John had heard rumors for a few weeks now of what people were just calling “The Change”—a “magic pill” that could give you the body you always wanted. That’s how he found himself standing in a back alley with a guy who said he could hook him up with the pill. Just a single pill that could change his life. The man was beautiful, so despite his concerns, the chance of having a body like stranger's won out and he took the shiny black pill from the man.
Back at home, John stared at himself in the mirror— Was he really going to take a pill that he bought from some guy in an alley? He looked at his old, tired, flabby self and knew the answer… for the chance to have a body like the one he’d always wanted… of course he would.
Staring at the black pill in his palm, he felt a sudden wave of vertigo as visions of different men swirled through his head. It felt like the pill was drinking in his deepest, darkest wants. When he blinked, the pill had changed from solid black to intricate patterns of color.
Before he could change his mind, John popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed. He leaned against the sink, not sure what to expect and wondering how long it took for the pill to start wo—
A prickling heat spread across his skin as the visions of men swirled in his head again. Then the visions coalesced into the form of a single tattooed man, and the change began…
He flexed in the mirror, marveling at his muscles and the intricate tattoos now covering his body… Fuck he was hot. That bad boy look he had always longed for, but had been too timid to pursue. But now… now he was that guy and felt his confidence surge. It was time to introduce the new John—no, Jonny—to the world.
A few days later, fully settled into his new skin, Jonny was back at the bar hunting for another hookup and savoring all the attention he was getting. It’s not so much that the pill changed who he was, but that it let him be who he always was deep down inside. And it was fucking amazing. His musings were interrupted when his old friend Terry spotted him— “John? Is that you? What the—?”
Jonny just smiled, held up a tiny bag containing a single black pill, and said, “I’ve got something you’re gonna want to try.”
Hayden was working on his thesis in the university’s library when his focus was shattered by a commotion in the stacks. Everyone watched as the librarian, Mr. Holdwell, stormed toward the disruption. He began to shout, "What are you two doing—" before his voice cut off abruptly. A brief scuffle followed, then a deep euphoric moan and Mr. Holdwell’s voice… “Yessss!”
A minute later, three shirtless jocks emerged from the aisle. Oddly, one looked like a young, athletic version of Mr. Holdwell—but still wearing the librarian’s slacks and shoes. All three wore predatory grins. Before anyone could react, they lunged for the nearby students.
The librarian-jock seized a young man and growled something about the "smell of a real man,” before burying the student's face deep into his sweat-drenched armpit. The man only struggled for a moment before beginning to take deep breaths. Soon he was eagerly inhaling the jock's musky scent.
Suddenly, the student shoved himself away and stumbled into the center of the room. Hayden watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the man’s frame began to swell. With a roar of ecstasy, the man ripped open his shirt, revealing the bulging, sweat-slicked physique of an athletic jock.
…and then all hell broke loose.
The jocks, including the young man who had just transformed, swarmed the room and began forcing men to inhale their sharp, salty funk. Every man who inhaled the intoxicating scent began transforming and then joining the pack to claim the next victim. It wasn’t long before the library looked more like a locker room, filled with flexing bodies and the growing scent of man-sweat.
Hayden grabbed his bag and bolted for the exit in a panic.
He had almost reached the doors when powerful arms grabbed him from behind, pinning him firmly. He looked on in terror as one of the jocks approached, smiling smugly while flexing his massive biceps.
“Aww bro, you can’t leave yet,” he chuckled. “And don’t look so worried. We’re gonna make everything better. All you gotta do is take in the smell of a real man. It’s so good, bro.”
The jock stepped in close, looming over Hayden as he hiked his arm up, placing his sweaty armpit directly in front of Hayden’s face. The unwashed funk hit Hayden like a physical blow. He tried to recoil, but the strong arms holding him forced his nose deep into the sour musk of the jock's pit.
And then he… he tried to… he… his thoughts trailed off as he inhaled. It was good, so good.
The thick scent flooded Hayden's senses, washing over him like a wave. This wasn't a stench to avoid; it was the natural, heavy scent of masculinity. A scent to just sink into. It was... him. A cocky smile began to spread across his face as all thoughts of his research and thesis faded away.
And then he began to change…
His body felt like it was on fire as his soft features began to sharpen into something more youthful and rugged. He was so warm—why was he wearing all these stuffy clothes? He needed to get out of them.
The tangy scent of his own sweat triggered a surge of primal energy. His body thrummed, his muscles expanding and hardening into heavy slabs. He tore his shirt open, revealing rock-hard abs as he threw back his head in a moan of pure ecstasy.
Hayden flexed his sculpted biceps, his body now a temple of alpha manhood. He was no longer a soft bookworm; his mind was now filled with thoughts of working out, sex, sports, and more sex—a jock through and through. He was the ideal of what a man should be—what every man needed to be… what he would help them become.
Hayden let out a primal roar.
The library doors burst open as a horde of massive, shirtless jocks poured out onto the campus. Every one of them possessed a perfect physique and a single, driving thought: Every man on campus needed to be this way. A real man. And they were going to ensure they were.
Caleb reluctantly took the keys from the brute of a man at the rental shop who grunted something about the Challenger being the "perfect car for a man like him" and promised he’d be comfortable with it in no time. Looking at the aggressive lines of the car, he knew the overpowered vehicle was definitely NOT the car for him. Caleb just sighed. He was going to be stuck with this obnoxious, gas-guzzling monstrosity until his sensible hybrid was repaired.
With a violent shake, the engine roared to life sending a jolt through Caleb’s spine that made his heart hammer. He expected to hate it, but the low rumble felt strangely right. As he gripped the steering wheel, he noticed the interior smelled of rich leather and high-octane potential. He pressed the gas, and an unexpected tingling wave of adrenaline washed over him. His grip tightened, his fingers feeling thicker and more sure against the wheel.
Navigating downtown towards the grocery store, Caleb realized the car felt like it was alive with a raw energy. The engine’s vibration radiated through the seat, seeping into his bones and causing his chest to tighten and expand with every rev. At the stoplight, his muscles coiled with anticipation and he felt his shirt sleeves start to pinch his arms. He relished the tightness, flashing a cocky smirk at the driver next to him. When the light turned green, he floored it, the torque pinning his growing frame into the leather.
Forget the groceries; he needed to see what this beast could do. As he hit the open road, Caleb felt a primal connection to the machine—all thoughts of sensible hybrids left in the dust. With every shift of the gears, his muscles surged, growing swollen and rock-hard as if infused with the car's raw horsepower. His lanky frame was gone, replaced by a heavy, powerful physique that filled the cabin. He wasn't just driving the car anymore; he was part of it. Both of them the perfect muscle machine.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the new Caleb—now massive, broad-shouldered, and radiating a dominant confidence—headed back into town; he needed a muscle boy to share in the fun. He pulled up to Cody’s place, eager to see his friend's reaction to the gleaming black ride and the man behind the wheel. Cody climbed in, his soft and flabby frame settling awkwardly into the passenger seat. Caleb flashed him a knowing smirk and grunted, "Hold on," his voice deeper and more resonant now. He hit the gas hard once again, and they sped back out toward a vista point overlooking the city.
As they flew down the darkened roads, the raw power of the worked on Cody just as it had on Caleb, turning the blonde man into a youthful powerhouse of hard muscle. By the time they reached the vista and Caleb killed the lights, the air in the cabin was thick with heat and raw desire. The engine idled with a deep, rhythmic throb for a moment before falling silent, and then the real fun began.
would love to see a twink at the thrift store, trying on some dad jorts, polo, sneakers. hopefully he wouldn’t turn into a balding bearded hairy suburban dad…
With no plans for the day, Robbie decided to check out the new thrift store to see if he could find a bargain on some stylish vintage clothing. While it wasn’t quite vintage, he found a polo shirt that he thought would work great for a country club / old money style outfit. Grabbing some khaki shorts to complete the outfit, he headed off to the dressing room to snap a few pics for Instagram.
He had put on the shorts and was in the process of pulling on the polo when he felt an odd tingling sensation started spreading down his body.
Then came an itching sensation on his face and looking at him self closer in the mirror… something looked off about his reflection, and was that hair on his chin?!?
Next he felt his stomach rumble and he looked down to see a large bulge where his abs should have been! No, no, no! Something was very wrong. Yet as he started to rub his now rounded belly… it somehow felt… comforting.
It didn’t take long for the rest of his body to follow— his hair receding, a touch of gray appearing in his beard, and a soft stocky build to match his prominent belly. And it… it felt good. Why had he obsessed over keeping such a scrawny physique before?
Reaching into the pocket of the shorts, he found a crumpled invitation to the “Summer Bear Picnic.” That sounded exactly like the kind of crowd he was looking for now and he had a feeling he’d fit right in. What better way to spend the afternoon.
A few hours later, Robert was having a great time at the picnic while getting quite a lot of attention from more than a few guys. And if the way they caressed his belly was any indication, he was going to be enjoying his evening even more.
Roman blinked his eyes open as a million questions raced through his mind—where was he? What was going on? Why was a man attaching an IV to his arm? He struggled, trying to move, but found he was strapped into a chair. A cold voice came over an intercom… “Now now, just relax. You’ve been chosen to participate in a very exclusive tournament. We just need to make a few … adjustments first.”
The lights dimmed and a screen flickered to life in front of him as a low droning sound filled the room. He tried to focus on the screen, but the sensation of the IV fluid coursing through his veins made it difficult. It was making his muscles twitch and his head feel fuzzy.
Images of strong muscular men in brutal, bloody fights flashed on the screen along with words that he couldn’t quite make out. What he could clearly understand were the words being spoken… “Dominate”, “Strength is all, weakness is death”, “Power”, “Fighting makes strength”… more and more, over and over.
He felt his mind breaking as he tried to fight it, but that was what they wanted, for him to fight— Fighting makes strength, strength is all. His body began betraying his resolve as his muscles started swelling and a feeling of power washed over him. He hated violence… but… but… the strong were meant to dominate the weak, weren’t they?
When the screen finally stopped, nothing remained of the timid young man they had brought in. Roman’s body was now sculpted muscle, and his mind focused— filled with a deep desire to display his physical strength and superiority. To Dominate.
They led him through a dark tunnel and into a large room filled with spectators surrounding a cage where another man waited— a man to fight, a man to dominate. His taut muscles were primed with anticipation as he stepped into the cage and his fists began swinging.
Both men fought with the ferocity of caged animals. Blow after brutal blow, until finally his opponent fell unconscious to the mat. Roman roared in triumph as the crowd cheered.
Back in the bunker, that same cold voice came over the intercom…”Congratulations on your first victory, Roman. You have proven your strength; now, you may lay claim to your prize and enjoy him however you wish." A slow, wolfish smile spread across Roman's face—a look that the man he used to be would never have recognized. Roman looked down at the man he had broken in the cage and knew exactly how he would assert his dominance tonight.
A request from @cyocfan :
I love clothing tf. Hey stud! If you had me, how would you tf me?
You were out shopping for a new shirt to wear to a friend’s summer barbecue when you stepped into the dressing room and found it a mess with clothes dumped on the floor. You realize with a scoff that they aren’t even new clothes—there is what looks to be a sweat-stained tank top sitting right on top of the pile.
For some unknown reason, you pick up the shirt to smell it. The ripe, pungent odor of man-sweat assaults your nose, causing you to recoil in disgust for a split second before the scent begins to overpower your senses. Your vision turns hazy, and you feel your mind begin to fog over.
Through the fog, you feel an overwhelming need to put the shirt on—to have that salty scent of man cover your body. Moving as if in a daydream, you strip out of your clothes and pull the shirt on. Immediately, a sense of rightness hits you. You are vaguely aware of your muscles twitching as your lanky body grows more defined and the slight outline of tattoos appears on your arms with a pleasant, prickly sensation. You inhale deeply, letting the ripe, masculine smell wash over you.
Still in a daze, you grab a musky pair of old jeans from the pile on the floor and struggle to pull them on. Your legs seem to be thicker than you remember. The unfamiliar feeling of the fabric stretching tight over your quads and ass sends a trickle of thrill through you. It feels so good... so right.
Next comes a denim vest—heavy with the persistent, sour scent of sweat and cigarette smoke clinging to the fabric. It fits perfectly over your bulky frame, showing off your broad shoulders and massive arms. It is like it was made for you, or you were made for it; your dazed mind is unable to decide. Either way, it is right.
Then, as you pull on a cap claimed from the pile, you blink and look around in confusion as if waking from a dream. But when you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror, a cocky grin spreads across your face. You’ve always loved ducking into a dressing room to admire yourself whenever you got the chance. Fuck, you look good.
After flexing for the mirror one last time, you grab a pack of smokes and the six-pack you came to get for your buddy’s tailgate party. Stepping out of the store, you immediately light up a cigarette and take a long drag. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since you’ve had a good smoke, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour or so. You lean against your truck, savoring the taste of the cigarette and the way the sun falls on your massive, tattoo-covered muscles.
As you take another long drag, an odd thought crosses your mind that things are finally right now. But you quickly shake off the thought; after all, you’ve always been the same man as you are today—a natural-born powerhouse and the pinnacle of everything masculine. A man who is simply doing the world a favor by standing in it. Fuck, it’s good to be you.
Master Sergeant Leopold Sinclair had proudly served his country for years, but the clock had finally run out. He spent his final days in the veterans hospital as friends and family came to say their goodbyes. That is, until a young doctor asked if he wanted to serve his country one more time by testing a top-secret treatment that could restore his health. He agreed without hesitation and it was only as the searing fire spread through his veins, burning away memories of men he served with, friends, and even his family, that he began to doubt his decision…
His body was on fire, but in a good way, as the fog cleared from his head. Whatever they had given him had more of a kick than he had expected. Seeing a commanding officer standing by the door, he snapped to a perfect, rigid salute.
“Private Leo Sinclair reporting for duty!”
The officer and doctor exchanged satisfied nods and were making notes in his file when a small elderly lady walked into the room. Bleary-eyed and clutching a handkerchief, she asked for her husband, Master Sergeant Sinclair.
“Sorry ma’am, but I think you have the wrong Sinclair. I’m too young for a wife and besides, I’m married to the Corps.”
James reread the message saying he had won a free ticket to the “American Awakening Tour” concert tonight— he didn’t remember entering any contest. Still, he figured why not, as he did enjoy the few open mic nights and musicians he’d seen here at the coffee house. He must have signed up for it during one of those.
The show turned out to be a country western bar on the edge of town and was for a singer named Nash Anthems. James immediately felt out of place when he walked in, as county was definitely not his type of music and most of the crowd were your stereotypical country men and women— cowboys hats, boots, plaid, and drinking bottles of beer.
Just as James was debating on leaving, a man in the crowd started talking with him… “First time seeing Nash? He’s amazing! Saw him the other day and it changed my whole view on life. You’re gonna love him! Here, this will help you look less outta place.” With that the man took off his cowboy hat and placed it on James’ head.
James opened his mouth to decline, but the crowd erupted into cheers as the band came out on stage and the most all-American country boy he had ever seen stepped up to the mic. “Howdy folks. I’m Nash and welcome to the American Awakening Tour. I’d like to give a special welcome to those first timers in the audience, I’m sure you’ll be enjoying yourself by end of the night. Now let’s kick this off with one of my favorite songs… American Made, Country Raised.”
As he listened, James found himself actually enjoying the music. The lyrics connected with him more than he had expected. Songs about working hard, freedom, love, pride, country, and more. He began to lose himself in the music as he absentmindedly undid a few buttons of his shirt and scratched at hair which had started sprouting on his chest— thinking to himself that maybe he had never given country music the chance it deserved.
Jimmy accepted another beer from his new buddy, Luke, and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt to proudly show off his American Eagle tattoo. The two join the rest of crowd in singing along with Nash… “raise 'em up high to the red, white, and blue, out here where the eagle flies!"
After the show, Jimmy and Luke sat at the bar for a few more drinks. Luke had been right, the show had been life changing and he had never felt more at home than he did with crowd here tonight— every one of them true all-American country folk. Jimmy smiled as Luke once again commented he would love to see how good Jimmy would look wearing only that cowboy hat.
Luke wasn’t the only one being more than a bit friendly with Jimmy, which he was definitely enjoying. It wasn’t long before he was talkin’ with a pretty little blonde who had seen Nash for the first time as well. There was an undeniable spark between the two of them.
As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, Jimmy found himself the center of attention in a secluded booth with Luke and Clara-Belle. This night really had been an awakening to a new chapter of his life… and the night was only looking to get even better.