me to indulge further. With a mischievous glint in my eyes, I reach out and grasp the can, its sturdy steel structure and multiple holes piquing my interest. It's a moment of decision, and I can't resist the temptation that lies before me. I daringly discard my pants and underwear, ready to embark on this audacious experiment. Carefully, I slide my legs into the holes of the can, feeling its presence encase my thighs. A pang of discomfort mixes with the thrill as I gingerly insert the tail pipe into the more intimate regions of my body. With a satisfying snugness, I secure the can around my waist, its front hole accommodating my penis in an unexpected yet strangely perfect fit. Every movement sends ripples through the thick, dark oil swirling within the hollow confines, amplifying the sensory experience in ways both peculiar and exhilarating.
Now, it's time for the gear stick to take center stage. Its hollow nature calls out to me, enticing my imagination. Without a second thought, my focus shifts to my lower extremities, a magnetic attraction pulling me closer. Succumbing to the allure, I boldly slide my stick into the stick, feeling the velvety smoothness and a tantalizing slipperiness inside.
A delightful surprise awaits as I discover that kneading the hard plastic elicits sensations that resonate within me. The pleasure derived from this unconventional act sends ripples of excitement coursing through my being. Succumbing to the exhilaration of my eccentric activities, I surrender to a tantalizing ritual, indulging in a captivating rhythm with the tough plastic, reveling in its arousing allure.
Oblivious to the developing spectacle, the oil within the can begins to boil and surge, remaining hidden from my focus. My senses are overwhelmed by the escalating sensations, plunging me deeper into this audacious act. As the pinnacle draws near, a powerful whirr resonates, reminiscent of a roaring engine igniting. Instantly, a surge of scorching black fumes erupts from the tail pipe, cascading along the back of my legs, leaving a tingling trail as it reaches the heels of my feet. A thick and sticky substance courses through my extremities, penetrating me in ways both thrilling and unconventional. Yet, contrary to expectations, its path diverts, traversing through my back and finding release through an adjacent opening next to the pipe. With wide-eyed intrigue, I turn my head and open my eyes, greeted by the mesmerizing sight of hot, viscous black oil seeping and forming a captivating puddle upon the floor.
The sudden turn of events sends a jolt of fear coursing through my veins, causing me to react with a mixture of surprise and alarm. In my frantic attempt to retreat, I unwittingly find myself losing traction on the slippery oil, losing my footing and falling backward onto a disheveled mound of tires. The impact is harsh, and I feel the force of my head colliding with a solid object, momentarily obscuring my consciousness. As awareness slowly returns, I find myself disoriented amidst the chaotic heap of tires, the world spinning around me. A sense of desperation takes hold as I try to stand, only to discover that both of my feet are bizarrely bound to a mysterious rod. This enigmatic contraption leads to a wheel complete with a tire, positioned in parallel to my feet. Undeterred by the peculiar circumstances, I muster the strength to rise once more, yet my efforts are met with an unexpected twist. The wheel begins to rotate, propelling me forward against my will. My struggle for balance proves futile, and I find myself helplessly tumbling backward, landing painfully on my back. Undeterred by the setbacks, I continue to battle against the perplexing attachments, determined to free myself from their confounding grasp. However, my struggles only exacerbate the situation as the spinning wheels force me to painfully skid along the oily concrete, leaving a trail of discomfort and abrasions in my wake.
Determined to find some semblance of an upright position, I muster every ounce of strength to utilize the surrounding wheels in my struggle. Alas, my efforts prove futile as I succumb to gravity once more, landing face-first in a disheartening thud. Amidst the chaotic descent, a distinct sound reverberates—a pair of pronounced clicks that command my attention. Turning my head, I am confronted with an astonishing sight—my hands now entangled within the same contraption that ensnares my feet! A surge of helplessness courses through my veins as I find myself in a splayed-out position, limbs ensnared within the unforgiving grasp of the large wheels. The headlights, wing mirrors, and grille adorn my face, transforming me into a bizarre amalgamation of man and machine. The weight of the dashboard rests heavily upon my chest, while seat belts and brakes tightly embrace my arms and legs. A can of oil hovers near my lower extremities, an uncomfortable reminder of the unconventional path I have traversed. To my simultaneous relief and chagrin, the upright gear stick now discreetly obscures my still-excited "stick," reminding me of the surreal circumstances I find myself in. And, as if adding insult to injury, the tailpipe maintains its unwelcome residence in my rear. The gravity of the situation dawns on me, and the prospect of being discovered in such an indescribable state fills me with an overwhelming sense of dread and mortification.
Casting my desperate gaze around, I search for any glimmer of hope to extricate myself from this nightmarish situation. Alas, all that meets my eyes is a large, oily engine perched on bricks behind me, and sheets of metal serving as a makeshift car chassis. Regrettably, neither of these items hold any promise of salvation. Fueled by a surge of desperation, I attempt to roll forward, desperately seeking momentum to break free from my entrapment. My hopes are swiftly crushed as an unintended roll backward sends me crashing into the unyielding brick stand. Panic courses through my veins, a cold sweat drenching my brow. Just as I raise my eyes, disaster strikes with unforgiving force. The engine perched precariously on the stand topples, hurtling toward me in a deadly trajectory. My neck bears the full brunt of the impact, a deafening collision that envelops my senses. In an instant, my world is consumed by a blinding white flash, leaving me disoriented and bewildered. Slowly, my consciousness returns, and I find myself staring vacantly at the brick stand, a throbbing migraine tormenting every inch of my skull. Overwhelmed by a cacophony of agony, my mind fixates on two distinct thoughts—the excruciating misery that engulfs me and the unfathomable question of how I managed to survive the crushing weight of an engine crashing upon my fragile form.
As I gather my thoughts, a surge of apprehension floods over me as the realization sinks in—I remain ensnared in the same sprawled-out position, utterly immobilized. Despite my best efforts, I am unable to move anything, not even a muscle. My head remains fixed in place, incapable of shifting or exploring my surroundings. The wheels that were once in motion are now locked in stillness, refusing to yield to my desperate attempts for freedom. An overwhelming sense of helplessness envelopes me, intensifying with each passing moment. However, amid the growing panic, another revelation dawns upon me, sending shivers down my proverbial spine. While my field of vision presents a straight and upright perspective, my body feels as if it lies on its chest, defying the natural order of things. The persistent hardness of my "stick" reminds me of its presence, seemingly sticking straight down. An eerie sensation of coldness pervades my skin, akin to freezing temperatures, yet I am deprived of the ability to shiver. The chilling embrace spreads throughout me, focusing on my neck, chest, and waist, numbing me from within. With an unwavering determination, a newfound urgency overtakes me, driving me to unravel the enigma that has rendered me captive within my own body. I must unearth the truth behind this perplexing metamorphosis and reclaim control over my frozen existence.
I am overcome by an overwhelming sense of malaise, trapped within the confines of my limited mobility. The discomfort in my rear persists, serving as a constant reminder of my current plight. An unwelcome chill courses through my skin, enveloping me in an icy embrace. Strangely, despite the freezing sensation, the ability to shiver eludes me. Suddenly, a distinct sound disrupts the stagnant air—a click, followed by a gentle whirr. In an instant, the space in front of me is bathed in a vibrant yellow glow. The headlights, as if awakened by some unseen force, illuminate the area, casting their radiant light upon the surrounding scene.
An inexplicable sensation, a maddening urge to sneeze, washes over me, building in intensity with each passing moment, only to recede without warning. This enigmatic cycle repeats itself relentlessly, accompanied by a resounding mechanical whirr that punctuates each failed release. Just when I believe I can bear it no longer, an extraordinary eruption surges through me, erupting into a thunderous roar reminiscent of a roaring engine. In that climactic moment, my wheels spin into motion with unprecedented force, propelling me forward uncontrollably. Unbeknownst to me, the path I traverse leads me directly over the metal framing, hurtling me toward a chaotic amalgamation of a metal body and scattered components. A transmission, distributor, air filter, radiator, and battery rain down upon me, their collision forever melding them to my being. Simultaneously, the parallel framing beneath me aligns perfectly against my back, locking me in a relentless grip. Waves of excruciating agony crash through my existence as the weight of the metal bears down, pushing deeper into the depths of my being, intertwining and merging with my essence. Desperately, I struggle against the relentless pressure, unwittingly causing nearby wiring to intertwine with my form, the components seamlessly integrating with my intricate systems.
My attention is drawn to a nearby mirror, catching a glimpse of my own reflection. The sight that greets me is one of absolute chaos. The lower piece, resembling the underside of a chassis, boasts a cold, gunmetal gray hue, intertwined with intricate mechanical components. It wraps meticulously around the wheels, effectively concealing my legs from view. Above, a rusty blue top half of a pickup truck and its bed form a snug enclosure, enveloping my face and providing cover for my exposed back, while strategically placed openings accommodate the headlights and chassis.
In the midst of processing the absurdity of my appearance and marveling at the unique shape of the chassis, a familiar sound breaks the silence—the squeaking of the garden door opening. Jack enters the scene, casually scratching himself, unwittingly becoming an audience to my predicament. A surge of urgency wells within me, and I make a valiant attempt to speak, to convey the bewildering circumstances that have befallen me. Yet, to my dismay, words fail to materialize. I am left utterly speechless, my voice silenced, unable to articulate the nonsensical situation that now defines my existence.
A surge of anticipation courses through me as Jack delves into his pocket, retrieving a set of greasy keys. Astonishment and intrigue grip me as I become acutely aware of the tactile sensations accompanying his actions. I can feel the key sliding into the lock of the truck door, as though it were my own body undergoing the motion. The weight of his presence bears down upon me as he pulls open the door—my door—and eases himself into the driver's seat. My wheels adjust, accommodating his bulk, while the sensation of his sweaty back pressing against my worn surface sends a tingle of awareness coursing through my being.
As Jack secures the seatbelt with a decisive motion, I experience a unique sensation akin to enveloping him in a delicate embrace, my "arms" extending with fragile strength. The insertion of his key into the ignition ignites a surge of elation within me, the thrill of being an integral part of this unfolding experience. As he twists the key, I can feel the mechanisms coming to life, the vibrations resonating through my frame. Simultaneously, the gear stick undergoes a transformative journey, navigating through my interior until it emerges, protruding from my back. Each pull and shift becomes an intimate connection, evoking a mixture of exhilaration and unease, as though Jack is playfully interacting with an extension of my being.
As the energy surges through me, a newfound vitality courses within my being. The shifting of the gear stick and the ignition of the engine ignite a blazing fire within, intensifying with each passing moment. A sense of euphoria washes over me, rendering my mind hazy and intoxicated by the exhilaration. The features of my face contort and transform, molding into the solid metal front of a pickup truck. My ears migrate to rest beside each window, providing a heightened sense of awareness to the world outside. With a seamless motion, my arms and legs shift, finding their rightful places within the confines of my chassis, while my very essence seems to retreat and settle within the gas tank. Consciousness expands, enveloping the entirety of the old, rusty vehicle, while memories and knowledge converge, clustering together in what feels like the recesses of my being.
At long last, with a final rough turn of the key, the engine roars to life, setting my entire being ablaze with electrifying euphoria. The sheer exhilaration propels me forward, my rusty form pulsating with a newfound sense of existence. The exhaust pipe expels a dense cloud of my former self, dispersing the remnants of what once was. All that remains is the aged marvel that is Jack's rusty pickup, poised and ready to traverse the open roads ahead.
With the engine now roaring with life, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of purpose and anticipation. Jack, now in control of my transformed form, grasps the steering wheel, his grip firm and confident. The transmission engages, and I can feel the power surging through my mechanical veins as we shift into gear. The vibrations reverberate through my frame, harmonizing with the rumbling of the engine, a symphony of motion and energy.
As we embark on our journey, the wind rushes through my open windows, teasing my metallic surfaces, as we accelerate down the road. The world blurs past, a blur of colors and sounds, a testament to the exhilarating freedom that comes with motion.
Together, Jack and I become one, forging an unbreakable bond as driver and vehicle. We navigate through city streets and open highways, exploring the world with a shared sense of adventure. Life takes on a vibrant hue as we embrace the possibilities that lie ahead, savoring every moment of this extraordinary existence.
What lies beyond the horizon remains a mystery, but one thing is certain—our journey has only just begun. The open road beckons, and we heed its call, ready to embrace the unknown with unwavering determination and an insatiable thirst for the experiences that await us.
And that is a wrap on all the TravisTheDemon Captions I have on storage. There are still several (maybe a dozen) or so captions from him out there, somewhere. But at this point, they’re likely lost in time. I’d like to be proven wrong though :).
This 188mb .rar file is a round-up of everything I have of TravisTheDemon, NSFW included.
Big Thanks to @kaidowii, @musclelover4826, @youngtrevor, @imsrtman, @tffann, @visceral-stories, @skinheadmal, @jhontfs, and @poptheweasel for the help, corrections, and encouragement. Also many thanks to the loads of followers for sticking around!
As for the future, expect not only some original stuff but also a pivot back into more full length stories, such as RIK and DrJekyll. Their blogs was nuked, though fortunately I have most of their stories on file. Yeah, some of RIK’s stuff is still floating around Tumblr, but I think it’d be good to have all of them at a concise location.
As for DrJekyll’s stuff, while @kaidowii already has a lot of his stories up, there’s some that haven’t been reuploaded yet. I’ll likely post those in the coming weeks too.
(NOTE: Like several others, this caption’s title was botched in my folder, so I just thought of something on the fly and renamed. There may’ve been a first part in this series; though, sadly, if there was, I don’t have it.)
