stories archive

18+ only

[imagaynation]

Artist -> Liucacaca

[salmonskinrolltf]

Alumni Relations

[Thank you to @twistedtfs for contributing the second image for this not-so-short story.]

That’s my boyfriend, Blake, lying down, and me, Tyler, lying on him. As you might be able to tell, I’m a top. Not that he and I actually do anal all that often. It’s a lot of work, honestly, and a lot of cleanup. We often prefer just trading blowjobs, which is what we’re getting ready to do right now.

We’re on a time crunch, anyway. I’m on my lunch break at the law firm where I work, and he’s about to start his closing shift at the art supply store.

Just as I’m kissing my way down to Blake’s waistband, his phone starts blaring Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club.” Again. This is the fifth time that an unknown number has called in the past three minutes. Blake blocked the last three callers, but the calls keep coming from different numbers, so it isn’t working.

“Ugh, might as well see what they want,” grumbles Blake. I reluctantly roll off of him and he gets up, walking over to the bureau and answering his phone. “Who is this?”

I palm my tented briefs and he winks at me as he says, “No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong-”

Suddenly, his eyes go glassy.

I take my hand off my dick, sit up against the headboard, and watch him, curiously. What’s going on? Is it bad news or something?

“Well, yes,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. He must be nervous. He’s mussing his hair hard enough to pull the strands back, or something, because the part above his ears looks a lot shorter. When he moves his hand, I see something odd. His hair is shorter.

The back and sides are cropped close, and the only remaining length is at the top. I’m about to ask what’s going on when Blake does something that causes me to freeze in surprise. He grabs a blue baseball cap from the top of the dresser and puts it on, backward. He’s never worn a baseball hat like that. He’s never worn a baseball hat period. We don’t even own any!

The hat should be pressing his bangs flatter to his forehead, but they’re actually rising. They’re almost floating, like he’s touching one of those static electricity machine things at Spencer’s Gifts. They bristle and curl into a styled swoop that looks like it has been trained to flow in that exact way by years of cap-wearing.

I feel like my nerves are firing wrong, because I can’t move. All I can do is panic and try to process what I’m seeing.

“Yeah, of course,” Blake says. Is it just me or is his voice slightly deeper?

While the way he speaks has grown more masculine, his face is starting to look more boyish. His cheekbones rise, his lashes lengthen, and that beard that I love running my fingers through begins to fall from his face in small tufts, like flakes of paint being chipped off a wall. What’s left behind is patchy stubble, dark and thick on his chin and upper lip, but pretty sparse everywhere else.

“Totally, dude,” says Blake, letting out a deep guffaw that rumbles through his chest.

His ribs expand, as if they’re trying to properly contain the booming laughter that is bursting out of my normally restrained boyfriend. His thick pelt of chest hair holds on for dear life as his flat chest rises, his nipples suddenly perched on two solid mounds of muscle.

As he nods and continues to agree with whoever is on the other end of the phone, more details keep shifting. His septum ring glints as it vanishes into thin air. His underwear strains against a growing bulge. The stench of musk floods the room as he idly scratches an armpit. His eyes grow even more vacant and blank than they had looked at the beginning of the call.

He turns to look at me and I jolt. I was so shocked by Blake’s sudden transformation that I had forgotten I was actually in the room and not just observing this nightmare from afar.

“It’s for you, bro,” he says, holding the phone out to me. A goofy grin splits his face.

What the fuck do I do? Do I run? No, I can’t do that. This is Blake. The love of my life. Something weird is happening, and I need to fix it. I take the phone.

“Who is this, and what the fuck have you done with Blake?” I bark out the second the phone touches my ear.

“I don’t know any Blake,” said a calm voice on the other end of the phone. Male. Maybe early 20s? “But I asked Brody to hand the phone to you, so you can add to his generous donation.”

“Donation? What kind of scam-”

“My name is Evan and I’m calling on behalf of the local chapter of Beta Theta.”

“The frat? Look, I-”

“We’re raising funds so we can remodel the frat house. But our fraternity dues aren’t quite enough to cover everything.”

“OK, so talk to your frat alumni. Isn’t that how you people usually raise money?”

“I am talking to the frat alumni.”

“No you’re not.”

“Our tastes run expensive, as you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“We’re a relatively new frat, so there aren’t enough alumni in the area to get us what we need. I’ve had to get creative. I’ve been making frat alumni… calls.”

“OK, so you’re making calls. Why call us? And what did you do to Brody? I mean Blake.”

“You’ll understand in a minute. Look, the reason I’m calling is that you’re a former Beta Theta yourself.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve never been part of Beta Theta. Or any frat, for that matter.”

“My listings are never wrong. Don’t you live at 999 Hawthorne Place?” “Well, yes,” I say, as my fingertips start to tingle.

“And you have close-cropped brown hair?”

“I mean, yeah,” I say, running my hand across my shorn scalp, enjoying the prickly feeling. It’s weird how much darker my beard and chest hair are than my head hair, but I’ve always liked the way the length and the color clash. “But what does that have to do with-”

“And you’ve never been able to grow a full beard?”

I rub the patchy chestnut hairs on my chin and grimace. “Well, that’s true too, but you didn’t have to roast me like that, man.”

“And you’re just as muscular as Brody, but have way less chest hair?”

“All that is on the form?” I ask, looking down at the light brown hairs that are scattered along my shelflike chest.

“And your handsome face gets flushed when you drink, right?”

I suddenly felt dizzy. My deep voice slurs slightly when I respond “Yesh.” I take another swig from my Corona and set it down on the nightstand.

“And you’re always dressed in the frattiest clothes possible?”

“I mean duh, bro,” I say, rolling my eyes as I run my thumb along the length of my chain and adjust my backwards mesh hat.

“And you’re as dumb as a box of rocks?”

It takes a minute for that question to sink in. My gears have never turned all that quickly, and I got distracted by grabbing my package and leering at Brody. I can’t wait to get off the phone so I can bury this cock in his ass, to the hilt. Oh wait, didn’t that Evan guy ask me something? “Oh.. uh, yeah.”

“And your name is Tigger?”

“Yeah, bro, but it’s just a nickname. They called me that because Prez kept catching me bouncing on Brody’s dick,” I say. God, I’m so horny. My ass aches to be filled. Brody is taking off his underwear and jerking his fat cock. I’m drooling at the thought of it. I can’t resist jumping his bones every two hours or so whenever we’re alone together between shifts at the gym. The Beta Theta tattoo on his wrist flashes up and down with every stroke.

“And you’re a devoted Beta Theta?” Evan asks.

Is that even a question! “Uh… doy,” I say. “And they say I’m the dumb one. I have the tat on my asscheek to prove it. So you need money, yeah? Would 10K do? I have that much saved from my lame old job.”

“$10,000 would suit us perfectly well,” says Evan.

“Hell yeah, boyyyyy,” I say. “Just, like, make sure to put up a plaque or something when you build it. ‘Brody & Tigger’s Beer Pong Stadium’ or something like that, y’know?”

“Will do, Tigger. And thanks again,” says Evan.

“Anything for Beta Theta, man! These are the best years of your life, I wouldn’t want them to go to waste on a sucky frat house!”

After making the Zelle transfer, I hang up the phone and lumber over to Brody, grabbing his dripping cock in my meaty hand. I can’t wait to crash my mouth against his and feel his sexy stubble scrape against my chin. “Now, where were we, bro?”

[misctf]

The Game Show

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

[siinfvg]

[thisdoesntmatteritsforme]

I feel myself being folded in two, a cock pushes slowly at my hole, and then suddenly, all at once, is inside of me. It doesn't hurt, like I thought it would. Instead, I moan with pleasure.

Hands grabs me, a hand fondles my package, already much smaller and continuing to diminish. More will change in me before the end of the night.

There's a cock in my mouth, then another. I'm drenched in swear and cum, and piss I think. I do not know. I am lightheaded. I feel drunk and drugged. I giggle. I am drunk and drugged.

I notice that I do not have body hair anymore. I am smooth as a baby. I feel like I am watching someone else, as I am slowly being changed into the absolute faggot.

At some point someone puts a chastity cage over my newly tiny cock. I dont complain, dont stop it. I exist for the pleasure of others.

The night continues and I am lost in a sea of cocks and hands. At some point everyone at the party had a turn, and they start taking seconds, then thirds. My new mind start already to memorize the shape of their cocks, how they each like to be serviced.

Eventually one of my brother goes to sleep, and then another, and soon it's just me awake among a bunch of sleeping men. I feel calm. I feel horny. My hands slide on my new, smooth body, sticky from the night's adventure. I grasp my cage with one hand, and rub my new bubble ass with the other. Soon my fingers find my hole, permanently lubrified, always ready to be fucked.

I push them inside, rub my dick, moan as I try to cum from the action. No luck. I didnt expect much, but I had to try. It seems that everything they said was right. I can now only cum when I get the permission of a real man.

I let that thought swirls in my head a bit, trying to decipher what emotion it elicits in me. I'm not sure. It feels right tho.

I look at all my sleeping brother, wondering for a bit if I should find a place to lay down. But I'm not sleepy. I remember then that I'll never be sleepy again. One of the drug ensured that. From now on, they said, whenever I am not servicing one of my brother I am to clean the house and make myself useful.

I look at my sleeping brother, my eyes lingering on their cocks. My hole twitches, and I wish one of them was awake to fuck me again. But I shouldn't be selfish, this is not about me.

I step delicately around them, until I find my way to the basement, and start doing laundry. Once in a while, unable to stop myself, I bring my nose to one of the dirty underwear or sock that is laying there. It brings me calm, focus. I finally found my place.

[repossesseddesires]

Law Of Restoration Of Consciousness

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Law Of Restoration Of Consciousness

“The National Budget and Health Resilience Act was passed last night by a narrow margin, after three days of legislative gridlock. Although the opposition voted unanimously against the controversial “Section 404” – the hidden amendment that allows the expropriation of criminal biological substrates – the need to release emergency funds forced the Senate to pass the entire package. Today, the bodies of inmates no longer belong to the State; they belong to the repair market. In the highly controversial Restitution of Consciousness Act” – The radio blared in the middle of the Transfer Center. The first of many across the country, while orderlies, doctors, nurses, and the patients themselves were moved throughout the facility, police officers awaited the necessary “shipping” to begin operations.

The Law of Restitution of Conscience was an initiative that proposed to prevent overcrowding in the country's prisons and, at the same time, allow those incarcerated to "give back" to society. And how? Quite simply, with their bodies.

To repair the damage committed, for being unable to settle their debt with the other affected party, or even for crimes of "force majeure", the prisoner would undergo a process where their body would be rehabilitated and given to someone else so that their conscience could have a second chance in that body. Those considered for the procedure would include victims of the same offender, family members, terminally ill individuals, and even others who wished to acquire a new body and donate a significant amount of money to the state.

Complaints, objections, and other demands were swift, claiming it was an inhumane and extreme treatment, going beyond existing forms of penance. However, there was no alternative but to let the project proceed once it was approved. And today was the big day.

— Are you ready? – a nurse whispered to Stacy as she wheeled her into the procedure area. Light streamed through the windows as she gazed out at the clinic's green space.

Stacy had been attacked by her ex-boyfriend a couple of months earlier at her home. The confrontation had been so violent that she had fallen from a third-story window, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down and confined to a wheelchair. Because of this, she was one of the first to be considered for the project.

Even the law had certain adjustments to make (like the issue of gender and which bodies each person would end up in), but for her, that wasn't a problem. She wanted that jerk to pay, and what better way to do it than by taking his body?

On the opposite wing, but heading in the same direction, some officers were bringing the guy in, holding him by both arms. He had stopped struggling a while ago, resigned to what was about to happen, his gaze darting from side to side.

When they finally converged, they were seated in a procedure room, which looked more like some kind of strange dentist's office with two examination chairs, a machine between them, and above them, two helmets with wires and tubes connected to them. They sat each of them in their respective place while the doctors administered a couple of IV drips, sedatives, and solutions necessary for the consciousness transfer.

Stacy smiled as soon as she felt the helmet being lowered, gripping the straps against her chin. Everything was proceeding normally until her ex-boyfriend started screaming in panic, trying to break free and get up to run away, but it was useless.

— NO, PLEASE! WAIT, WAIT. THIS IS WRONG, I'M SORRY, OK? I'M SO SORRY! – He was hysterical, moving from side to side to no avail. The machine began to growl with the force of volts coursing through it. The energy leaped mercilessly against the helmets, jerking them both around. Stacy gritted her teeth and hands, resisting. Brad, her ex-boyfriend, continued screaming in terror until everything faded to black.

Stacy felt almost as if something had enveloped her in the darkness, a bony hand that threw her to the opposite side of the room until she crashed into “something”. Her head throbbed when she opened her eyes again. Disoriented and seeing only blurry images, she felt them remove the straps and, almost instinctively, tried to stand. She ended up stumbling.

But what was different at that moment was that when her vision cleared again, she saw enormous feet in front of her, masculine, completely unlike anything she was used to.

And best of all, she could feel them again. Not only that, she watched with fascination as those fat toes responded to every stimulus she sent. The dampness they felt, the cold ground against the soles of her feet – it was fantastic.

The doctors helped her to her feet to take her to an area where she could be more comfortable and continue performing tests while they left her old body behind; it didn't matter anymore.

The routine checkups and other examinations were a complete success. It was very different inhabiting Brad's body – more muscular, with his enormous pecs, gigantic biceps, and even all the tattoos scattered across his body. But the biggest difference (or rather, acquisition?) was undoubtedly his tool. Thick, long, and difficult to handle.

But Stacy loved it, finally having the upper hand. Those same biceps that had tore her like a rag doll were now hers, obeying her every command. The bad smell was also a huge problem, but she could adapt.

After all, she had a great life ahead of her, and she was certainly going to enjoy it. She didn't yet have a clear idea of ​​what path she would take next, but with Brad's body at her mercy, his attractiveness, strength, and charm, she was sure to do well. The only catch was that, sure, that body was straight as a kite, but with her inside, things would change drastically.

Anyway, it wasn't like Brad could complain or even see what she was doing with his body. Ah… Karma really was kind.

----

Hey everyone!

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I really enjoyed writing this story, although I must admit it was a bit rushed, haha. But I liked the final result. I know I've already explored similar themes in other CORPUS.Inc's stories (which is basically the "origin" company of all these exchanges), or in my more recent story about police and new bodies, etc.

I wanted to ask if you enjoy these kinds of stories so I can bring you more on this theme, connected to CORPUS.Inc., perhaps in other areas of society, public services, etc.

Would you be interested?

For sure!

Mmm... Only sometimes

Nope

Voting ended onMay 29

If you have any particular ideas, I'd love to hear them. Thank you.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

----

[bestinmem]

[bearnvegas]

Daddy Bear is waiting...

[misctf]

Hey! Big fan of your work, especially your jock to bear/daddy tfs. Would love to see another story similar to For The Team. Maybe the head of a construction crew is tired of the young lazy guys on his team so decides to transform them into 'real men' to get the job done faster?

"Dude, Steve's dad is fuckin' nuts."

"Think I don't know that, bro?"

"Not sure the beers are worth it, man. Seriously."

The heavy clack of a dropped pipe wrench followed by a string of muffled expletives made both young men snicker. When Liam and John signed up to help Steve move into his new rental, they expected heavy lifting, not an absolute gauntlet. Steve's father, Mr. Richards, was a certified, old-school hard-ass.

"What're you boys laughin' at?"

The booming voice of Mr. Richards cut through the dusty air of the living room. He stepped into the doorway, framing a physique built like a seasoned workhorse. The man practically oozed discipline, sweat, and sawdust. He was always going on about the pride of the construction crew, how it was a real man’s job, and how he wished Steve would show at least half that grit. To him, Liam and John were just "good-for-nothin'" distractions diluting his son's potential.

"Spendin' all your time laughin' it up," the older man barked, glaring at them with hardened eyes. "You pretty boys are useless. Always jokin' around. Can't take a single damn thing seriously."

"All due respect, sir, we're just here to help our friend," Liam said, straightening his posture. John nodded in solidarity, both of them standing tall to prove their loyalty to Steve.

Mr. Richards’ eyes flashed with a sudden, unsettling intensity. "Help him? Oh, I know jus' the way."

Before either could react, Mr. Richards moved with a terrifying, explosive speed that completely defied his age. His calloused hands clamped onto their arms, violently pulling the two young men together.

"What the fuck?!" John yelled.

"Shit dude, let go!" Liam wrestled to break free, but the moment their skin collided, a bizarre, visceral heat flared at the point of contact.

Their arms didn't just touch... they melted. The skin fused, the underlying muscles twisting and braiding together, expanding exponentially as their shared mass coalesced. Youthful, smooth skin rapidly thickened, weathering into a sun-baked, rugged texture right before their eyes.

"Dude! Get off me! Stop pushing!" Liam panicked, his voice cracking.

"I'm trying! I can't move my arm!" John screamed.

Mr. Richards simply grinned, watching as the anomalous reaction rippled through their clothes, shredding the fabric until they were entirely exposed. In a desperate bid to separate, Liam shoved against John’s chest, while John raised his other arm to defend himself. The moment their hands collided, the phenomenon struck again. Their limbs fused into a second massive, heavy arm, padded with thick muscle and dense labor-ready bulk.

Terrified, Liam slipped on the hardwood floor, pulling them both down. He landed hard on his back with John pressed tightly against his front. They hit the floor with a heavy thud, gasping for air.

"You're each worth about half a man from my crew," Mr. Richards smirked, looming over them like a foreman inspecting raw materials. "And two halves equal one whole."

A sudden, overwhelming wave of intense, heavy pleasure spiked through them as their lower halves collided. Liam and John both let out a strangled groan as their groins began to merge. Their cocks melting into each other, settling into a thick, heavy shaft took shape above two massive bull nuts. The cool draft left their new manhood throbbing, threatening to shatter their panicked minds.

"Oh fuck... what is this..." Liam moaned against his will, his thoughts fracturing.

"Feels so heavy..." John gasped, biting his lip as their hips melded seamlessly, reshaping into a wide, immensely thick set of glutes: a solid, powerful dump truck of an ass forged from dense muscle and heavy fat.

As they bucked against the floor in a daze of sensory overload, the transformation surged downward. Their legs collided and fused into pillars of pure power. Thick, hairy thighs took shape in seconds, their calves bulging and their feet stretching into a pair of size 13 giants. They flexed their heavy, calloused toes against the floorboards as the raw, unbridled pleasure continued to reshape their biology.

"Look at that," Mr. Richards chuckled, leaning down to firmly grip their newly formed manhood. "Feels good, don't it? Becomin' somethin' better. I always treat the boys on my site right."

The dual consciousness inside the collapsing minds of Liam and John whimpered. They closed their eyes tight, desperately trying to stifle the embarrassing, breathless sounds escaping their throats. But Mr. Richards wasn't done. He forcefully pressed Liam's upper torso deeper into John’s.

"There we go, nice and easy."

Both young men had prided themselves on their gym routines: lean abs, cardio endurance, and neat definitions. But as their torsos violently slammed together, the superficial fitness vanished. An intense pressure replaced the pleasure as their midsections expanded outward. Layer after layer of dense, heavy muscle packed itself around their shared spine, immediately followed by a thick, proud layer of solid beer-gut fat.

"Fuck, stop! Please!"

"I can't take it...!"

Mr. Richards just rolled his eyes, stroking them rhythmically to keep their minds compliant. A massive, proud muscle gut finalized its shape, heavily blanketed by a dense forest of dark chest hair and a thick treasure trail.

“That’s the stuff.” Mr. Richard’s muttered running his other hand along their hairy stomach, “Real men ain’t smooth.”

The transformation climbed into their chests. Their pectorals collided and swelled dramatically, expanding into two heavy, dense slabs of rock-hard muscle and jiggling fat that rested heavily atop their new gut. It was meatier and wider than anything either youth had ever possessed, completely covered in a rugged mat of coarse hair.

"You're lookin' good," Mr. Richards praised, his voice echoing in their ears. "So close, boys. Well, shouldn't really call you 'boys' anymore."

Everything from the neck down was now a singular, towering, powerhouse of a man. Only their two distinct heads remained, frantically looking at one another in sheer terror.

"Wh-what are you doing to us...?"

"Please, just turn us back..."

"No tears now, c'mon," Mr. Richards smirked, reaching up to pinch one of their heavy, shared nipples. A sharp, shameful moan erupted from both mouths simultaneously. "You're about to be a real man for the first time in your sorry lives. And when I'm done, you'll never know anythin' different."

"Wait! Don't!"

Mr. Richards grabbed both of their heads and forced them together.

A final, muffled cry filled the room as their facial structures dissolved into one another. Their youthful features melted away; their hair fell out completely, leaving a smooth, bald head. The nose widened and flattened into a rugged profile, while a dense, perfectly trimmed beard sprouted across a heavy, square jawline. Youthful eyes shifted, taking on the heavy, weathered look of a man who had spent forty years working under the blistering sun. Their neck thickened into a massive column of muscle, and their skin darkened into a leathery, tanned complexion.

Then, absolute silence fell over the room.

The only sound was the deep, heavy breathing of the massive, lumbering man sitting on the floor, sweat glistening across his newly forged muscles, thick hair, and heavy gut.

Mr. Richards smirked, placing a heavy hand on the bald head. "How's it feel, Chuck?"

The name echoed through the shambles of what used to be Liam and John. Their old memories were scattered, disorganized, and rapidly fading into irrelevance. Who were they? It didn't matter. Chuck was here now. Chuck was strong. Chuck was a real man. He knew exactly who he was. A stupid, satisfied grin spread across his heavy, bearded face.

"Fuck, boss..." Chuck's new, booming baritone voice rumbled in his chest, a sound that made Mr. Richards smile with professional pride. "Can you finish me off?"

"Not until you finish the job," Mr. Richards said, letting go of Chuck's manhood and stepping back. "Got it?"

"Guess that's fair." Chuck grunted, easily pushing his massive, heavy frame off the floor with his bulky arms. "Alright, let's get to it."

Chuck moved with absolute efficiency. He carried three times the weight Liam and John ever could, moving boxes and heavy furniture like they were made of cardboard. He was a real man, and real men knew that if you wanted your reward, you had to put in the honest work first.

As he hauled a massive oak dresser toward the master bedroom, the front door clicked open. Steve walked in, holding a cold twenty-four pack of beer. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking up at the towering, bald, bearded laborer.

"Oh, hey... are you one of my dad's friends?" Steve asked, blinking in confusion. "I'm Steve."

"Chuck," the big man rumbled, offering a brief, respectful nod.

"Thanks for coming by to help," Steve said, looking around the room with a puzzled frown. "Uh... have you seen my friends? Liam and John? I finally brought the beers."

Chuck looked down at the cold cases, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his rugged face.

"Can't say I have," Chuck rumbled, wiping a bead of sweat from his thick brow. "But I'll definitely take one of them beers."

[bigification]

It's Too Late

It had been one year since Danny started working for his dad's construction company. It wasn't ideal, but he needed a job after he graduated and this was a temporary solution until he could get a job in business.

Danny opened the door of his truck, instantly feeling the chill in the air. Spring had been awfully cold, it seemed to be getting everyone sick, even his father had called in sick this morning. He grabbed his jacket and threw it on before putting on his hard hat.

"Hey bud *cough* how ya doin?" His foreman, Mike, asked Danny as he walked into the site.

"I'm good, you?"

"I'm alright, *cough* I think I caught something." He said between fits of coughing.

"Maybe you wouldn't be sick if you ever wore a jacket." Danny joked as he tugged on his foreman's thin T-shirt.

"What are you, my dad?" Mike chuckled.

The morning was a bit boring, but the work went by fast. They were nearly done excavating for an extension to a fancy looking laboratory. Danny overheard Mike talking about it being some well funded government deal, but it was too boring to bother paying attention to it.

It was only a couple hours into his shift when Danny felt a tingle in the back of his throat. It started small, something that would go away when he cleared his throat, but it quickly worsened. He tried holding in the coughs, but it didn't work. His face grew more and more red before he burst out into a cough.

"You okay, bud?" Mike asked.

Danny didn't speak, he couldn't speak. He flashed a thumbs up, but he wasn't okay. He suddenly felt burning hot and his skin became irritated. Clearly flustered, he stumbled towards his truck and closed himself inside it.

The coughing started to slow down just enough for him to catch his composure, but he still felt a burning heat welling in his stomach. He felt his shirt tighten around his midsection, and upon looking down, he noticed his stomach rising. He didn't even know how to react as his flat stomach swelled into a modest belly.

"What the fuck..."

Danny placed his hand on his stomach, feeling it sink into the soft fat that bulged out in front of him. He barely had time to react as the rest of his body also began to change. His strong pecs grew both with muscle and fat, pressing tightly against his shirt while not quite losing their shape. He could feel his arms fill out the sleeves of his shirt, constricting tightly around his thick biceps as his hands grew strong and meaty.

"Fuck yeah!" Danny laughed as he flexed his massive arms.

Similar to his arms, his legs started to thicken, filling out the space in his jeans. His ass grew wide and perky, straining his belt as his thighs threatened to burst through his pants. He even felt his feet curl up as they outgrew his boots.

Danny relaxed as the changes seemed to slow. Out of curiosity, he pulled down the sunshade to check himself in the mirror. It was hard to see his body in the tiny mirror, but he noticed something off about his face. His face had filled out, with a slight double chin peeking below his softer jawline, but it wouldn't be visible for long. Thick black hairs sprouted all over his clean shaven face, weaving into a bushy beard that covered his jawline. Even more shocking was when most of the hairs turned grey all the while his features began to age. Wrinkles formed around his eyes and on his forehead, and he could feel his hairline receding slightly.

He sat there, slack jawed as he stared at his bulky middle aged body in the mirror. But the shock didn't last long before his expression turned to satisfaction.

"Lookin' good, big guy." Danny said to himself in the mirror. He was shocked by how his deep voice boomed through the empty truck.

He made different expressions in the mirror and flexed his thick muscles, finding a deep attraction to his own dad bod. But his modeling session was cut short when someone swung the truck door open.

- Meanwhile -

Ring Ring!

Pete woke abruptly to his phone ringing. He slowly rolled out of his husband's arms and reached to grab his phone.

"What?" Pete answered, clearly annoyed.

"Well you're in a lovely mood." The voice on the other side mocked.

"This is my day off, why are you calling me this early."

"This is urgent. The alarm went off at one of our labs and none of the researchers are answering their phones. I need you to check and see if everything is fine." The man asked, seemingly stressed.

"Why me?" Pete argued, still groggy.

"The lab is right down the street from your house. I'm on my way now, but you can get there faster than I can. I just need you to make sure there isn't a leak. The research in that lab cannot get out!"

"Jeez, okay. I can be there in a couple minutes."

Pete hung up his phone and jumped out of bed. He threw on his uniform and gave his husband a kiss on the forehead.

"Bye John, I'll be back soon."

He quickly sneaks out of the room, throws on his boots, and heads out the door.

For a cold Spring morning, the sun was beading down really hard on Pete. He threw on some sunglasses and rolled up his sleeves as strolled down the sidewalk.

After a couple minutes of walking, he could already see the lab down the street. Luckily, it didn't look like there was anything wrong from where he was, no fire, no panic.

Once Pete got closer, he tried looking for something out of the ordinary, but the only thing that looked out of place was some construction going on outside the lab building. He walked into the site to see an older guy standing alone.

"Hello, sir." Pete caught the man's attention. "Are you the foreman?"

"Yes sir." The man reached out for a handshake. "Name's Mike."

"Mike... Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary around this building?" Pete asked.

"Ugh... No not really. Though I've had a pretty nasty cough since I got here, it seems to be hittin' my boys harder than me tho."

"And where would they be?" Pete questioned.

"One just went to take a piss and the other went over to his truck." Mike pointed to Danny's truck. "He's been in there a while now, I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll go talk to him." Pete said as he walked over to the truck.

He peeked through the window and saw an older man, around Mike's age. Pete knocked on the window, but couldn't seem to catch the man's attention, so he yanked the door open.

The man stumbled out of the truck, still coughing up a lung. Pete stepped back, trying not to get run over by the larger man. He tried to calm the man down, but he continued to cough right in Pete's face.

It wouldn't be long before Pete felt a tingle in the back of his throat. The sensation quickly grew into a violent cough, and with each cough, his chest rose. His pecs swelled until they ripped through his shirt, revealing a broad and hairy chest underneath. His arms thickened until his sleeves ripped in half while a thick pelt of hair grew over his arms, all the way down to his thick man hands.

"What is happening...to me?" Pete struggled to keep his balance.

He pants also tore in dramatic fashion as he stepped up onto a nearby picnic table, leaving him in nothing but a tight jockstrap and boots. His ass perked up and his thighs grew to the point that they rubbed together when he walked.

Unbeknownst to Pete, his face had also begun to change. His five o'clock shadow grew into a small beard while his nose grew and his eyes wrinkled.

"Pete!?" A familiar voice called out.

Pete looked up and smiled as he saw a familiar face.

"What's up boss?" He asks in a mature gruff voice.

"My god..." The man's eyes widened. "It's too late."

"What are ya talkin' about, bud." Pete asked as he approached his boss.

"It leaked. It can't be contained, it'll just keep spreading." The man spiraled.

"Relax, buddy. I'm sure it'll be fi-"

Pete paused mid sentence before coughing directly into his boss's face. It didn't take long for him to start growing out of his clothes, but Pete barely noticed, his mind seemed somewhere else.

"John!" He shouted before running back towards his house.

It became harder and harder to run as his body continued to grow. His stomach swelled with every breath, quickly becoming a solid beer gut. His shoulders broadened as a thick layer of fat grew over his pecs.

Meanwhile, his body continued to age. His growing beard started to go grey as his hairline receded all the way back, leaving a thin ring of hair left under his hat. His body hair became more dense as it too started to go grey.

The pressure on his aging knees grew as his height soared past 6 and half feet, making him slow down to a brisk jog. He could feel the growing fat in his body bounce with every step he took, and for some reason, it made him horny. His growing cock strained against his tiny jockstrap, begging for release, but he couldn't just yet.

He stumbled into his house, having to duck just to fit through the door. And just as he slammed the door behind him, his throbbing cock burst through the jockstrap, leaking with pre cum.

He ran upstairs and barged into his room, but John wasn't there. Panicked, he rummaged through his wardrobe for some clothes that would fit and found his father's old jeans. They're a bit short for him, but fit perfectly around his larger waist.

He walks back downstairs and sees his husband in the backyard, but something's off. Getting closer, Pete sees a much bulkier and hairier version of his husband barbecuing out back.

The sight of his handsome husband only made his cock leak even more.

He slid the glass door open and approached John. Pete slid his arms around his waist, pinching his soft belly as his rock hard dick pressed against the back of John's American flag speedo.

"Hey, Babe." Pete said as he rubbed his beard on the back of John's neck. "You're lookin' handsome."

Pete lifted John's round belly and let it drop, sending ripples through his soft body.

"I thought you'd like to see this ass in a speedo." John laughed between coughs. "None of my other clothes fit anyway."

"You're a hell of a lot sexier when none of your clothes fit." Pete said as he kissed the back of his neck.

"I bet you can't wait to see me to grow out of this." John flirted.

"I'm sure I won't have to wait long."

- Epilogue -

"Breaking News! A strange outbreak has been taking over New York. Reports suggest that it is a viral infection that is airborne and only infects men, though early accounts suggest that men above the age of 40 are asymptomatic. Their symptoms include a drastic increase in testosterone, characterized by fat and muscle gain, faster growth of body hair, increased libido, and rapid aging. The government has put in early efforts to prevent the spread, but the infection is spreading faster tha-" The news anchor paused as his focus shifted to someone behind the camera. "What are you doing here.... Hey, who are you, you can be in here... Wait... Don't... *Cough cough*"

"What are you watching, Babe?" John asked as he snuggled up beside Pete.

"Just the news. Watch this nerd grow out of his clothes." Pete let out a hearty laugh as the anchorman succumbed to the infection, growing into a fat dad.

John chuckled as he reached to grab some of Pete's popcorn. He took a big handful and stuffed into his mouth when suddenly, his speedo snapped in half.

"Told ya I wouldn't have to wait long." Pete smiled while rubbing John's growing belly.

John simply smiled as he rested his head on Pete's fuzzy chest.

[misctf]

Cocky straight guy becomes a twink trophy boyfriend

He spots her across the living room before anyone else really registers she’s arrived. New face, effortless confidence—his kind of challenge. He takes a second, smooths his shirt, then crosses the room like he already knows how this ends.

“Hey,” he says, easy smile, leaning just enough to feel close without crowding. “You look like you’re deciding whether this party’s worth staying at.”

She glances at him, amused but unreadable.

“I was,” she says. “Still am.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Give me five minutes. I’ll make it worth it.”

She tilts her head. “You always open like that?”

“Only when I’m right.”

“Confident.”

“Usually rewarded for it.”

“Usually,” she echoes.

He grins, holding eye contact. “Stick around. You’ll see.”

She doesn’t answer. Just watches him, an amused smirk forming on her face. Jake returns the smirk- god she was hot. He couldn't wait to make her...

“Not my type.”

That actually lands. Jake blinks, thrown off, but only for a second. His smile returns quick, “Alright, maybe I started off wrong. Name’s Jake.”

“Lena.”

“So what is your type?”

Her eyes travel over him, slower this time. “Bulky guys aren’t really my thing.”

Jake scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “How can you not be into muscles?”

He flexes his arm, showing off muscle that no woman could resist. Only the peak isn’t as full, the sleeve of his shirt hanging just a bit looser than it did a minute ago. He catches it, but maintains the smile. Figures the lighting is off.

She looks at him, unimpressed, “I said what I said.”

He smirks, leaning closer. “I’m more than just muscle, you know.”

“Mhmm... Doubt that.”

"Yeah?” he smirks, "Give me a chance and I'll prove you wrong." He readjusts his shirt, barely registering how it no longer clings tightly to his chest.

“I'm good." She shrugs, "All that body hair isn't winning you any prizes with me."

Jake huffs a laugh. “What? C’mon! That’s what makes me a real man.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing down as he casually drags his thumb along his forearm- then pauses.

The dark hair there looks… lighter. Thinner. He rubs again against increasingly smoother skin.

“That's... that doesn't make sense.” he mutters, forcing a grin, though his fingers linger.

His other hand comes up, brushing his jaw. He paused. His usual rough stubble is... gone. Like he just shaved. His confidence flickers and he feels a cold shiver run through him as his chest prickles under his shirt.

Jake straightens abruptly. “Woah that's not...” Lena is smiling, a predatory look in her eye, "I... wait here, I'll be right back" He chuckles, nervously- mind racing. He needed a mirror. Just to check. To confirm.

He takes a half step back. Lena leans in just slightly, smiling.

“No, stay,” Her voice lifts. “I’m enjoying our little conversation.” She runs a hand along his smooth jaw, "Please." Jake feels his heart flutter, "Just relax, tough guy."

Jake grunts as the tension drains out of him. He should be on edge. He was on edge. But he feels his posture soften, weight shifting onto one leg, hips angling slightly without permission. His stance opens up. Less guarded, more… inviting.

“Wh-what?”

His lower back arches subtly as he shifts. His stance now blatantly emphasizing his ass. Jake stiffens at that, registering just how exactly he looked standing there.

“No way...” he mutters, trying and failing to address his stance, "I look so..."

He tries to square himself again. To stand with the same commanding presence he usually did. But the adjustment slips, settling back into that same relaxed pose. His ass jutting out, begging for attention.

“You did ask me what my type was." Jake's eyes widen as he realizes he's standing at eye level with Lena now, "But it's so much more than the physical. I like guys who know how to be vulnerable."

Jake swallows, “I mean... yeah, I can be vulnerable,” he says, but it comes out softer, less certain. His shoulders pull in as he talks, frame narrowing further, “It’s just, like... I don’t usually say this stuff out loud, I just kinda… push it down, you know? Be a man about it...” He freezes, “Why am I saying this?” His voice jumps... higher. Whinier.

Lena smiles, "It's okay to open up, Jake."

Jake’s hand flies to his throat. “Okay, no... like why does my voice sound like this? This's not... like, not my voice.” It spikes again, edging toward a whine.

"Jake?" He recognizes that voice, "Dude, what the fuck?"

“Brett!” Jake blurts, cringing at the pitch of his voice, but relief floods in anyway. “Oh my god... thank god you noticed! Something’s like… totally wrong!”

Brett steps in close, brow furrowed. “What happened to you, man?”

“I don’t know!” Jake says quickly, voice light and uneven. “She just, like... started saying stuff and now I’m...”

A sharp snap. Brett goes still. His expression melts, eyes half-lidded, mouth slack. Drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Jake stares, “What? Brett?”

He grabs Brett’s arm instinctively and pauses. His fingers press into Brett’s bicep, lingering a second too long. There’s a flicker of something... appreciation?

Jake jerks his hand back and spins towards Lena, “Like, what did you do to him?!”

Lena barely glances at Brett. “Don’t worry about him,” she says smoothly. “Focus on something more fun. Like gossip… or cute guys.”

Jake tries to hold onto his panic, but her voice threads through it, steady and impossible to ignore. His thoughts begin to blur at the edges, like something is quietly wiping them clean, and before he can latch onto what he’s losing, new ones slip in—lighter, easier, strangely compelling. He finds himself wondering who’s attractive, who gets attention, who deserves it.

Behind him, Lena leans toward Brett, whispering into his ear. Jake turns without meaning to... and this time, he really looks. The line of Brett’s arms, the way his shirt fits across his chest, the way his slacked jaw and dim eyes look.

“Oh wow.” Jake’s breath slows and he licks his lips.

He'd seen Brett in the locker room after games. Knew what he was packing. He never thought much about that. But now? God... he wanted it now. He wanted Brett.

“Now you’re more my type,” Lena looks over Jake carefully, satisfied. “But I doubt I’m yours.”

Jake blinks, still looking at Brett, something warm and fluttery settling in his chest. He lets out a soft, airy laugh, barely even thinking about it.

“Yeah, I mean… like… no offense, but… yeah.” He winces slightly at how natural that felt.

Lena smiles. “So tell me... what is your type?”

Jake doesn’t hesitate this time. He glances back at Brett, eyes lingering, a small, giddy smile slipping through. “I mean… Brett,” he says, almost giggling. “Obviously.”

"He's kinda cute."

“Kinda? Bitch, he's hot." Jake can't believe the words leaving his mouth, but they don't stop, "So like... we're..."

"Besties." Lena grins, "I needed a new gay bestie anyway." She looks over at Brett and snaps her fingers, "And what are besties for?"

Brett's face contorts and settles. The dull look in his eyes shifting as he looks over Jake. Replaced by something hungrier. Jake watches as Brett steps closer, slow, deliberate. His eyes stay locked on Jake.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice lower than Jake remembers. “You look… different.”

Jake giggles, “Different good, right?”

Brett’s hand comes up, hesitating just a second before brushing along Jake’s waist. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Really good.”

Jake inhales sharply, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans, eyes flicking up through his lashes.

“Wow, okay…” he says, half-giggling. “You’re, like, being really forward right now.”

Brett smirks faintly, closing the space between them. “You don’t seem to mind.”

Jake bites his lip, heat rushing to his face. “I mean… I don't.”

“My room’s just upstairs,” Brett murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You wanna check it out?”

Jake lets out a soft, breathy laugh, glancing back at Lena for half a second before looking up at Brett again. “I mean… yeah,” he says, voice light and a little giddy, fingers brushing Brett’s arm. “Lead the way.”

Lena watches for a beat, satisfied, “Have fun, you two!”

--------------

Jake moans loudly as Brett slams into him from behind. He arches his back, pushing his fat ass further along Brett's length. His own cock, smaller than he remembered it being, throbbing uselessly. But he doesn't care. Not when he can feel Brett balls deep inside him.

"Fuck yes," Jake gasps out, hands fisting in the sheets beneath him. "Harder, Brett. Fuck me harder." Brett grunts, gripping Jake's hips as he picks up the pace, "Oh fuck!"

Jake couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy each time Brett bottomed out. The same kinda sounds he imagined Lena making if the night had gone differently. But now? His world was narrowing, focused only on the feeling of the dick pounding into his thicc, juicy ass. Because for Jake, nothing else mattered in this moment - not his pride, not his former identity. And it never would again.

[misctf]

Hi 👋

How about a jock with easy confidence and charisma with a natural of self with a jealous roommate who turns him into a needy, self ridiculing, anxiety riddled, scared of the world twink.who needs constant reassurance and support from his boyfriend (doesn't have to be the roommate can a jock like he was before) and help making nearly every important thing.

Really fun idea! And definitely on the longer side. Really wanted to capture this one from start to finish. Hope you enjoy it!

The sauna was packed, but Jack barely noticed. Heat, sweat, easy conversation—it was his element. He leaned back against the wood, arms stretched along the bench, grinning as one of his buddies chirped him about moving day.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack laughed. “Gotta go help my new roommate. Bro sounds like a mess over text, honestly. Figure I’ll get him out more, you know? Fix the vibe a little.”

“Fix the vibe,” one of them echoed. “Classic Jack.”

He shrugged, easy. “What? Dude just needs confidence. Not that hard.”

And he believed that. Always had. People overthought everything: how they looked, how they sounded. Jack didn’t. You showed up, you were yourself, things worked out. Keep it simple.

---------------

Jack knew within about thirty seconds that Liam was… a lot. Not bad. Not even unlikable. Just... loud in a way that filled every gap in a room.

"...and this guy was like, ‘I’m not into twinks,’ and I’m standing there like, okay, cool, did you not see my selfie?"

Jack blinked. "Wait... what’s a twink?"

Liam stopped, turned, and gave him a long, exaggerated once-over. "Oh my god. You’re serious?" A pause, then a dramatic sigh. "Honey… you have, like, sooo much to learn."

Jack laughed, a little unsure, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, man, guess I do."

Liam kept going... about guys, about rejection, about how everything always came down to looks. It was constant. Every story circled back to it. Who was hotter, who got ignored, who didn’t measure up.

"You’re overthinking it," Jack said, leaning back against the counter. "Just relax. Be yourself. People like confidence. Trust me, bro!"

Liam paused, looking almost offended, “Must be nice.”

Jack frowned. “What?”

“Not caring what people think.”

Jack shrugged automatically. “I mean… yeah, I guess. Never really thought about it.”

Liam just hummed, like that answered everything.

---------------

Later, in his room, Jack kicked the door shut behind him and tugged his shirt off, tossing it onto the bed without thinking. He glanced at the mirror, just a quick check, same as always. Except… he didn’t look away. His eyes dropped to his stomach. He’d never really thought about it before, not like this. But now the line of hair down his abs stood out more than it should’ve. Darker. Thicker. It broke up the definition in a way that suddenly felt… off. Messy, almost.

Jack ran a hand over it, frowning slightly. “It’s fine,” he muttered, like he needed to say it out loud.

He straightened, flexed a little. Habit. But instead of the usual quick nod and move on, he hesitated. His chest didn’t pop the same way it did at the gym. Or maybe it did. He couldn’t tell. Still, he shifted his shoulders, trying a different angle. Then again. And then he noticed his necklace. And for the first time, he wondered... Is this tacky? Did it look kinda cheap?

Jack let out a short chuckle. “Chill dude.”

---------------

“Glad you agreed to come along.” Jack smiled as they stepped onto the gym floor. “This is gonna be good for you. Build some confidence, get you feeling better about yourself.”

Liam looked around, already tense. “Or I humiliate myself publicly. Love that for me.”

“You’re fine,” Jack reassured with a grin, “Stick with me.”

They started easy, but Liam struggled. Arms shaking, stopping early, constantly glancing at himself in the mirror.

“God, I look awful,” Liam muttered. “Like, actually tragic.”

“Trust me, no one’s looking,” Jack said automatically, "Here, let me show you the right form..."

He grabbed his usual weight, sat down, pressed... and immediately felt it. Heavy. Wrong. His arms wobbled on the second rep, stalling halfway up. Jack’s jaw tightened as he forced it back into place.

"Okay,” He tried to laugh it off, “Off day.”

But when he reached for the weight again, he hesitated. For the first time, he noticed the guy a few benches over. Then another, across the room. Were they watching? Did that rep look as bad as it felt? And suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how he looked.

"You okay?"

"Ye-yea..." Jack mumbled, "Uh, maybe we should just go."

"Oh no! What about my routine?"

"Your routine?"

"I focus on all the right places," Liam explained, "A bottom needs a juicy ass, babe."

"A bottom?" Jack repeated, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Really? You have so much to learn." Liam teased, patting Jack's arm, "Tops need something nice to squeeze while they rail you senseless."

Jack swallowed hard, face flushing slightly at the blunt talk. He glanced away.

"I guess I never really thought about it that way…"

"Well, now you know," Liam said airily, "So humor me, okay big boy? Besides, you could use a good leg day."

---------------

“This is so unrealistic,” Liam muttered.

Jack sat back into the couch, his ass sore from what had to be the fifth day in a row of Liam's gym routine. Meanwhile, Liam was curled into the other side, phone in hand, only half-watching the screen.

“No one just… ends up together like that. Not without a reason.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh. “You’d be surprised, bro.”

Liam finally looked at him then. Really looked at him, eyebrow raised.

“Would I?”

Jack shifted slightly. “I mean… yeah. Me and Erica, for example. We’re good. No drama, no weird stuff. Just works.”

“Well duh…” Liam shook his head. “You’re tall. You don’t try too hard, which people love. You’re built…” he paused, tilting his head slightly, “…well, you were more built a few weeks ago, but still.”

“What?” Jack blinked and looked down at himself. “I haven’t changed that much.”

“Someone's defensive!” Liam smirked. The two sat in uneasy silence. “You think she’d still be with you if that changed?”

“That’s not...” Jack shook his head. “No... That’s not how it works.”

“Confident!” Liam smiled. “But there’s always a reason.” A small pause. “And it’s usually something you can lose.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the movie neither of them were really watching anymore.

“Dude... you overthink this stuff too much.” Jack said, quieter now.

“Maybe,” Liam shrugged.

Jack looked back at the TV, but his focus slipped almost immediately. His mind snagged on something else… something smaller.

You were more built a few weeks ago.

Erica always said this shirt looked good on him, that she loved the way it highlighted his muscles. But now? The fabric wasn't taut against his pecs. Even the sleeves sat different, the cotton no longer hugging his upper arms. Looser. Unimpressive. He flexed subtly, but the movement barely changed anything. No pull, no stretch. His arms were actually… smaller.

“L-O-L! You’re doing it again.”

Jack’s head snapped up, “Doing what?”

“Inspecting!” Liam giggled, nodding toward him. “You've been checking yourself out more."

“I am not!” The words came out sharper- and higher- than he expected, the pitch jumping suddenly before he could catch it. Jack blinked, clearing his throat quickly. “I’m not... I'm just...”

Liam raised an eyebrow, then gave a small, knowing smile.

"I-I'm going to bed." Jack huffed, "See you tomorrow, bro."

---------------

“You're so jittery!” Liam laughed, already pushing the door open. “Aren't these your friends?”

“Yeah, I know, I just... like... yeah.” Jack trailed off, looking down at himself, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

It fit tighter, which would've made Jack happy if it was his shirt. But he borrowed this one from Liam. It stretched taut across his slim torso. And his pants? Tight as fuck from all those glute workouts. Highlighting his ass in a way that would certainly draw attention.

“Yo!” one of his boys called. “There he is.”

Jack smiled, “Hey~! What’s up!?” His voice came out lighter than he meant it to, a soft lift at the end. He blinked, clearing his throat.

Erica stepped in with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi babe!”

The kiss was quick... and empty. He blinked slightly as he pulled back.

“You good?” she asked lightly.

“Yeah,” Jack said quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

One of the guys gave him a once-over. “New look?”

Jack shrugged quickly. “I mean... yeah. Just like... trying something different, I guess.”

Liam slid in beside him. “He looks good.”

“Yeah,” another friend said. “Just… not what I expected.”

Jack laughed, a little too fast. “Okay, wow, rude,” he said playfully, earning a raised eyebrow from Erica.

They settled in, drinks passed around, Liam made his introduction. But as the conversation picked up, Jack felt... off. Same topics. Same jokes. Jack found himself drifting, only half-listening, his attention snagging on other things... how people looked, who was watching who.

“So you still lifting?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “Just, like not as heavy. I’ve been doing more, like… cardio? And legs.”

“Legs?” his friend repeated. “Since when do you care about legs?” A couple laughs.

Jack felt his chest tighten. “I mean... people notice a nice ass. Sorry I don't base my whole personality off how much I can bench.” It came out harsh... defensive even.

“Woah dude, I was just joking.” his friend raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, no, I know, I just... yeah.” A small, breathy laugh slipped out.

He took a quick sip of his drink, eyes flicking around the room like he was trying to reset.

Liam nudged him. “Okay, but that guy? The shirt is… not helping him.”

Jack followed his gaze automatically. “Oh my god, yeah,” he said, a sharper laugh slipping out. “And the hairline? Like... pick a struggle.” He blinked right after, like the words had surprised him.

“Dude,” one of his friends cut in, frowning. “You don’t gotta be a dick.”

Jack’s smile faltered. “I’m just joking...”

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

“Right... yeah. Sorry,” Jack said again, softer now.

The conversation moved on... without him. Jack frowned, leaning back in his chair. Something about his own voice...his tone... himself...felt off. As he quietly withdrew from his friends, something snagged his attention.

“Hey… that guy over there?” he whispered to Erica. “The one in the black shirt.”

Erica frowned slightly but glanced over. “What about him?”

“He’s been, like… looking at me.” Jack said, a little too quick.

She looked again, then shrugged. “I mean… maybe?”

“No, like... he is.” he said, quieter now. Tight but not entirely anxious.

Erica didn’t answer right away. “Do you... want him to be?”

“I mean...” Jack hesitated, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth, “I don’t not want him to be.”

Erica nodded slowly. “Oh...” Jack could see a sudden sadness in her eyes, “I’m... I need to call Jess real quick.”

“Oh... yeah, okay,” Jack said, blinking.

He watched her walk off, something in his chest tightening. When he looked back at the table, the conversation had already moved on again without him.

---------------

Jack replayed it more than he wanted to admit. Erica across from him, arms folded, voice calm in that way that made it worse.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

And him... just sitting there. He wanted to say something. Something important... Instead, there was nothing. Just a strange, hollow feeling, like he’d missed something important without knowing when.

"God you've been moping for days!" Liam whined, "Here, throw this on. We're going out."

---------------

"Where are we going?" Jack whined.

"Shhhh you'll see!"

Jack slowed as they got in line, the music bleeding out onto the street, the way people stood a little closer to each other than he was used to.

"Oh my god!” he let out, a quiet, nervous laugh slipping free. “Is this a gay bar?”

Liam just glanced at him. “You’re so cute when you piece things together.”

"Is this why you wanted me to wear this?” he asked.

His tank top clung to him- tight, thin, riding up just enough to expose his stomach. Flat. Smooth. Too smooth. His eyes lingered there for a second longer than they should have. The treasure trail he was used to... gone. Not trimmed. Not shorter. Just… not there. Jack’s brow knit slightly.

Had it always been like that?

The shorts were worse. Short, tight, hugging high on his thighs in a way that made his ass feel fully, undeniably on display. And it was. It wasn’t subtle. It was the point.

“You look good.”

Jack swallowed, voice softer now, that higher, lighter tone settling naturally. “I feel like… totally exposed.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh as they made there way inside.

---------------

The dance floor swallowed him quickly. At some point, Liam was gone and Jack found himself hovering at the edge, watching, feeling... out of place.

“You new here?”

Jack turned and gawked at the man behind him. Broad shoulders, solid chest, the kind of grounded confidence Jack used to carry without thinking about it.

"Is it that obvious?” he asked.

The guy smiled. “A little.” He held out his hand, "C'mon."

Jack hesitated briefly, but took the man's hand. He was pulled into the crowd, the flashing lights disorienting as the music pressed in around them. Bodies moved close, the space tightening, and suddenly the guy’s hands were on him- firm at his waist, steady, guiding him into the rhythm. Jack followed without thinking too hard.

Then... a squeeze. Sharp, deliberate.

Jack’s breath caught, his body jolting slightly at the sudden pressure on his ass. He shuddered. Looked up at the man. Lips quivering. The guy’s expression softened into something amused.

“Fuck... you’re so cute.” Jack swallowed, heat rushing to his face... but he didn’t pull away. “Is that okay?” the guy asked, quieter now, giving Jack's ass another squeeze.

“…Yeah,” Jack moaned, softer. “Yeah, it’s okay. More than okay...”

And it was. The man smirked.

“You wanna get out of here?”

Jack didn’t look for Liam.

“I... Yeah.”

---------------

The bedroom was dim, warm. Jack stepped inside and slowed without meaning to, suddenly aware again—of his body, of his clothes, of the way the guy gazed at him. Not casually. Intentionally.

“You okay?” the guy asked, stepping closer, voice lower now.

Jack nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah… I think so.”

“Do you want to?” he asked gently. “We can just hang. We don’t have to do anything.”

Jack hesitated. It had felt good... being wanted like that... being touched like that. But the thought tangled uneasily in his chest. He was straight… wasn’t he?

“…Yeah,” he said finally, quieter. “I do.”

The guy studied him for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

His tank top came off easily, lifted and gone. He felt... vulnerable. Small compared to the man in front of him.

"Fuck... you're cute."

Jack blushed, turning and unexpectedly catching his reflection in the darkened window. His hair held the light differently, the dark brown he knew softened, warmer now, almost blond at the edges.

Since when...

“It's okay.”

The guy’s hand settled at his waist again, grounding him, thumb brushing lightly against his side. Jack blinked, pulling himself back.

“I...” He swallowed. “I’ve never… done anything with a guy before.”

A small pause. Then a slow, almost amused smile.

“Really?”Jack nodded, his breath catching slightly. “You sure you’re okay with this?” the guy asked again, softer this time.

"Yeah,” Jack said, and meant it.

“Good,” the guy murmured. “You really have no idea what you do to people, do you?”

The words landed warmer than they should have, settling somewhere low in Jack’s chest. Then, the guy pulled his own shirt off. Jack’s eyes followed without thinking

"Wow..." Instinctively, Jack’s hand came up, resting lightly against a muscular pec, feeling the heat, the firmness beneath his palm.

The guy smirked and leaned in...

Jack's first kiss with another man was slow at first. The warmth, the pressure... his hand tightened slightly against the guy’s chest as he responded. He giggled when the kiss broke.

The man leaned in again. Their lips connected. Deeper, more certain. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t confusing. It felt… good. The guy’s hand slid lightly along his side, resting against his bare skin, and Jack felt his breath catch again... but he didn’t pull away.

He leaned into it instead.

It had been a week since he met Paul that night and so much had changed.

“Do you think my hair looks good?” Jack adjusted it again, fingers careful, practiced. It was fully blond now... soft, styled, falling just right. Not effortless anymore. Deliberate, “I think Paul would like it more like… this.”

Liam smirked.

“Oh! Look at these!” Jack turned his head, “I got these. See?” He angled his ears, the small studs catching the light. Flashy. Begging to be noticed. “They’re not too much, right? I just... thought he might…”

Liam watched, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh!” Jack tugged lightly at the hem of his shorts, glancing back. “Look at my ass in these!” A pause, “I want Paul to notice.”

“Oh he'll notice.” Liam laughed.

“Thank god! Like, last time we only kissed! I didn't even get to taste his cock...” He glanced down at his phone again, thumb hovering. “This time, I want him to fuck my brains out. And so like, I need to look good!"

"Poor Jack."

“Now... what about my top...? Like, does it even look good?” Every word felt like it mattered. Every look. Every reaction.

Liam’s eyes flicked over him slowly- taking in the slimmer frame, the softened edges, the way Jack held himself now. Smaller. Careful. A faint smirk pulled at his lips. Jack didn’t notice. He was already looking back at his phone, rereading Paul’s last message.

---------------

"Woah." Paul grinned as he opened the door, "I uh..."

“Hey,” Jack said softly. His eyes betraying his desperate need. Paul’s eyes moved over him slowly, taking everything in: the blond hair, the earrings, his juicy ass.

“I...” he murmured. “You look... amazing.”

Jack flushed, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “You think? I just... I want to look good for you.” He draped his arms over the man's shoulders and nuzzled into his chest.

"You do."

Jack didn’t hesitate this time. Didn’t think. His hand moved along Paul's growing bulge. He licked his plump lips. He'd been practicing, imagining this... obsessing over making Paul feel good.

"I want to gag on it." Jack breathed, "And then I want you to fuck me. Hard. Please..."

Paul smirked and watched as Jack dropped to his knees easily, naturally. Looking up, waiting, searching Paul’s face for approval. The other man wasted no time- quickly freeing his engorged cock.

And Jack felt it then- the validation, that warm, consuming need to be wanted- settle fully into place. He couldn't wait for his reward.

[bearzoohuman]

[misctf]

The Morning After

The bass thumped heavily, shaking the very walls of the frat house as AJ stumbled through the crowd. Sweat glistened on his exposed chest, his cowboy hat tilted jauntily on his head. His "sexy cowboy" costume left little to the imagination - tight jeans molding to his muscular thighs, tank top showing off his toned arms.

A group of giggling sorority girls caught sight of him and squealed appreciatively. "AJ! Your costume is so hot!" one called out.

He flashed them a cocky grin, striking a pose. "Why thank ya darlin'. Y'all like?" He said with his best take on a southern accent.

With a flirtatious wink, clearly reveling in the attention, he went back to taking shots with his frat bros. And as the night wore on in a haze of alcohol, AJ found himself making the most of it- making out, grinding, groping- you name it. By the time the party wound down, he had lost track of how many drinks he'd downed and who all he'd hooked up with. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto his bed and drifted to sleep.

--------

The harsh glare of sunlight streaming through the blinds and stirred AJ awake. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. His mouth felt dry and his head pounded mercilessly.

"Agh… fuck…" he croaked, voice hoarse from the previous night's activities. Slowly, fragments of the Halloween party came trickling back - the pulsing music, the sea of costumes, the endless flow of booze, the hot girls.

With great effort, AJ sat up, a lazy grin plastered on his face. If he was this hungover, he must've had a good time. He yawned and glanced over to the mirror, chuckling slightly when he saw his cowboy hat was still firmly planted to his head.

"Don't really need this anymore." He smiled and grasped at the hat on his head.

He intended to take it off, but his fingers met resistance - the hat wouldn't budge an inch. Confused, he tried again, gripping harder. Still nothing. A flicker of unease ran through him.

"What the hell…" he muttered, examining the hat more closely. That's when he noticed something strange - his hands looked different somehow. Rougher, more weathered. And were those hairs sprouting from his knuckles?

AJ stared at them in shock. They couldn't be his hands. These were the hands of a much older man, a laborer perhaps. Calloused and covered in dark hair.

"No no no," he started to panic, looking down at his body. To his horror, he watched as the changes crept up his arms.

Hair sprouting thickly along his growing forearms as his skin darkened and roughened. Muscles bulged beneath the surface, swelling his biceps and triceps with thick, corded muscle. Muscle he could only dream of acquiring naturally in the gym.

"Oh god oh fuck what's happening to me?!" AJ cried out, voice cracking with fear and confusion.

He scrambled off the bed, stumbling as he felt the changes affecting his legs too. Thighs and calves thickened and hardened, muscles rippling powerfully. Dark hair fuzzed over his skin.

"Hnnngh!" AJ grunted, doubling over as he felt a sudden surge between his legs.

A jolt of intense pleasure shot through AJ as he felt his most private area begin to change. His cock swelled and lengthened, growing thicker and heavier by the second. His balls churned and tightened, already filled to the brim with potent seed.

"Holy shit, holy shit!" he panted, his terror nearly eclipsed by his growing arousal.

But there was no time to dwell on that as he felt his chest begin to morph. Two large, thick slabs of muscle formed where his previously toned pecs had been. Dark hair sprouted across the surface as they grew and grew, heaving with each breath.

"No, no, this ain't right," AJ whimpered, a Southern drawl creeping into his voice despite himself.

He shuddered in revulsion and let out a silent scream as he felt his back broadening, muscles rippling beneath the skin. He scratched desperately at his back as coarse hair began to push through, covering his skin in thick patches.

"Oh god, what in the hell?" AJ gagged, catching a strong whiff of musk emanating from his changing body. He reeked of raw masculinity and virility, "This ain't me, I ain't s'posed to look like this!"

He went to grab his phone- to call for help, but froze. AJ let out a strangled moan as he felt his rock hard abs soften and thicken with a layer of firm, masculine fat. At the same time, his core muscles clenched and strengthened, turning his midsection into a solid wall of power.

"Oh god no no no..." He could feel his face rippling, shifting.

Stubble scraped against his palms as he frantically rubbed his cheeks, watching in the mirror as his features coarsened and became more ruggedly handsome. A beard darkened his jawline and chin. Eyes darkening, skin becoming more weathered. He spun to face the door when he heard a knock followed by his friend's concerned voice.

"Hey man, you alright in there?"

"I-I'm fine!" AJ called back, voice deeper than usual, "Jus' leave me alone!"

"You sure, bro?"

He went to respond, but was stopped as a searing need ignited deep in his core, settling in his ass. AJ felt his hole clench around nothing, craving to be stretched and filled. The urge to submit, to be taken roughly and used.

"Nnngh fuck," he groaned, back arching.

His cock throbbed almost painfully. In his mind's eye, he saw himself bent over, presenting his hairy ass to some faceless man, begging to be bred like the desperate slut he suddenly craved to be. AJ trembled, torn between confusion and overwhelming lust. He didn't understand these foreign urges, this burning need to be dominated and used.

"Y-y'all just go 'way!" Did he really mean that? "I'm fine, jus' a lil' under the weather is all." His voice betrayed his desperation, words slurring together, the Southern drawl thickening.

And when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw what he was now. He was a vision of raw, masculine sexuality - all bulging muscles, dark hair, and throbbing arousal. The perfect image of a horny, slutty cowboy. The realization crashed over AJ as he stood there frozen, staring at his reflection in dawning horror. Gone was the handsome, athletic frame of the cocky college jock. In its place was this - this… figure of pure, unadulterated lust and virility. Everywhere he looked, he saw the physical embodiment of his "sexy cowboy" costume come to twisted life.

"It ain't… it cain't be…" he whimpered, running shaking hands over the thick expanse of his hairy chest, pawing at the heavy bulge straining against his pants. His identity, his very sense of self seemed to be slipping away, drowning under waves of foreign desire and instinct, "No, no please, I don't wanna be this!" Tears of frustration and terror welled in his eyes.

Memories of his old life flashed through his mind - football games, parties, hookups, his easy confidence and charm. But with each passing second, those recollections faded, replaced by an all-consuming need to serve and please. A simple minded slut.

"Ain't nothin' but a slutty lil' cowboy now," AJ slurred, his eyes dimming, his jaw going slack.

Suddenly, the door burst open. AJ's friends rushed in, concern etched on their faces. But when they laid eyes on him, their expressions shifted to shock and awe.

"Holy shit, AJ! What happened to you, man?"

AJ turned to face them, a dopey grin spreading across his face. All traces of the person he once was vanished, replaced by a vacant, eager-to-please desperation.

"Howdy boys," he drawled, "Looks like this here cowboy's ready for ridin'. Any of y'all feel like bein' my first rider?" He grinned as he presented his thick, muscular ass.

[hairybreedsbest]

You could spot a slutty bottom twink from a mile away. As you sat at the restaurant bar waiting for your friend, you looked around the dining room and saw one having dinner with his family. He was already stealing glances at you, biting his lower lip and smiling whenever his parents weren’t looking at him. Just to mess with him, you undid the top two shirt buttons, putting your hairy, muscular chest on display. Next you rolled up your sleeves, showing off your muscled, fur-covered forearms. Without even looking his way, you made your way to the bathroom. Sure enough, 30 seconds later the door opened and there he was. You had to make it quick, not because you cared if his parents found out their son liked getting fucked by anonymous, hairy, older men, but because you wanted to be back at the bar in time to meet your friend. You pulled his pants and underwear down, split his cheeks open, and tongued his smooth little pucker. It wasn’t about making him feel good, you just needed to get him wet enough to accept your oversized, hairy, horse cock. You whispered in his ear, “No condom, I’m going to change you.” He whimpered in acceptance. You lined up your cock head and pushed in. He moaned and squealed as you sinked in deeper and deeper until your thick, black bush was tickling his smooth cheeks and crack. You pulled out nearly the whole way, and slammed it back in to show him who’s boss. Then the pumping began. He ran his hands over your hairy chest, tugging on your nips, as you thrust in and out. After a few minutes, you put a hand over his mouth, pulled him in even tighter with your other arm, and released a torrent of raw sperm inside of him. You pulled out, laughing at his gaped, battered pucker. “If you want it again, take a pic in the bathroom after dinner and text me. If I like what I see, I’ll give you my address.” You were halfway through dinner with your friend when you got the pic. You smiled, enjoying seeing what your sperm had done to him in just one hour. A lot more muscle definition and a thick coating of fur on his chest and stomach. He would probably have some thick stubble on his face and hair on his arms and hands by the time he got home, enough that his parents might start wondering what’s going on. Little did they know that the Daddy sperm their son had taken at the restaurant was turning him from a twink into a hirsute, balding, slutty bottom pig. You texted him your address, your balls already churning and brewing the next load that would further seal his fate.

[devinpink]

April Fools

"You actually found some!" Oliver exclaimed in astonishment when his best friend and fellow geek, Jake, proudly walked into his room holding two conversion bottles. "How did you manage to get your hands on those?"

"I have my ways," Jake replied smugly, flashing Oliver his infamously mischievous grin. "Now, let's down these bad boys!"

A thrill of excitement ran down Oliver's spine as he quickly jumped out of his computer chair and hurried over to Jake. Nervously biting his bottom lip, he took one of the bottles from Jake's hands. They removed the caps and took a curious whiff, only to be immediately repulsed by the strong odor.

"Damn, that's quite a stench!" Oliver exclaimed in shock, followed by a slight cough. "Are you sure these are the right ones?"

"Come on, dude. You think I'd mess up something this important?" Jake scoffed.

Oliver took a moment to gaze longingly at his newly opened bottle, his mouth watering. "So, these are going to transform us into jocks—big, muscular jocks—permanently? I've wanted this for so long."

Jake smiled. "Then let's not waste any more time, dude." They clinked their bottles together and chugged. Oliver felt the effects of the magical concoction kick in immediately. His shirt and sweatpants suddenly felt tighter. He glanced at the mirror, amazed to see his skinny body bulge and swell with ripped, muscular definition. A wave of pure joy washed over him as he finished his bottle, ecstatic that his nerdy life was finally behind him.

However, Oliver's excitement faded when he realized that Jake wasn't transforming. Instead, Jake stood there with a smug expression, crossing his arms and grinning maliciously from ear to ear, which gave Oliver a pit in his stomach.

"Why aren't you—?!" Before Oliver could finish his question, his mind became overwhelmingly fuzzy as the second phase of the magic kicked in at full force. He tried to find the words, but it was impossible to think clearly as his body swelled and bulged even further.

"There, there," Jake said, gently petting Oliver's newly chiseled head. "Let those worthless thoughts slip away. Just relax and enjoy your transformation." Jake then casually walked behind Oliver, his hands seductively caressing Oliver's newly bulked biceps as he turned. He slid his hands up under Oliver's shirt and removed it, exposing Oliver's ripped chest and prominent nipples to the cold air. He softly rubbed his throbbing bulge against Oliver's tightening ass, turning Oliver on. Jake gently stroked his fingers over Oliver's sensitive nipples, intensifying Oliver's desire. Oliver's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as Jake licked the back of his neck and worked his hands down to his crotch. "You're going to be such a good, dumb jock, aren't you?" he playfully whispered into Oliver's ear. "You'll be my big, dumb jock—my mindless, obedient toy—only wanting to satisfy my every desire."

Oliver's transformation was nearly complete. It wouldn't be long before his mind was entirely lost. Sweat began to drip down his body, as if he had just come back from an intense workout. His thoughts were becoming empty, replaced only by new desires to exercise, play sports, and obey Jake, his new master.

"Didn't I say you could trust me?" Jake playfully asked, stepping back in front of Oliver and grinning deviously, pure lust in his eyes. "April fools."

And just like that, Oliver's old self was gone. His transformation was complete: rippling abs, broad shoulders, a wide chest, perfect biceps, a firm ass, massive feet, and an empty head. He had become the jock of Jake's dreams. Oliver smiled like a dumbass, vacantly staring into Jake's intent eyes, eagerly awaiting his master's command.

"Good thing I switched out my potion for water, huh!" Jake exclaimed, then evilly chuckled.

He got down on his knees and pulled Oliver's sweatpants and underwear down, revealing his newly-enormous cock. He looked up at Oliver, feeling as if he had won the lottery. He paused for a moment to admire Oliver's impressive, chiseled physique, glistening with sweat, before taking Oliver's fat cock into his evil, greedy mouth.

[sportsentranced]

Demotion

The garage is humming down after Free Practice 2, mechanics packing away tools, engineers poring over data. Liam Lawson steps out of the car, flushed and tired, and hears footsteps behind him.

“Liam,” Christian Horner’s voice is smooth, almost conversational as he falls in beside him. “Good effort today—let’s have a quick debrief, yeah?” He pats him on the back encouragingly as Liam takes his helmet off, putting it aside.

Liam follows him into Horner’s private office, a spare set of screens casting a pale glow on the polished table. He’s still replaying the data in his head, hoping for a clear sign of improvement. Horner motions him to sit.

“Before we dive into lap times,” Horner begins, folding his hands on the desk, “I want you to remember. Remember our agreement.” He speaks slowly, deliberately.

Liam shifts on the chair, glancing up at him.

"Listen, I'm sorry—"

Without a word Horner just raises a hand, cutting Liam off. The drivers eyes land on the index finger, and something inside him stirrs.

His brows furrow, his lips part just an inch, all of his focus narrowing to Horners hand.

"Good," Horner says more to himself then to Liam. "You do remember."

For a second Liam's gaze shifts to meet Horner's but it snaps right back to the finger, warmth blooming inside his belly.

“Look at me,” Horner says quietly. “Just listen to my voice.” He inclines his head slightly, eyes steady on Liam’s. There’s nothing dramatic in his tone—just soft encouragement. Liam blinks, finds himself leaning forward without realizing it.

Horner continues in a measured rhythm, “Every time I speak, you’ll feel more at ease. Tension drains away. You’re capable, you know that. You want to do exactly what you’re told—no doubts, no distractions.” Liam’s eyes flicker, his jaw loosening. He exhales—and Horner nods, as though awaiting permission.

“As you sit here,” Horner says, “your mind sorts itself out. When I count to three, any worry about performance or seats will fade. You’ll trust every decision we make. You’ll do exactly as instructed—on track and off.” His words come slowly, punctuated by gentle pauses.

One… Liam’s eyelids feel a touch heavy. He lifts a hand to his chest, as the warmth spreads steadily, radiating through his damp undershirt.

Two… Horner’s voice surges through him, causing his muscles to tense, yet feeling numb

Three… he blinks, eyes open wide before they roll back. With a slow groan, a quiet, strangled sound he slumps back into the chair, legs spreading naturally, arms going limp and his mind empties.

Christian Horner watches Liam slump back in the chair, utterly relaxed, the last of his resistance softened away by that careful, rhythmic cadence. He lets a small, wry smile tug at his lips.

“Poor Liam,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only Liam can hear. He reaches out, fingertips brushing over Liam’s cheek—gentle, almost paternal, though there’s a glint of something more possessive in Horner’s gaze. “You just aren’t performing, are you? We’ve given you every chance…”

Liam’s eyes flutter, unfocused, trusting. Horner’s thumb traces the line of Liam’s jaw, tilting his head so their gazes meet. “It’s not your fault,” Horner whispers, leaning in so close Liam can feel his breath. “But you need guidance. You need… discipline.”

His hand drifts down, palms brushing across Liam’s chest through the damb nomex, feeling the steady rise and fall of each breath. Liam’s shoulders slump, arms loose in his lap.

Horner’s fingers linger at the apex of Liam’s sternum. He presses lightly, feeling Liam’s heart beat strong and quick. “We’ve been patient,” he says, thumb ghosting over Liam’s collarbone. “But I can’t have you holding the team back.”

“You will stay at Red Bull,” Horner murmurs, voice low and authoritative. “Your contract is secure—your place in the family is assured.” He lets his fingers trail up to Liam’s throat, feeling the subtle pulse beneath the collar of his suit.

“But,” Horner continues, leaning in so his breath brushes over Liam’s temple, “we cannot keep you in the main team. Not yet.” He gently tilts Liam’s head, studying the softness of his expression, the irresistible curve of his lips. “You’re too handsome to be sacked.”

Liam’s shoulders relax as Horner’s words settle in, a curious mix of relief and longing flickering in his eyes. Horner’s palm moves to rest on Liam’s chest, fingers splayed over the steady beat of his heart. “You’ll move to Racing Bulls,” he says, voice firm but kind. “There you’ll refine your pace, perfect your craft—and I’ll be watching every lap.”

"And," He leans in, voice a quiet rumble. “You’ll do exactly as I say. You’ll follow every instruction without question—from setup changes to race strategy. You’ll find that focus that’s eluded you.”

Liam’s lips part wider, his throat working to get out words, but for now, he can only nod.

He presses a soft kiss to the hollow of Liam’s throat. “You belong with us,” he whispers. “Your talent—and your looks—are assets we’ll cultivate in the right environment.”

Liam nods again, the last traces of tension melting away under Horner’s touch. He inhales deeply, chest rising against Horner’s palm, and offers a small, confident smile.

Horner straightens, fingertips brushing one last time along Liam’s cheek. “Good,” he says, voice softening into something almost affectionate. "Now get up for me."

Without hesitation, Liam gets off the chair, and takes a step. Horner lets his eyes wander all over the young drivers body, his damp suit clinging to him like a second skin, when he catches sight of a noticeable swell pressing against the fabric of Liam’s race suit. His brow lifts in amused surprise.

Without a word, Horner reaches out and lets his fingers hover just above the taut fabric at Liam’s hip, tracing a slow arc down to rest lightly over the bulge. Liam’s breath stutters, shoulders tensing ever so slightly under the unexpected contact.

Horner’s lips curve into a sly smile. “Well, well,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “Someone seems rather… invested in our little arrangement.” His thumb brushes gently over the outline. “Tell me, Liam—did you prepare for this move to Racing Bulls by padding your suit?”

Liam’s cheeks heat, but he meets Horner’s gaze steadily. “No padding, sir,” he manages to say, finally, voice a touch husky. “Just… enthusiasm.”

Horner chuckles softly, pressing a fingertip more firmly against the fabric. “Enthusiasm is exactly what I need from you.” He shifts closer, letting the warmth of his hand and breath send a ripple of awareness through Liam. “But remember whose hand it is that guides you—and whose approval you crave.”

Liam swallows as the suit constricts around the bulge, the reminder of Horner’s control dancing through him. Horner straightens, fingertips lingering on Liam’s hip. “Good,” he says, voice surprisingly tender.

Horner’s smile turns wicked as his fingers circle the taut fabric pressing over Liam’s length. He trails the pad of his index finger along the curve, each feather-light stroke drawing a soft gasp from Liam’s lips.

“Look at you,” Horner whispers, leaning in so his voice is a warm breath at Liam’s ear. “Growing harder by the second.” His thumb presses gently, coaxing a firmer outline against the suit. “Do you know why?”

Liam swallows, hips shifting involuntarily beneath Horner’s hand. His breath hitches in quick, eager pants.

“Because you belong to me now,” Horner continues, voice low and commanding. He teases the bulge with slow, deliberate strokes—side-to-side, up-to-down—learning every quiver of response. “Every scar of tension, every press of fabric, reminds you to obey.”

Liam’s fingers ball into fists at his sides as the suit’s fabric strains around his length. His pulse drums through his temples—and through the silken tightness against his cock.

Horner’s free hand slips to Liam’s shoulder, anchoring him. “Each stroke conditions you,” he murmurs, palm splaying over Liam’s chest. “At the track, in the garage—wherever you are—you’ll feel this same need to comply.”

He speeds up, palm pumping firmly through the suit’s resistance. Liam’s body trembles, back arching as his erection pulses, desperate beneath the fabric.

“Good boy,” Horner coos, thumb brushing teasing circles at the tip. “Let your hardness remind you whose command you live for.”

Liam’s eyes drift apart, as he feels the warmth encompass him.

"That’s it, Liam." He encourages. "Let’s see if you understand."

“Flex for me, boy,” he intones softly.

Obediently, Liam brings his hands behind his head and tenses every sinew of his biceps and shoulders. The fabric of his undershirt stretches tight across the peaks of muscle.

Horner’s eyes track the lines of Liam’s flexed arms, then he leans in, one hand still wrapped around Liam’s length, the other slipping beneath Liam’s raised arm. He buries his nose just into the hollow of Liam’s sweaty armpit and breathes in deeply—sharp, salty, exhilarating.

“Mmm,” Horner murmurs, the vibration of the word against Liam’s arm. He presses his cheek lightly into that warm, damp curve, his fingers skimming over the flexed bicep. “Feel that?”

Liam’s chest rises and falls in short, eager pants. He can feel Horner’s breath ghosting through the fabric, and the scent of his own exertion seems to fuel the team principle’s desire.

Horner straightens, eyes gleaming. “Good,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to meet Liam’s gaze.

Then, with a teasing tug at Liam’s length, he adds, “leak for me, Liam,” he commands, hand steady around that hard length. “Show me how well you obey.”

Liam’s breath catches. He closes his eyes, body taut with need, and under Horner’s guiding grip, he allows himself to give in. A warm bead of fluid blossoms against the fabric, darkening the navy suit.

Horner’s fingers tighten just enough to encourage another drop. “Yes,” he murmurs, leaning in so Liam can hear the soft slick of fabric over skin. “Let it flow.”

Liam shifts his hips forward into each measured pump, and with a soft, involuntary moan, he leaks again—two, three slender rivulets soaking the suit’s weave. His legs tremble, the suit clinging tighter with every pulse.

Horner watches, eyes gleaming, as the stain spreads. He curves a finger beneath Liam’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “Good boy,” he praises, thumb brushing away a stray droplet from Liam’s cheek. “You’re mine to command—and you obey perfectly.”

Liam’s chest rises and falls in quick pants, eyes bright with surrender.

Christian Horner’s gaze darkens with satisfied ownership as he watches Liam’s legs tremble beneath him.

“Kneel, Liam,” he commands softly, each syllable a velvet whip.

Liam’s breath hitches but he obeys instantly, sliding to his knees on the polished garage floor. The fabric of his suit creaks as he lowers himself, hips shivering, eyes fixed on Horner’s boots.

Horner steps forward, letting the tip of his polished shoe rest just in front of Liam’s kneeling form. He reaches down, sweeping a strand of damp hair from Liam’s forehead, fingertips grazing the side of his face. His hand holds Liam’s cheek firmly, thumb pressing a slow, deliberate circle over his jaw.

“You see how useless you are when you can’t hold your own,” Horner murmurs, voice low and cutting. “You’re not fit for the main team—not because you lack talent, but because you can’t even control your own body without my permission.”

He presses a little harder, tilting Liam’s head to meet his gaze. Liam’s eyes glisten, lips parted, chest rising in rapid pants.“Look at you,” Horner continues, thumb brushing Liam’s lower lip. “Keeps leaking like a child who needs constant attention. Pathetic.”

Horner’s free hand drifts to Liam’s rigid length, still bobbing insistently through the suit. He gives it a mocking squeeze. “Even this,” he says, voice thick with amusement, “can’t function properly unless I say so.”

He lets Liam’s length bob between his fingers for a moment before releasing it with a gentle flick. The sudden lack of contact sends a shudder through Liam’s body, and Horner smiles at its effect.

“You belong on your knees, not behind the wheel of a top car,” he whispers, leaning down so his breath ghosts over Liam’s ear. “And until you prove you can obey without fail, you’ll remain exactly where you are—my obedient apprentice, kneeling and grateful for every command.”

Horner shifts his weight, lifting one polished loafer just enough so the toe hovers over the taut outline pressing against Liam’s suit.

Without warning, he drags the tip of his shoe in a slow, deliberate arc along the length of that rigid shaft—shoe leather barely brushing the fabric. Liam’s breath catches in his throat; his hips jerk forward, seeking the friction he’s denied.

Horner chuckles softly at the reaction, heel dragging lightly up and down the swell. “You feel that?” he murmurs, voice low and owning. “Every pulse, every twitch—reminding you who’s in charge.”

He tilts his foot so the edge of the sole presses gently against the tip of Liam’s erection, then drags it down the shaft in a teasing glide. Liam’s knees tremble, chest heaving, as a soft groan escapes him.

Horner’s other hand tightens possessively at Liam’s jaw. “Such a pretty sight,” he whispers, voice thick with amusement. He repeats the motion—shoe against Lycra—each pass coaxing another shiver from Liam’s body.

Horner’s voice is soft but unmistakable as he crouches down beside Liam.

“Up,” he orders, and Liam rises, knees still unsteady, eyes fixed on Horner’s.

Horner reaches out, fingers brushing gently over Liam’s cheek—an almost tender caress that sends a shiver through him. He trails his hand down, palm pressing over the center of Liam’s chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath the fabric of the suit.

Slowly, Horner’s hand drifts upward to grasp Liam’s bicep, kneading the muscle there until it flexes against his grip. He lets his fingertips explore every ridge and valley of that taut arm, a possessive gleam in his eyes.

Then, almost reverently, Horner lowers his hand further—down over Liam’s waist and thighs until it settles on the length pressing insistently through the fabric. His palm covers it fully; the dampness beneath speaks of Liam’s helpless arousal.

“This is all yours,” Horner murmurs, voice husky. He strokes the slick fabric with deliberate slowness, thumb drawing soft circles at the tip. “So wet for me.”

Liam’s breath hitches, eyes dark with need.

Horner’s thumb dips beneath the fabric’s edge to tease at Liam’s tip through the tight weave. “Come for me,” he whispers, voice both command and promise. "One last time into your red bull suit."

With Horner’s hand guiding every motion, Liam yields completely—letting go into the delicious friction, muscles trembling, until with a soft, reverent groan he gives in, flooding the suit once more beneath Horner’s expert touch.

A hot pulse of release floods his suit in a dark, glistening bloom.

Liam’s head falls back, eyes rolling shut as he gives himself over to the wave of sensation. He comes fully in his suit, the fabric clinging and soaked, every fiber of the fabric bearing witness to his surrender.

Horner’s lips curl into a cool, approving smile as he watches the damp stain creep outward across Liam’s suit. He tilts Liam’s chin up with a finger, tracing the dark patch with mock gentleness.

“Good boy, Liam,” he croons, voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “You’re soaking through that suit perfectly.” He brushes his thumb beneath Liam’s jaw, then lets it drift down to rest lightly over his heart.

Leaning in close, Horner’s breath ghosts over Liam’s ear. “You won’t cause us any trouble about getting demoted, will you?”

Liam’s pupils dilate, breath catching in a soft hitch. He swallows, chest heaving, and gives a quiet, obedient shake of his head. “No, sir,” he whispers, voice husky with both relief and longing.

Horner chuckles, the sound low and satisfied. He gently squeezes Liam’s shoulder—part chastisement, part praise. “That’s exactly right.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, Horner presses one last deliberate stroke through Liam’s soaked suit, watching the fabric darken further. “Now,” he murmurs, stepping back and brushing a stray curl from Liam’s forehead, "get yourself cleaned up.”

He steps aside, giving Liam the smallest, almost indulgent smile. “The showers are just through there. Take your time. I’ll be waiting.”

With one last, conflicted glance at Horner, Liam turns and moves off toward the team facilities, every step guided by the weight of that dark stain—and the promise of Horner’s watchful approval when he returns.

[lookingcutedaddyyy]

[enhancedtranced]

Dont i look cute in my Jockstrap?

[duddit23]

[kink-override]

Natural order always finds a way - who’s going to make the first move?