Mostly Transformations, but other gay stuff here. Love Chronivac and reality change, wish there was more of it. Also I LOVE buff dumb jocks. Please be 18 or above :)
If anybody knows any really good gay muscle growth stories could you share them with me? Tumblr keeps giving me gay to straight which Iām not really a fan of.
Hot guy picture for your time. ^daddy.aioli on Instagram
Fuck, I fucked up again. Since Ke...DADDY'S transformation last night and our fuckfest where he gave me SO MUCH OF HIS DELICIOUS CUM. I haven't been able to think... LIKE THE GOOD SLUT I AM. There was this jack ass nerd, proper insecure, straight and practically a twink in build. I got tired of listening to him yammering and talking shit about the dumb jocks on campus. How they were obsessed with muscles and sports, and how he couldn't stand the gay jocks the most.
What drove me over the edge was how he talked about his COCK like it was gods gift to humanity. How if people saw it they'd just lose their minds, and how everyone was just below him.
I let my anger build, I mean sure I like for KOK candidates to dig their own graves. Let their own words become a rabbit trap that they get stuck in. But I really just let it go on to long.
I decided I'd just PULSE him with magic and be done with it. I focused my energy on his body, pushing energy into his non-existent muscles, pumping them like I would a bikes tire. His shoulders broadening, giving him an imposing stance. His chest inflates into perfect pillows for any man to lay their heads on. His arms ballooned, biceps growing, bulging to the point where no shirt sleeves would ever contain them and it's veins make their way to his forearms where they strengthen and become sturdier, stronger. His hands now meaty, big enough for any purpose, especially grabbing my MY NEEDY SLUTTY CHEEKS!
My hole was taking over, it had barely been a few hours since DADDY FUCKED MY BRAIN SILLY, I needed COCK, I needed CUM to think properly otherwise I became this zonked out INSATIABLE BOTTOM BITCH. It was one of the Changes DADDY had gotten me to make to myself and attach to this KOKSTRAP, I was stuck wearing UNTIL DADDY WANTED IT OFF.
I made this guy horny, so fucking horny. I was trying to change his mind quickly, get as much done before I lost complete control and just became blitzed out with need for a BIG FAT COCK to FUCK ME SILLY! His BULGE was fattening even more before my eyes.. wasn't I gonna shrink it.... I started thinking about him bending me over, rimming out my cheeks like he was fucking ADDICTED to them. I thought about him pushing my head into the bed as he SPANKED my ass over and over again before FUCKING MY BRAINS OUT.
Fuck no this isn't what I wanted to change, what was it? What had this nerd said?! He was pulling down his pants, this new form in this reality must always go commando as his FUCKSTICK flops out. The image of it burning it's way through my brain as I remember what Daddy said "If any man shows you his cock you have to SERVE it". Think you DUMB WHORE BEFORE ITS TOO LATE... Fuck this STUD was talking about how when people saw his big fat juicy fuckstick they just had to worship it! Oooo this was going to be so hot!
I felt vapid, it was like that hunger in my hole was a light switch and when it got to its strongest point it turned my brain off. I could only think with my HOLE, until it was properly stuffed filled with cum. It's a big problem because with my brain turned off I had no filter and that meant my thoughts became reality.
I watched as the new beefcake slowly stroked his ever growing member, my magical blue energy PULSING through him concentrated on his head and dick. His cock got bigger and bigger as I felt my brain FRY further he looked at me, mouth stuck in a perpetual cocky smoulder as my desires my wants were crystal clear to him and his cock would now make it to where any man who looked at it would need to fucking worship it.
"Fuck you really are one SLUTTY jock aren't you!" He says walking closer to me, circling me till he's behind me. His cock bobbing in the air as he does I try and shake my head no but I feel the word YESS hiss it's way out of my lips before I can bite it back. I hear him laugh "it's fine FAGGOT, no need to deny you want it, I might be straight but your ass is begging for some of Jacob Jr isn't it!" Jacob the new stud said wagging his cock at me.
Fuck he's still straight I...I need TO TAKE HIS COCK! I felt my knees buckle as he got closer No, need to PULSE him before I entirely fo..CUS ON BEGGING FOR HIS MEAT. I was in HEAT, literally sweating from need as my brain tried to fight this insane LUST that only grew stronger the longer I went without his dick I feel my back arch as I try to present my ass to him more, already on my hands and knees wiggling it when I feel him caress my smooth skin.
Before I can beg him to fuck me, he surprises me. Slapping my cheeks hard with both hands sending the fatty globes rippling up and down before I feel him spread them wide. His new scruff tickled me as he begins to eat my ass, his tongue immediately opening MY GREEDY HOLE. My eyes cross as I feel him moan into me as I feel him start to make out with my hole. He was grabbing and pulling at my ass as he did each sharp slap eliciting moans as I just begged for more, both of us becoming ADDICTED to this.
He doesn't stop for what feels like forever, his tongue fucking me as I begin to feel my toes curl, my legs shake as pleasure floods out of me. Shit after shot of cum firing into my KOKSTRAP pouch.The KOKSTRAP glowing purple as I bounce on his face moaning for more.
I get disappointed when I feel him stop playing with my ass. It's worse when I feel his stubble leave me, my bodys lack of stimulation. "God making a bitch cum from just my tongue is something else, you didn't even try to touch that LIL COCK of yours" He says before slapping both my ass cheeks making me whine. One of his hands then came down to curiously grope my bulge. My cock's...my cocks not little...my cocks..little. I feel the KOKSTRAP tense and PULSE as the fabric condenses on my bulge, shrinking my clothed covered cock in Jacob's hand. Still hard as steel as I turn my head to see his eyes light up and a devilish smirk takes over his lips.
"Bro, did I just make your dick SHRINK?!" His hand gripping it as it goes down to only a few inches. Fuck he's aware of the changes, god.. I have to do something before something terrible happens.
"I'm..I don't know..know what you're TALKING ABOUT!" I yelp out as he slaps my ass.
"Nah fag, I felt it shrink. You don't tell me I don't fuck this bussy here" He lightly teases my hole by rubbing his fingers around the edge. His words echo through the air as the KOKSTRAP GLOWS, Jacob face lights up and he smirks and I hear DADDY'S previous commands ring through me.
SERVE COCK
The words then fall out of my mouth faster then I can control "Yes you did shrink my cock!" The words coming out in a moan as I try and get his fingers into my hole. He just pulls them away chuckling. My mind is on fire, why won't he just fuck me. I need his cock.. I NEED IT I NEED IT.
"So you just lied to me FAG?! You just lied to your SUPERIOR? Answer me SLUT!" He says with a smirk, clearly enjoying the power. If it wasn't for the magic that made my ass irresistible I'm sure he'd still be hard just from this. The way Jacob's words ring in the air makes me shiver and I feel my hole basically wink at him, to horny to think. "Ye..yess I..I lie...!" He smacks my ass again before I can finish, at this point if I had had my proper cognitive functions I'd have figured out what he was doing as he looked down at me.
He moves to where he's perfectly behind me, I cant even see him anymore my head feels like it needs to face forward in preparation. I feel him caress my cheeks before spreading them... And laying HIS DELICIOUS COCK in between my cheeks.
"Is that anyone to address a superior SLUT?! I didn't think so, address me as SIR!" The way his hands grab my cheeks and he slides his shaft up and down against my hole. The sensations in my magically transformed ass to strong I do as he says "YES SIR! ANYTHING FOR YOU SIR!" My KOKSTRAP and Words all PULSE through us and I feel this ethereal KNOT tie itself between me and Jacob SIR . My wording vague, intentions unclear, fucking hell I was fucked in more ways then one.
"That's right bitch, since I'm SIR, that means I'm in charge right FAG? You do what I SAY!" He says refusing to penetrate me, rutting against me tortuously teasing me as I reply with yes SIR. The KOKSTRAP glowing brightly, BURNING into my skin as each word becomes TRUE! "Say you understand. DUMBASS!"
I try and cheese this, I think to myself maybe I can switch things back but he's smarter, SIR made a clear separation between what he wanted and DUMBASS! I like feel my brain fog over as I whimper "I UNDERSTAND SIR YOUR IN CHARGE SIR!" The ethereal KNOT solidifies. His hands on my ass feel like they are molding clay as he whispers under like his breath or something. My cock is gushing precum, it's like my horniness has been turned from an eleven to twenty!
I feel my ass jiggle and fatten up, becoming even more sensitive! "Mmhmmm that's more like it, now FAGGOT before I fuck your ass into nirvana, I wanna know exactly what you were gonna turn me into!" As he asks it's like a shock runs through me, my previous thoughts sending themselves to SIR.
"You we're gonna turn me into a Gay, horny, small cocked, skimpy himbo who can't say no to cock?!" He almost sounds angry, his cock head rubbing up against my hole. Like the pressure causing me to moan as he grabbed my hips tightly, magic building as like I feel him just slightly push in, not even an inch and as it enters it feels like it's entering my hole and my head! Like SIR's cock was getting ready to fuck my brain.
"Well Ev, looks like the tables have turned, and I'm gonna have some fun! For every inch of my cock you take, your gonna get PERMANENTLY DUMBER, HORNIER, and SLUTTIER" SIR thrusts his cock in me, all nine..ten inches going through me down to the hilt. There was no warning, no prep as it BLAZES through my brain as a pink fog cloud descends on it.
I'm mumbling, muttering and moaning and begging for more with each thrust, his cock growing as he fucks me, hard, fast. "And no more hiding behind clothes SLUT, everything... you.. wear is gonna.... be SKIN TIGHT!" His words ripple through the air, as each of his thrusts cause my cheeks to jiggle. The straps on the KOKSTRAP getting tighter! I beg for more as I feel my balls tighten as I'm thrusting back.
He's getting faster as he fucks me harder, the weight of his back on mine as he breathes against my ear. "What did you do to me again, make me ADDICTED to that ass, your going to be ADDICTED...TO ..MY ..COCK!" He pulls me tight against him as I shoot load after load. I was riding this high, I like needed his cum more then I needed anything. I kept gyrating against him, his words ringing out LAWS my body had to follow but my brain BLANKING as I kept cumming and cumming. The words coming in broken
"HAVE... EVERY...YOU SEE... STRAIGHT... TURN YOU ON.. REAL MEN.. ON!"
Time flew and when he finally came I don't even think I knew who I was. Our breaths ragged as he slapped my ass and pulled out unceremoniously, pulling up my shorts and telling me to be back tomorrow. I would be, I like always listen to SIR and his 12 INCH Cock. I was so horny, god I needed more but I had to get home to DADDY, he'd give me more! Walking out of the apartment in shorts that were bright orange and looked like I was wearing briefs on top of my tight KOKSTRAP.
I walked out looking behind me as SIR thrusted his cock up and winked at me, teasing me. God I was such a slut!
Trey's always wishes to actually play the sport. After taking the easy way in a video game he, for better or worse, finds a path to greatness for himself in the real world as well. Only, how much can he really trust his cheated in self?
Fairly standard muscle growth story, possession by virtual character into a personality merging! Hope you enjoy! -Occam
Trey had been waiting for this game for years. Contrary to expectations and appearances he has always been a fan of football. Though, given his disposition to staying indoors and a healthy fear of men who could fold him like a lawn chair he has always been averse to trying out for it, or really any sport. None of that matters today though, today College Football drops and he'll finally be able to run on that hallowed field, vicariously as it may be.
He picks his team immediately and sets about making his perfect player. Savvy as he is, he's found a workaround to the gameās stats system so he can max out every ability and skill on his avatar from the get go. Trey smirks and pushes up his glasses as his in-game self poses with every attribute increase. Flexing as his strength goes higher than the largest linebacker while also maintaining the agility of a running back and accuracy of a quarterback.Ā
Finishing up his star player, seeing his last name emblazoned across a stark white jersey he canāt help but feel pride unearned as he imagines the victories he will enjoy in the upcoming days of playing. Before the game lets him in however thereās a stutter as a new window pops up, CHEAT CHECKER. Immediately discovering his little trick the screen flashes with an alarm and a reprimand. Trey scoffs at the idea this single player game is going to prevent him from playing as he sees fit before his controller shocks him severely. āNoā¦ Fairā¦ā He chokes out as his vision goes dark, mimicking the screen as it too fades to black.
He awakens in quite the sour state. His monitor wonāt turn on and as he beats against his computer tower it seems as if his system has somehow been bricked. Heās filled with desire to throw his controller or keyboard in a rage, only held back by the instinctual fear heāll receive another nasty shock from whatever freak accident caused this whole mess. Under normal circumstances heād already be scouring forums or reddit to see if anyone else has run into this issue but given the slight static sensation still flickering across his skin heās hesitant to even pick up his cell phone.
Racking his brain to find his next move a voice familiar but not his own offers a suggestion. Buzzing as if breaking through static, a rugged voice rises āGo for a run kid, get your blood pumpin and your mindāll follow.āĀ Trey squints and grimaces, quite not wanting to take his mindās apparent advice, groaning as he acquiesces anyway. He throws on old tennis shoes and tosses clothes around the room in search of some shorts he can wear on the sure to be short run. Ready as heāll ever be, Trey meanders to his front door before second guessing himself.
He reaches out for the door knob before hesitating. Stopping short thereās a hum in the air and his hand buzzes with static, the small hairs on its back rise as seemingly without his conscious input the hand turns the knob with a small shock. Trey shouts in surprise at the presumable last gasp of his little static experience earlier, which covers up the deep voice in his mind speaking up once more, āRun.ā It doesnāt matter that he doesnāt quite hear the command as his legs start to fall ahead of him.
He stumbles awkwardly forward with a gait that makes it clear he has not properly run since he was forced to many odd years ago. He clenches his hand that opened the door and discovers its senses are bizarrely dulled. Trey wants to stop running and inspect the peculiarity but at any pause he finds himself lightheaded, everything in his mind and body compelling him to continue to run. āGod this is why I hate jogging.ā With each sprinting step down the sidewalk his body grows more accustomed to running.
His legs burn as he runs longer than he ever has before and his body brims with excitement and energy to continue to this end. As a runnerās high begins to affect his mind, static begins to grace all his senses and with it the voice from earlier begins to laugh. Trey reacts as if it were feedback from an amp, shaking his head and trying to cover his ears. The deep hearty chuckle only continues to rise as he looks to the ground and finds something impossible. His legs have ballooned. In shock he finds himself finally able to halt his sprint and he falls to the ground, laughter growing sinister in his mind. āHah! Finally figured it out eh. Thought you were supposed to be smarter than that.ā
Trey tries to take stock as the voice continues to taunt him. He scours these alien legs for a sign of reality, that they are his and this is not some bizarre dream, finding a birthmark on the back of his knee that even the most thorough dream could not recreate. He struggles to catch his breath after coming to such a sudden stop as he feels up his legs. They are unquestionably larger than the sticks he knows he should have, burning hot with the heat of exertion and tight with powerful muscle that he has spent next to no effort earning. He moves to stand and they flex, forcing him back down with a yelp as they cramp powerfully. He squirms on the ground clutching his thighs as he sees the muscles bulge larger. Trey grits his teeth as he grasps at his legs, still growing larger, and the voice shouts loud enough in his head to make his ears ring, āNo Pain No Gain Trey.āĀ
Through the pain of his legs putting on mass from nowhere, and abandoning trying to understand the insanity, he realizes where he has heard the voice before. It was the voice option he selected for his character before the game bricked his PC. Everything stops as he makes the realization. He stares at his legs, now filling shorts that were too large for him when he set out for his jog. Below them are calves still vibrating with energy and a desire to return to running. Then with the buzz of a static that should have keyed him in from the start returns the voice, āNow that youāre worked it through your thick skull how about a little deal kid?ā
Treyās face blushes as the static filling his mind syncs with the pressure in his legs as they begin to pulse larger once again. As the voiceās words begin to sink in he feels the static spread just further north into his crotch as pleasure begins to tinge the growth. Sensing interest the voice continues, āNever been much of a man, too scared to try. Cheated in the game. Howād you like to cheat for the real deal too.ā Trey is too overwhelmed, his cock pulsing in his far too tight shorts to outright agree but a moan of approval is well enough for the unnatural work to begin.Ā
His eyes glaze over as something has to give for him to be able to have enough wherewithal to even stand. Each step causes intense friction between his relatively small package and massive thighs. His body begins to tear down the street once again, now with a target in sight. The trek is just as awkward as when he first began, now struggling to balance his larger legs on feet that are far smaller than such powerful thighs would prefer. āGotta start from the ground up. You want them big too yeah?ā Trey nods while still cluelessly running and his feet obey.
There is a tearing sound as immediately his tennis shoes are filled to the brim. His feet stopped growing at a respectable size ten, but he always bought shoes half a size larger to pretend heās above average in some regard. Now the tops of his feet push against those too large shoes and his soles spread wider. Toes that have hovered almost an inch away from the front of his sneakers now push at the seams as his socks have clearly already been ripped clean through beneath them. Laces struggle to hold back the growth before his shoes burst and fall behind him. Now running barefoot with shredded socks he stumbles into the doors of a gym, patrons side-eying him for entering barefoot before poking fun at his massive legs and abandoned upper body.Ā
The receptionist watches as he runs past into a locker room, too uncaring to stop a man who half asleep seems to know where heās going. Having made it inside, Trey regains his senses as his body rests on a jarringly cold metal bench. He also discovers his ass has expanded well beyond what his tight shorts could handle. He feels the cold metal through the litany of tears on his shorts, and apparently through his briefs. He blushes as he sees his cock clearly defined in his shorts as he looks around the empty locker room impatiently whispering to no one in embarrassment, āWhere am I!? What now?!ā The voice tsks in his head. āKnow I said thisāll be easy but you need to listen, and there will be some give and take. I can help but only if you let me take the wheel.ā
Trey puffs up his non-existent chest as he whispers to himself, āYeah Iāve got the power here!ā His leg promptly cramps and he falls off the bench to the floor, āBoy. We are a team.ā Meekly standing back he again feels the crackle of static in the air and is drawn to a locker down the way, his right hand goes for the lock and without a second thought the locker is open and clothes he doesnt recognize spill out. Heās never been to this gym, any gym. Eying the clothes though he knows itās in the best interest he change, and do so quickly. He struggles with the pile of oversized clothes into a stall and swiftly throws them on.
While he is absolutely drowning in a tank top for a man at least twice his size Trey is shocked at how well the shorts frame his ass and thighs. Before even hopping on a machine he feels an urge to pose and take pics in a manner he has never understood before this moment. He ambles over to the wall of mirrors, his new shoes loud on the floor, unfamiliar with the new weight they carry. The voice within him chides him as he finds pride in his new lower half, āHavenāt even gotten pumped and youāre already self-obsessed huh?ā Trey rolls his eyes and postpones his first pose session as he enters the gym proper to be immediately daunted by the jungle of exercise machines.
He wanders over to a chest press and feels the cold steel handles in his hands. There is an anxiety in his chest as his mind couldnāt possibly be aware how to properly use this. No idea of technique to exercise any muscle really. The voice laughs as he hesitates to sit down and give it a go. āHey you give me a little wiggle room youāll have pecs in no time.ā Treyās eyes dart around the room and he bites his lip. Newfound muscles tense in his legs as tension builds within his body. In for a penny. Trey begins to nod and before a second moment passes his body is thrown into the seat and his arms wrestle to push at the handles.
At first his arms struggle to even lift the bar with the lowest weight attached. Trey watches as his arms pump forward with no instruction from his own mind. Like a machine, they force themselves forward with inhuman precision, his mouth grunting with effort. Each vocalization is deeper than the one before it. Landing on a tone that sounds jarringly similar to the one that echoes in his mind. He feels static power surging in his chest with every press, the muscles pulse and bulge like a heartbeat. The shirt that was too large for him, would always be too large for him is rapidly strained as heavy pecs grow to a size that could never truly be contained. Bones crack with exertion and his lungs burst larger with newfound room as his whole chest quivers and expands. After what feels like no time at all Trey sees his body get up from the machine and wander to elsewhere in the gym.
His whole upper body has clearly surged beyond what years of dedication should have produced. Hearing deep wheezing breaths as his powerful legs adapt to chauffeur his titanic torso Trey realizes that his body is continuing to move without his input. He opens his mouth to speak but when no voice comes out he realizes that he has clearly bitten off more than he could chew. Wasnāt he supposed to be in charge? In a mirror he sees his own face smirk before speaking with the cadence and confidence of a professional athlete, āAh ah ah- You know what weāre supposed to look like and weāre not nearly there yet.ā Fearful at the realization that he is but a passenger in his own body, if this sculpted figure could even be considered that, Trey struggles to find any recourse.Ā
Only just able to recall his own inner voice he cries out, āTh- This isnāt what we agreed to! You were just supposed to do the one machine!ā Treyās new face grimaces as he physically mulls over the idea, flexing his new massive arms in contemplation. āThat right? Not how I remember it little dude.ā Desperate for a solution Trey crosses his metaphysical fingers in lieu of his own as he tries a Hail Mary. āI demand control of my body back.ā He sees his eyes roll and hear the click of his own tongue before he is washed with the sensations of his new body. The blood rushing through his veins almost burns after returning from the null of being but a voice in his own head.
Unfamiliar with carrying his new form Trey fails to even take a step with his new top heavy body, stumbling over and crashing with enough force it would likely kill his previous self. As he hits the ground he is cushioned by muscle and fat, even the pain of the fall feels impossibly pleasurable as he groans on the floor. He feels his cock stir in his pants and does a quick peek to find even that, if not especially that, has grown since he last took stock. Beneath his lengthened thicker cock lay balls he would struggle to fit in one hand. Even one of his now larger rougher hands.
Trey blushes as he sits there on the floor, slowly chubbing as he thinks about his cock and balls in his hands. The voice now returned to his head reprimands him with ire at having been stolen from the world of physical delights, āWhat now.ā Trey obviously feels content in his new form, surely he could dominate any field he set foot on. He delights in the simple sensation of his lips moving to smirk. He then gasps as he sees stubble start to encroach on his face. Heās never even had to shave before but this body surely produces enough testosterone that heāll go through a razor a week. Seeing chest hairs beginning to curl and thicken above his tight tank top both his chest and balls burn with pride and desire.Ā
Staring at his reflection his mind returns to the figure he sculpted to perfection. He flexes and feels tension and strain in every fiber of his being. Veins bulge in his powerful arms. His heart flutters as he sees his pecs bounce. His jaw is strong and defined under a still growing beard. Lusting over every quivering new muscle in his form he canāt help but know what the voice said is true. This is not his final form, he needs to be bigger. Stronger. He needs to do whatever he can to be even more.
Unable to look away from the giant in the mirror, both voices in his head speak as one as his eyes burn like embers. āI want more.ā He stumbles over to free weights. Every heavy footstep feeling more at home in his brutish body. He grabs the heaviest pair he can find and sneers at his reflection as he performs rep after rep with them, grunting with rage as the impossible growth he enjoyed earlier simply does not come. Racked with hormones he has never had to manage before Trey barely holds back his anger at not being able to achieve instant results from earlier. Trey pauses and realizes that he is not hearing the mocking laughter that should accompany his stubborn impatience.
Intensely listening, it is not long before he indeed hears the voice speak up, āYou need me.ā Trey nods, hungry for the desire to be the perfect man he cheated into existence. Hesitant to take the reigns again lest they be summarily yanked away, potentially for good, the voice makes a play for permanence. āThing is, I want to stay.ā Trey clenches his jaw at the idea, feeling the powerful muscle in his neck contract as veins push out. Staying in that void is not an option. Both presences within the body search for another option wherein they realize a third way forward, they both already are Trey. Treyās cheated form was but a perfect model of himself.n They are already one body, to share one mind would allow them the experience and power of the football playerās perfection and the pleasurably physicality of the flesh.
In a moment of silent synchronous agreement Trey convulses as his two minds violently become one. Gone is the childhood sitting not even at the sidelines but as far up in the bleachers as he could get. Memories of a life lived vacate and are replaced as Treyās mind struggles to find middle ground between the two disparate selves. As cracks from Treyās life are filled with memories of time at the gym however, they find contentment. Neither shall suffer the cold unfeeling void of being a ghost in the mind again and both shall delight in the warm viscerality of corpus, of this most powerful body. In jubilation Trey goes to pick up the dropped weights and begin a series of repetitions that shall deliver him to the sculpted body that he has long dreamed of.
Veins bulge as his biceps surge to the size of his head. Every sensation in his body is heightened as two minds feel them as one. Pain is pleasurable and soreness nothing but a promise that he will be even more. Memories of championships and leading his team to victory surge through his mind as conquests on and off the field become almost rote to him. Hours, days, years in the gym exercising mindlessly to the end of achieving potential that in reality is impossible. Working towards statistics and ideals to such a degree that all other pastimes fall by the wayside.Ā
Never could he have even played the game, let alone hacked it to make his own avatar, as that time has been spent purely on hammer curls and deadlifts. The life he lived, the person he was, fades to become what it must be in order to achieve the success that his once nimble fingers typed into existence. Success at all costs but that of hard work in reality exacts its own toll as his bones stretch and weight piles on everywhere it can find purchase.
Still staring at his reflection, as he does most hours of the day, he canāt help but find something akin to contentment. Becoming a titan on and off the field was, is, and will be ever his goal. His teammates laugh at his aspirations towards physical perfection but he knows that itās not only achievable, but that he is already there. Idolized and set apart from the rest of his team but never lonely, for he already has all he needs within himself.
"Come on Harry, let's play rock paper scissors to see who gets to use the stone first," I said, holding up the mysterious wishing stone we had found on our hike.
"Sure thing, Alex," Harry replied, readying his hand.
I won the first round and wished for us to be rich and smart. Harry followed suit, also wishing for wealth and intelligence. But as we continued to play, the competition between us grew.
"My turn again," I said, grinning at Harry. "I wish for you to be tall and muscular."
As I spoke the words, I watched as Harry's body began to change. His previously slender frame started to bulge and grow, muscles rippling and stretching under his skin. His arms became thick and strong, his chest and abs defined and chiseled. His legs became toned and powerful, his thighs bulging with raw strength.
Harry's transformation was a sight to behold, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of arousal as I watched him grow into a towering hunk before my eyes. His previously narrow shoulders became broad and muscular, his biceps bulging as he flexed them. His previously small pecs swelled and grew, his nipples hardening as he ran his hands over his new body.
"Wow, I can't believe it," Harry said, flexing his muscles and admiring his new physique in the mirror.
"Well, it's my turn now," Harry said, using the stone to make me even more attractive. As I looked in the mirror, I couldn't believe the changes that had taken place in my appearance. My formerly average-looking face had become chiseled and handsome, with piercing blue eyes and a strong jawline. My nose had become straight and sharp, my lips full and sensual. My hair had grown thick and luscious, falling in soft waves around my face.
But things took a turn when we both made jokes while holding the stone. Harry jokingly said were such "dumbasses", We didn't expect the stone to take his words literally, but suddenly we both felt our intelligence slipping away.
As the changes to my memory took place, I suddenly found myself forgetting everything I had ever learned. My thoughts became jumbled and disorganized, and I struggled to form coherent sentences. I couldn't remember anything from my past, including my education and career.
In my new memories, I had dropped out of school and was too stupid to hold down a job. I resorted to being an escort, using my body to make a living. But instead of feeling shame and embarrassment, I was cocky and arrogant about my new career. I remembered feeling confident and sexy as I strutted my stuff, turning heads wherever I went.
It wasn't until I used the stone again that things really got interesting. Being dumb, I jokingly said how gay we look right now. But as we looked at each other, we both suddenly felt a strong attraction to the other. My desire for Harry became overwhelmingly intense, and I couldn't resist using the stone to make him my slut.
"I wish for you to be my dumb, submissive slut," I said, feeling a surge of arousal as I imagined Harry wrapped around my cock, ready to do my bidding.
Harry blushed at the thought, but couldn't deny the thrill of submission. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice dripping with desire. "I'll be your horny little slut, ready to please you any way you want."
With all of his newfound muscle, he easily pinned me down and stole the stone from my grasp. "I wish for you to be a dominant alpha, one who only wants to fuck me," Harry said, his voice dripping with desire.
As the words left his mouth, I felt a sudden shift in my body and mind. My muscles grew even bigger and more defined, my chest and abs rippling with raw strength. I felt a surge of confidence and aggression, my desire for Harry becoming all-consuming.
But Harry wasn't done yet. Just before I could take him, he made one final wish. "I wish for you to have a 12-inch beer can thick cock and massive balls," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I couldn't believe the changes that took place in my groin. My already impressive member grew even bigger, the thickness and girth almost too much to handle. My balls swelled to enormous size, filled with an endless supply of cum. I could feel the power and intensity in my new member, ready to fuck Harry nonstop and cum every time.
I couldn't wait any longer. I grabbed Harry and aggressively took him, pounding into him with my massive cock. He moaned and begged for more, his submissive desires driving him wild.
Fucking Harry was like nothing I had ever experienced before. His tight, muscular body was a perfect fit for my massive cock, and I couldn't get enough of the way he begged for more. As I pounded into him, I could feel every inch of my member sliding into him, the tightness and heat driving me wild.
As I approached my climax, I knew I couldn't hold back any longer. I erupted inside Harry, my cum filling him to the brim. As I filled him with my seed, we both made a wish that this moment would never end.
Suddenly, we found ourselves trapped in an endless loop of me fucking Harry and cumming inside him, our aggressive sex never stopping. Harry's ass was constantly filled with my cum, the splashing noises echoing in our ears as we got lost in the pleasure.
We were locked in this blissful state forever, never wanting to break free from the intense pleasure we were experiencing. The wishing stone had granted our desires in ways we never could have imagined, and we were both grateful to be trapped in this endless cycle of hardcore, aggressive sex.
After badgering director's to perform As You Like It for years Toby finally gets what he wanted. Well, besides his favorite part that is. Cast as a wrestler, Toby is going to steal the stage in the only way he knows how: losing himself to his role.
Don't be alarmed but this is my longest story yet! Toby's true love of theatre trickles away and fuels his quick and intense growth into the perfect wrestler. Aided by his soon to be 'best bro' Cal, singlets that never seen to fit, and waning knowledge of stagecraft Tony's trip to the ring is my favorite yet. Hope you enjoy ! -Occam
They do one Shakespeare play on mainstage every year and without fail, every year, Toby has made a case to perform his favorite play: As You Like It. And at last, at this super-seniorās absolute final chance he has convinced them to put it on.
While obviously a fan of the play, the real reason he had been pushing so hard was so he could finally embody the ever-melancholic Jacques. To give the āAll the Worldās a Stageā speech has been a dream of his so long that it is basically always looping in his head. The casting directors are well aware its verses are engraved upon his heart.Ā
Longingly imagining being the actor to teach those humdrum layfolk in the audience that they too are players in this farce that we call life as he walks in for his audition, Toby smirks knowing this charade is all just a frivolous formality. The cast list may as well already have his name written next to the most pensive character in the Bardās canon.
Crossing onto the too-familiar stage, already in character, Toby performs as pitiful a bow as he can muster. Sauntering to center stage, he prepares to give a dramatic monologue before heās interpreted by the director. House lights go on and Toby squints into the mostly empty auditorium.
āHeyyy, Toby! So sorry! We really meant to meet with you before this-āĀ
āOh of course Sir! I know I know, this is all just a big waste of your time, my timeā Shall I instead come down there and help with casting? You know no one knows this play better than moi!ā
āThat wonāt be necessary, in fact-ā
āAH! Or better yet let me toss my audition monologue prepared to the wind. Iāll just do Jacques again, give you all a sneak peak into my stellar performances to come! *Ahem* All the-ā
āTobias! Iām sorry this is how youāre finding out but the role of Jacques will be played by a professional guest artist. I- We really did mean to tell you.ā
It feels like glass physically breaks within the poor actorās chest. āWh- Wh- Why!? You literally know Jacques is the whole reason Iāve been trying to get this play put on by our department for years!ā
The directors sit there in silence as Tobyās voice echoes through the cold room. Someone clears their throat as the exposed nerve of an actorās shoulders quiver. Taking a beat, Toby turns away from them to collect himself. Heās not become the theatrical powerhouse he is by letting every shitty mistake made by casting turn him into a pool of tears. Squeezing back tears with nothing but force of will, Toby forces a smile back on and turns.
Thereās still the jester! He can be Touchstone! He can play a clown, heās been the go to fool for years! If you canāt go for gold you can still play its foil, he tells himself. Slowly bouncing back between his feet to work into a solid jesterās caper, Toby starts to perform his next favorite character.
āNot a problem! The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly! If youād rather I play to type Iām more than happy-ā
Looking to his audience he finds a grimace on every face.
āIām afraid Touchstone has already been cast as well, Toby.ā
āGod! Itās Jacob isnāt it!? That kid can barely speak in pentameter and youāre going to let him ruin Shakespeareās greatest fool!ā
Again, hearing his shrill voice echo back, Toby just rolls his eyes and awaits whatever his obviously incompetent ex-favorite director is going to lob at him next.Ā
āWeāre doing this for your own good Toby! Youāve been in four of our annual Shakespeare selections already, and countless other productions at that. Itās time for other actors to shine and for you to, well, move on Toby.ā
Chewing on his lip, the broken actor doesnāt know what to say. Perhaps he should have taken the hint the numerous times he was encouraged to put on the play himself, but producing and directing were of absolutely no interest to him. As he tells the directors presently when they suggest he work instead on the production side of this production.
āIām an Actor, sir. If Iām alive it is to be on the stage performing. I know this play by heart and am not going to stand in the wings watching other people- some blackguards butcher lines that should be coming from mine mouth!āĀ
Slowly starting to pace the stage, Toby wonders if theyāre going to let him have any part to play. This was supposed to be his stage. His production. His proper adieu to the program before touring the nation in a company or hitting the silver screen. āI donāt suppose you have another role in mind for me?ā
āWell, thereās still Charles?ā
āThe wrestler!? Heās in two scenes!ā
āTheyāre the opening scenes, Toby. Itās the perfect role if you change your mind and opt to join the production side. And better yet, it should allow you to spend more time on pursuits outside of our season? Perhaps audition for other local stages?ā
āI can take a hint.ā He says not taking a hint, āIf you want me to bring my show stopping self to this inferior role, so I shall. There are no small parts, as youāve said to my quite lesser cohorts over the years. If Charles I am to be, Iāll be the best fucking wrestler this stage has seen!ā
Leaving then and there to secure the final word, Toby flees the stage and starts scheming as to how on earth the twiggiest man in the BFA program is going to portray a brawny professional wrestler. How heās supposed to steal the stage in a role that doesnāt even qualify as two-bit. He absolutely doesnāt want to play it for laughs, but genuinelyā how is Toby supposed to portray a serious threat to their leading man?
Itās perhaps his greatest challenge yet. But Tobyās no stranger to dramaturgical difficulties, he is going to be the most convincing wrestler no matter what it takes. He already knows the book well enough to recite Charlesā lines in his sleep, now to truly embody the man. Heāll spend hours on end watching matches, live in singlets, ugh perhaps heād even stoop to interview those dullards on the wrestling team.
In preliminary research he quickly finds the appeal of the sport. Never one for any kind of physical activity, let alone bloodsport, Toby never thought heād be so sold on such a macho sport, forgetting just how obviously homoerotic it is. This is not the angle heās going to take with the wrestlers themselves of course, they donāt need to know how hot he finds the whole dicks out sweaty grappling thing.Ā
Schedule mostly vacant, Toby has more than enough time to sneak into a practice and take notes. Being the only witness to this perhaps only technically open practice of the university's wrestling team, when the athletes begin sparing their coach sidles up to the actor-brained student taking notes.
āYou one of them figure drawers son? Usually yāall come as a whole class.ā
āAh! Itās a pleasure sir! No, Iām with the theatre department! Are you familiar with the Bardās As You Like it?ā
āDebard? No. Wouldnāt say I am, never heard of āem. Theater type ehm? Here to ogle māboys?ā
Blushing, Toby frantically waves him off, āAH! Ah Ha ha, no of course not! Iām here to learn my good sir! Iām so fortunate as to play a wrestler in our upcoming annual Shakespearean production and desire nothing more to get in the headspace of a wrestler.ā
āYādonāt say?ā Scratching a few days stubble thatās thicker than most menās beards, the coach seems to have a few gears turning. The team has gone far too long without a proper featherweight contenderā¦ Looking within this wayward thespian the coach seems something he can work with. Something he can mold. Someone he can make into a real wrestler. āWanna learn what itās like to wrestle, boy? Howās about you suit up and get down there.ā
What a chilling idea. Little Toby amongst those sweaty behemoths. One stray elbow and heād need to be taken out on a stretcher. And yet, this very, very simple man is right. There is no better way to become a wrestler but to wrestle. His joke of a role cannot dominate the stage without Toby throwing everything heās got into it.
Wandering down to the only other even vaguely bookish man in the room, the equipment manager, Toby is led to a pile of haphazard singlets apparently left behind by visiting schools. āThey skew large, for obvious reasons, but Iām sure we can find something small enough.ā
Displacing just about the whole pile, the manager eventually digs up some long forgotten spandex that Toby will surely still be swimming in. Unwilling to strip in front of the man, he rushes to the next room to change. Giving the garment a quick sniff he canāt tell if the acrid musk heās smelling is from the singletās invisible stains or just the ambient odor of the locker room.
āAnd you said these have all been dry cleaned yes?ā
Scratching his ass, the manager certainly didnāt say this, but heās happy enough to lie about it now. What does he care about the pipsqueak wearing some second hand shit. The baked in Testāll probably be good for him. āShāyeah kid? You think I donāt know how to do my job?ā
Frowning, Toby sticks his legs into the purple garment and pretends he doesnāt know what dried sweat stains feel like as he tugs the armholes over his shoulders. Still fully wearing boxers and his Julius Caesar show shirt, even this does little to fill out the too-big singlet.Ā
āLookinā good. Well, good enough. Think mostāve the team has gone to weights but Coach held someone back for you.ā
āWh-no. Surely you donāt mean he intends for me to.ā Do you want to think like a wrestler or not. Not particularly, but duty calls. With a gulp Toby peeks out of the locker room and sees the coach talking with a man who is at least slightly smaller than the most terrifying of his peers.Ā
No going back now, Toby fights down mortal terror and does what he does best- Acts. āWell I say you put me in direct- coach! Iām raring to go!ā Cocky smile on his face, Tobyās sure the pair staring at him with tilted heads are none the wiser to his mortal terror. When he approaches near enough the smaller man reaches out a hand to introduce himself, to which Toby only barely flinches back.
āHey! Heard youāre interested in the team, Toby right? Iām Cal!ā
At first still smiling, Toby meets his hand. Though when he feels the wrestler's rough grip he cannot hide the frown that crosses his face. Itās like sandpaper. Compared to his own soft hands, clean and maintained by rigorous routines of moisturizing, Toby can hardly believe someone willingly letting their skin devolve to such an unpleasant state.
āOh yeah takes some getting used to,ā Cal smiles awkwardly, āShoulda warned you hah! Really makes dating hell when chicks or whatever get grossed out by your touch.āĀ
Toby smiles awkwardly in turn, sure his tacking on that āor whateverā was trying to signal something to him. Looking Cal up and down, Toby figures he could certainly do worse. But, heās sure that the coach isnāt intending this as a meet cute. And when the burly man whistles and nods to a mat he sees Calās awkwardness shift to excitement. Blush remains painted on his face as he nervously messes with his hair.
āSorry for whateverās about to happen Tobe,ā seeing his the actor start sweating bullets, Cal walks over to the ring, āAhh donāt worry though itāll be alright. I wonāt hurtcha!ā
āRight.ā Toby follows suit and does his best to match the trained wrestlerās stance. As he does so one of the loose strands of his singlet falls from his narrow shoulders. Just before he can cry out to āwaitā the coach blows his whistle again. Any look of goodwill in Calās eyes fades to make way for some intense gaze of near-bloodlust.Ā
And then he charges.Ā
Fiddling with his singletās not-sleeve, by the time Toby looks up Cal is already upon him. Thouse uncomfortably rough hands grab his bony arms with the strength and precision of a machine. Hoisted into the air, the thespian feels weightless. As heās manhandled by the man, he feels his adrenaline start to spike. He feels the very first rushing sparks of excitement course through him. He watches as the focus on Calās face shifts to a cocky, victorious smile. As air rushes past him their eyes meet and Toby wonders if his whole life has been leading to this. And then heās thrown to the mat and sees nothing.
Coming to with a pounding headache in Coachās office, Toby moans deliriously. Grabbing his pounding head, Toby mutters out a āWhuh happened?ā as Coach fills out some paperwork on the desk.Ā
āGot some sense knocked into you out there kid. Cal feels bad ābout the whole thing and wants to walk ya home. Chat yer ear off the whole time Iām sure.ā
Woozy, Tobyās happy to hear heās got an escort home, too out of it to wonder any more about the wrestlerās proclivities. Wobbling slightly as he stands, for a moment the actor wonders why Coach is acting so blase about giving what simply must be a concussion to a student out of his program.
And while some perceptive part of him catches the half-smile on the manās face, notices how Coach- how the coach seems to be playing some game with him, all of a sudden Toby feels a great deal of trust for the man. Stealing one last glance at the brawny man, Toby feels with certainty that Coach knows whatās best for him. Must be the concussion.
āCalās running weights with some of the younger students tomorrow late morning. Be there.ā
Slowly nodding at the command as he exits to greet Cal, Toby grins as he sheepishly apologizes a few times over. Taking in his meek words, Toby feels his higher functions slowly booting back up. The musclebound brute apparently has a good deal of curiosity about theatre that Toby is happy to help sate.Ā
On their brisk walk to Tobyās apartment, the thespian teaches Cal the plot of Twelfth Night and Hamlet in between explaining why heās so interested in wrestling in the first place. When they arrive on his doorstep, Toby finds himself all the more won over by the broad-shouldered man, and those feelings have begun to trickle into a fondness for his brutish sport.
āAnd uh, donāt mean to be forward or anything but uhhh? Did you want me to stay over and make sure youāre all good from that hit dude?āĀ
āThat hit? Oh shoot, uh yeah? Do you think thatād be a good idea?āĀ
āCouldnāt hurt! And I donāt mind dude, besides, Coach said you really wanted to come train with us tomorrow so I can just take you straight there!āĀ
Murmuring in agreement, Toby welcomes a jock he never thought heād be caught dead with into his neat home. Crossing the threshold over a campy welcome mat, immediately does the weight of weariness come crashing down onto Toby. Forgetting the anxiety from earlier, he lazily removes his shirt and resolves to just sleep in the singlet.
Itās surprisingly comfortable, almost feels a little tighter than it did that afternoon. Strange. Turning to find Cal already at home sitting on his couch, Toby drags his feet to join him. He deliberately falls over the arms and into Calās lap as the athlete throws some wrestling onto the TV.Ā
āWoahhh watch it dude, gotta be careful with your head! Donāt want to lose any of your play-smarts yāknow heheh!ā
Cal pointedly doesnāt touch the man whose head is resting on his thigh. But as he feels heavy sleep coming, he canāt help but smile as the man squirms under his head. Toby doesnāt know whatās gotten into him. This is insane. Thereās a man who basically assaulted him sitting on his couch, watching godawful tv on his account, and for some reason Toby feels as at home as he does on stage.
Ā Cal feels as familiar as any of his co-stars. Lulled to sleep by the warmth of his muscular thigh, the sound of men grunting as an audience cheers acts as a lullaby to the injured Toby. Rather than the glitzy lights of the stage, in dream Toby only sees the inside of the ring.
The next morning the actor awakens to Cal making liberal use of his kitchen. Steam rises from a pan and from a few plates already loaded with more meat than Toby thought he had in his fridge. Still cooking, the wrestler hears him stir and welcomes him to the new day.
āHeyyyy Gāmorning Tobe, hurry and load up on some protein so we can head out to the gym!ā
Nodding mindlessly as he rubs sleep from his eyes and starts housing some eggs and sausage, Toby looks down and notices how his singlet is indeed closer to fitting his still-thin frame.Ā
āI- Do I have time to take a shower Cal?ā
āBefore getting all sweaty dude? Nahhh, ās a waste of time forreal. Now shut up and eat, dude! As soon as I pack up the leftovers weāre out the door.ā
Obeying his trainer apparentās commands, Toby scarfs down the breakfast, choking out an āUnquiet meals make ill digestion, you know.ā before confirming heās quoting Shakespeare like a tic after being chided once more to fill his gob rather than chat.
When at last they beat feet and arrive at the gym, Toby finds himself experiencing meat sweats for the first time in his life. Stomach so overfull he can visibly see his stomach bloating against the hitherto limp singlet, Tobyās not sure how heās going to move at all productively, let alone work out.Ā
Little does he know, as soon as Cal begins instructing him any concern or discomfort melts away. Everything else fades away, including the memory that he is currently missing a class he was auditing. But thatās of no matter, theatre history can wait, he needs to think like a wrestler.Ā
While this was ostensibly a group activity, every other wrestler seems self-sufficient so Cal is entirely focussed on the scrawny actor. Issuing orders like a drill sergeant, Cal ushers his trainee from machine to machine, from lift to lift and delights as his little pretend-wrestler sweats through a baggy tee he borrowed for a pump cover.
When at last heās sick of the feeling of wet fabric on his back he tears it off to reveal arms that are shockingly large. Balking at the newly beefy biceps hanging where there was once but skin and bones, Cal has a hard time justifying the amassed muscle as a mere bump. Reaching over to feel the manās sweaty, twitching arms, Cal demands he show off.
āWhat the fuck dude! Flex those things!ā
Panting as he feels as woozy now as he did post-concussion the day before, Toby struggles to raise his arms before flexing them with a pained grunt. Corded muscle twitches through their whole length as they peak larger with each microsecond he keeps up the performance. Calās eyes flit to the shadows in the manās pits as heād swear the man was hairless yesterday, but watching as the fresh growth drips with sweat he decides ont to mention it.
āFuck dude! This must be like a beginnerās lucky pump or something! Looking like a member of the team already!ā
Rolling his eyes as he trips over to a mirror, Toby prepares to tell Cal to knock it off before throwing up another flex, for his own eyes this time. In his reflection he finds his new arms exactly as Cal described, slightly thicker even. It seems impossible. Truly muscular, sculpted arms. Ones made to manhandle. His ever overactive mind scrambles for something poetic or funny to say only to fall flat.
Beyond that, heās at last notices how he is clearly filling out the singlet!? He can hardly believe it as it strains against the beginnings of pecs and slightly wedgies into his ass crack. Tugging down on his thighs as he sees the singlet cut into the trunks, Toby frowns at how his boxers ruin the look. Slightly tuning out Cal discussing the importance of recovery and routine, Toby pointedly sniffs the air and realizes how much of a sweat heās worked up.
Raising one arm into a flex, he fights back a grin as it hardens and throbs to instead look at that dark patch of new growth. Mustāve been a minute since heās waxed? Yeah, that makes sense. His other hand reaches over to feel it and for half a second he scratches the dank, itchy bush before recoiling. Something deep suggests he give the digits a sniff but he makes the slightly less uncouth decision to just wipe the sweat on his singlet.Ā
āYo Tobe, is that your phone?ā
Returned from his delirium, Toby finds a few texts from his castmates asking where he is. Itās not like him to not be early to rehearsal. āOh shoot! Wait Cal- I think I need to go, like now.āĀ
Jumping into action Cal tosses him a hoodie and a slightly larger singlet. Neither man even spares half a thought to the fact his musk factory of a body is going to be rushing to a black box without showering, but the rehearsal must go on! Throwing on the baggy hoodie, unconcerned with its cleanliness as well, he shoots his fellow thespians a text saying heās on the way before rushing out the door.
En route, he finds the idea of being late not weighing all too terribly as it did even moments ago. Texting Cal as he walks briskly, the jock does his best to shift gears back into that friendly curiosity.
yo wait dude speaking of! did u no that ten things i hate about u wth heath ledger was based of shakespear
Toby grins and rolls his eyes. He loves Cal, itās so nice to spend time with people outside of his bubble. Literally anyone whoās spent half a second studying the Canon knows that. He begins his reply wondering how hard to go on his new friend.
Of course Cal, Ha Ha! You know I basically have a degree in this ;). Everyone knows itās based on . . .
Itās based on? Uh..? Toby trips over his feet and stands there for a few moments. Heās absolutely blanking. Thank god itās to Cal rather than anyone who knows better. God! What play is it based on though? He pounds his forehead with his fist assuming thatāll summon the answer. Surprisingly his memory doesnāt seem to react to brute force.
Getting another text from his director he shakes off his stupor and returns to his journey. Leaving it at the wink, heāll just look up whatever play it was later, no tameā time to waste! Stumbling into the Fine Arts Building, Toby tugs on his hoodie to air out the singlet now stained with his own sweat.Ā
God itās so tight. He didnāt notice while moving, but now that heās slowed down every seam is cutting into him. Tobyās bulkier limbs twitch as theyāre off and on overtaken with pins and needles from increasingly inconsistent circulation. He knew lycra was supposed to be like a second skin but this is unpleasant, especially in his pants where his boxers really cause it to pinch.
āToby!? Is that you?āĀ
Looking up, Toby sees Claude, the young man cast as Orlando, the male lead. Wearing a baggy sweater and massive pants, thereās a look of amused disbelief as he holds back a giggle. āMy, my! I had heard you were going method for your, abbreviated role? I certainly didnāt think you were to go this far!ā
āYeah yeah, whatever Claude. Iām sure you know this whole productionās a farce anyway, what with me cast beside- er aside.ā Disrobing the already damp sweatshirt, when he unveils his newly built body, Claude is taken truly stunned.
āOh my word!ā Blushing slightly at the sightly figure, Claude opts to tease him further. āWe should have had you playing brutes some time ago! And- no donāt tell me!? Is that hair? You stopped shaving your pits for this!? Ah Ha! What will that surly trade think of their little boytoy playing at being a man!ā
Jaw clenching, every targeted dig flung makes his singlet all the tighter. For the first time in his life, Toby feels what can only be described as rage. Crossing his arms to hide how hard heās tensing them, veins begin to crisscross their length as they twitch larger. Doing calf raises and flexing his thighs as he stands there and takes it, his singlet again gives him a wedgie before he switches to instead reflexively pop his pecs which sends a tear straight down the middle of his trusty singlet.
āOh shit.ā
Claude averts his eyes with a dramatic turn and gasp while Toby just nonchalantly looks down at his chest. āFuck thatās kinda hotā he mumbles to himself before awkwardly waddling past the lead. āI gotta- I have a change of clothes, just tell the director Iāll be there in five, kay?ā
Rushing as well as heās able when every slightest movement sends another tear through this fabric designed to not tear, Claude goes to his usual changing room and locks the door as he at last bares his new body. Swearing he looks even larger than he did at the gym, his semi is just as visible in his boxers as it would be in the spandex.Ā
No real time to lust after himself, Toby quickly gets changed, feeling the chill of this spandex unworn as it fits him like a glove. Obviously, after his previous discomfort wearing boxers underneath the singlet, he opts to go commando. Cock shame is a thing of the past, he thinks, smirking. If anyone ogles his cock thatās on them, not that he particularly minds of course. Shit he definitely would. The thought sends it throbbing one inch higher towards his belly button as he sternly tells himself to not get fully hard.
Easier said than done.
Sauntering onto the stage unembarrassed, every eye in the room is on him and his shockingly muscular form. Everyone there has seen him fully nude on stage before, that heās somehow bulked up in less than a few days seems wrong. Convincing themselves itās a muscle suit or the like, everyone comes to their own explanation so they can focus on their work. All ignoring the sweat dripping down the lifelike arms or the bushy garden in his pits, thankfully theyāre mostly obscured by his massive biceps.Ā
And so begins rehearsal. Heās read the play hundreds of times at this point. Not even opting to check his lines, as they run through the first scene, Toby awaits his cue and acts with aplomb.
Standing straight as he strides onto the stage, still clad in singlet as everyone else performs in their everyday clothes. āGood morrow to your Worship.ā Itās such light work, he doesnāt even listen to his scene partnerās lines, simply filling in the blanks as necessary, āThey say he is already in the Forest of Arden,
and a many merry men with himā¦ā Resetting as commanded, āMarry, do I, sir, and I came to acquaint you with a matter.āĀ
By the time their work on Scene I is done, Toby has noticed some fuzz on old Claudeās cheeks. Is he growing a beard? Rubbing his own hairless face he feels a tickle in his chest as he considers doing so himself. Awfully masculine. He really should look- He should be more masculine than that princely fraud.Ā
Wonder what Cal would thinkā āToby?ā
āHuh?ā
āYou missed your cue.ā
Oh shit. He hadnāt even noticed they moved onto the second scene. Getting on with it, he starts to notice his cheeks and jaw are suddenly itchy. Itās annoying. Almost as annoying as the fact that theyāre skipping the fight for now. What the fuck is he here for if theyāre skipping his big moment.Ā
Getting worked up, his face begins to burn red as thereās almost a prickling underneath his skin. Yanking out his phone as he gets an urge to text Cal, he waves off being chewed out for being distracted before just walking off stage as his last scene ends. When asked if heās interested in staying to help he laughs in the directorās face āIf you wanted me here youād have given me a real part, Sir.āĀ
And with that he heads on out, excited to chat with Cal and too full of energy to sit around and watch other people act. He only takes the slightest detour towards Claude to stomp at him and fake him out, smirking as the lead flinches back. Scratching his cheek, when he leaves the theater he finds his wrestler-friend has beaten him to the punch:
heyo brobro u comin to practice today?
Man, he's so busy these days. Classes and rehearsal for theatre on top of wrestling practice and the gym? Wonāt even have time to play around. His scheduleās so jam packed itās tighter than a quick..? A quick something. Quick switch? Whatever. He again gives up on what should be the simplest of recalls to text Cal heās on the way.Ā
This time Coach has absolutely switched up his tune. Still gruff and brusque, when he sees Toby today thereās an unmistakable grin on his face. From afar Cal give two thumbs up with a wide smile of his own as Coach shouts, āWhooee boy! You sure are sproutinā from Calās morninā program.ā
Nodding approvingly, he pats Toby hard on the back as the younger man blushes and scratches his cheeks, peach fuzz slowly prickling thicker into stubble. On the walk over, every text back and forth with Cal seemed to darken his face with more stubbly curls. The sound of his slightly thicker digits scritching his cheeks is buried beneath Coachās laudations as his voice drowns out everything else.Ā
āSo. Tobias. You wanna get on down there with the boys tāday?ā
Arms crossed, he stares down at Toby, eyes burning embers beneath thick brows. The thespian nervously looks down at the wrestlers all going at it already as his pulse begins to accelerate. He remembers himself, heās no wrestler. Heās a dramaturg! āUhh no, no I really, I really- uhh?ā But his heart races with excitement, heās almost vibrating as everything within him burns.Ā
He wants to. He needs to. More than anything. The idea of character research is little more than an afterthought as everything within him shouts he has no greater purpose right now than getting down there to spar. To show off his strength. To grapple those men and put them in their place.Ā
Trying to shake his head no, his head instead twitches as his neck thickens. Paltry stubble crawls higher on his cheeks as it lengthens and spreads enough to be a proper beard coating his jawline. Clenched hard enough to crack his teeth as he now has to force his feet to stand in place lest he bolt, Toby feels his most bestial urges rise and rise in volume.Ā
Who dares be more a man, is none. No thatās- thatās not the line. No matter. Blood rushes in his head, he can hear nothing but the toll of his heartbeat and the need to fight. To win. He hears Coachās whistle blow and he charges. Cal stands there ready to catch him in the ring and in a far more level battlefield, the pair begin to wrestle.Ā
In between lunges and grasps, Toby canāt help but notice heās taller than Cal. He wouldāve sworn he was shorter. He knew he was. He should be shorter. And then Cal punishes him for focusing on anything but the battle at hand. Arms pump larger as he strains against Calās strength. His chest widens as he grunts and gives everything heās got to not go down.Ā
Tobyās thick thighs balloon even larger as he tries to root himself in place, refusing to go down as he scowls with intense focus. And then the sound of tearing echoes in their small ring as Cal accidentally finishes the job begun by Tobyās bulking form. Surprise on Calās face as his hand slips away, the actor sees his chance.Ā
Twirling around him as if in slow motion, Toby throws his arms around Cal and knocks his legs. Falling on his back, the growing man shouts for Coach to come and call it, his voice cracking deeper as he pins Cal on the ground. Sweat drips into his eyes and burns the couple new scratches on his muscular back.
One. He canāt believe heās done it. Two. He has done it. Heās a wrestler. Three. He needs to be more.
Coachās whistle resounds as he yanks Toby off a smugly grinning Cal. The other wrestlers break into applause witnessing Tobyās first victory, many eyes slightly confused as surely this isn't their first time seeing Toby dominate. Look at him, he took down Cal. Though perhaps not all that fair a fight given the height and weight advantage.Ā
Helping Cal to stand, he sees the smarmy smile and wink of a man who might have let him win. āNice beard Tobeā For a moment he has no idea what his friendās talking about, before of course scratching his thick and sweat covered beard. The one heās had since he could first grow one. Thereās no better immediate show of masculinity and all.Ā
āThanks dude.ā Patting Cal on the back, the pair head off to the locker room to get Toby another singlet.
āYouāre really going through these things buddy!āĀ
āMaybe if you guys got me a real uniform rather than throwing hand-me-downs at me one of them might stick.ā
āSure bro, then actually join the team.ā
His mind stumbles over the thought. Thatās right, heās not actually on the team. Even if he suddenly feels like heās been here for years he knows he hasnāt. Heās a- Uh. Heās an actor. Yeah. He shakes free from the confusion, refusing to engage as he instead just laughs at Calās words. Pausing at a mirror in the locker room he runs his hands down his beyond-defined abs.Ā
Despite his newly prodigious beard and the jungle-adjacent bushes in his pits, his body is relatively hairless. Frowning at the thought, he wonders if that will change any time soon before basking in a few poses. When he catches Cal staring at him he decides to turn the tables and teases him for a change.
āSee something you like there Cal?ā
āCanāt blame a guy for taking in a work of art bro.ā
āAhh too kind buddy, bet you just canāt wait for me to pin you again huh?ā
Cal slaps him, laughing, āWhatever dude!āĀ
Tobyās phone vibrates in his bag. Frowning he finds a couple messages from his director, scheduling combat rehearsal and letting him know when to be ready and at the stage. He rolls his eyes and just mutes the man. Theyāre lucky to have him there at all. Looking to Cal as he begins showing off a handy few flexes to the mirror, even if he was consciously aware of his priorities realigning. One wonders if he would even care.
This is what itās all about.
And so his life goes for a few weeks. Prioritizing practices over rehearsals. Going along with the mimesis of fighting rather than putting Claude in his place like he so deeply yearns. Enjoying wrestling more than he ever thought he could, flirting with Cal whenever he gets the chance. It becomes quite the routine, leaving him little time to notice as knowledge he used to consider baseline begins to seep away, replaced by new instincts and strategies for the ring.
Stumbling on free time one day, he finds himself craving an easy win and finally returns to the theatre history class he decided to audit what feels like a lifetime ago. Having already aced it heās eager to drop in and see where they are, maybe offer some of his expertise since the pushovers in rehearsal are too stubborn to know his worth.
Arriving a couple minutes late, the professor is at first eager to see her once teacherās pet return. Turning to greet him, sheās concerned by how deep his voice sounds, assuming he must be struck with quite the cold. After a moment of inspection, besides his bullish new size, she is taken aback by how sloppy he seems to be dressing. Once something of a fashionista, now more jock than actor, the manās baggy clothes cling to his broad frame. While not coming from practice or the gym, the slightest sweat stains are already visibly.
āHey! Professor, sorry Iām late!ā His voice cracks deeper as his tone tinges slightly vacuous.
āOf course weāre happy to have you Toby, please find a seat! I must say youāre looking rather, uhm, jocular?ā
āRight, yeah. Dunno if you heard but Iām, or I was cast as Charles in As You Like It.ā He gestures with his hands, flexing reflexively which strains the seams of his already failing outfit, āReally trying to get into that Alpha headspace yāknow.ā
Surprised at his informality, she remains shocked at how differently her neat and cordial once-term favorite seems to be carrying himself. āVery well! Well where was Iā¦ā
The erudite professor continues lecturing on about the tradition of Greek theatre. Toby vaguely remembers enjoying the section of the course a great deal. Heās sure if it came down to it heād remember the nitty gritty details. Still, as she drones on and on, the theoretical-thespian canāt help but get a little bored.Ā
Despite this, when she asks a question, Toby canāt help but bolt up his hand. Some stray instinct from his know-it-all self acting with the urgency of the man in the ring, the sound of his shirt sleeve tearing canāt be ignored as a chunk of his pit fur bursts from the new hole.Ā
āAhh of course, youāre eager to show off for the class Toby. Well, go on! What do you think the audience of the Bacchae thought of the gruesome violence coupled with the joy of the Chorus?ā
The Bacchae. Of course. Maintain composure. Toby slowly lowers his arm, keeping an air of confidence only interrupted when he accidentally elbows his seat neighbor. āRight.ā He clears his throat to buy time. This should be a cakewalk, he did a presentation, staged a selection of this just last year. But for the life of him he can barely remember who or what the playās even about.
āOf course, easy. Well we all know the Greeks loved violence right? Sāwhy the Romans were all about it too. Why shouldnāt they love a good fight scene?ā
The professor tilts her head staring, almost looking hurt as she believes Toby isnāt taking her seriously, āAh, hm. Well, interesting supposition Toby. I was more referring to the Dionysian-ā
āDionysus, yeah! It was on the tip of my tongue.ā The professor stares at him blankly causing him to blush with embarrassment before apologizing, āSorry prof. My mind was elsewhere I guess.ā Moving on and making a mental note to check on her wayward student, she focuses instead on the rest of her class.
Unable to ignore how heās floundering, Toby does his best to hide in his seat. Difficult given he barely fits in it. Starting to nervously sweat, the stains start to grow. Trying to compact his upper body to hide from view, his legs stretch wider into his neighbor as his longer legs blatantly manspread. The poor guy next to him grimaces after taking a breath before being even further inconvenienced as Tobyās massive thigh pushes him to the side.Ā
Still, rather than complain he leans close to the brutish actorās ear, āHey psst, sorr- Toby right? did you need to borrow some deodorant?ā
Turning with a scowl to the weasly little nerd speaking to him, Toby feels alarm bells start to ring in his head. What is he doing here. Heās embarrassing himself. His chest prickles as his skin starts to burn. āWhy donāt you mind your own business kid.ā His pecs itch like something is crawling across them and his thick, clumsy hands reach to scratch it.
āWoah jeez? Hey sorry dude, I was just trying to help,ā his neighbor does his best to ignore the man whose torso sized thigh is more in his space than Tobyās own. And Toby just continues scratching, reaching under his shirt he discovers the root of his burning itch. At last, his chest has started to prickle with hair.Ā
Ignoring that upstart kid complaining about his sweat, forgetting about the professor who so embarrassed him, a grin twitches across his face as he delights in the new lengthy curls circling his nipples. Feeling thick new strands pressed into his singlet as a wide treasure trail prickles up his tight abs to meet the hopely intense growth smattering across his heavy chest.
Tight against his singlet, he feels his cock start to stir from excitement at his increasingly masculinity. Looking down at his crotch itās thankfully obscured by the lycra if not his too-small shorts. Seeing his thick thigh pressing into his neighbors though, noticing how it seems to be the size of the little runtās legs put together, thatās just too much. āAhh fuckā¦ā
āToby? Did you need something?āĀ
Shit. Shit. āShit uhhh yeahh so sorry Professor, uhhhā He forgot her name, shit. āI totally have wrestling practice soon I gotta dip! Iāll uh, see you guys later!ā Making no effort to obscure how he waddles as his hog of a dick starts taking blood from his brain, Toby doesnāt even look back at the classroom as he bolts from the Fine Arts building.Ā
Annoyed with his shirt constraining his biceps, he tears it off and shoves it in his gym bag. Seeing the consistent new hairy coat on his chest does little to abate the growing issue under his singlet. Staring as it spreads further, filling the gap between his straps, Toby tugs at his shorts to try and fix the awkward situation but that only exacerbates the problem as his excitement continues to rise.Ā
Thinking back to that twinky man who complained about him stinking, he angles his head towards the bush in one of his pits and takes a deep breath. Fuckkk he does reek. Biting his lip and feeling his facial hair scratch, Toby starts booking it home as his hips feel suddenly tighten and buck.
Sprinting as well as heās able with a hardon like heās never felt, heās at least glad itās happening now and not in the ring. Mind dancing to wrestling does little for his boner, but it does lead to his singlet getting tight elsewhere as well. Tugging on the shoulder straps as he runs, Toby feels them yank against shoulders cracking taller and a torso inching wider with gasping breath as he sprints onward.
The singlet wedges itself into his ass crack as his cheeks shake with every step, it becomes increasingly clear that heās going to move up yet another size. He feels it strain against his thighs while inching up higher and higher as he rushes onward. So too do his actual shorts begin to tear, lighting a fire under his growing ass.Ā
He knew he shouldnāt have borrowed clothes from Cal, for some reason nothing from his bro seems to fit anymore? Arriving at his place, Toby finds Cal is already there cooking some trademark protein-slop for the two of them. Beaming when he sees his bro, he asks how class was. āāS been too long since you had fun with theatre stuff bro! Whatād you learn.ā
Toby opens his mouth to reply but finds no answer coming forth. Furrowing his heavier brow he struggles to remember, what did he learn, having already forgotten the Bacchae he opts for the most basic of stagecraft lessons. And still he fumbles.
Ā āUhh yāknow just went over simple stuff. I really helped āem Like, I bet you didnāt know that to make sure it makes sense for the audience, right, they switch which oneās stage left and which oneās stage right! Like they go by what the audience sees bro!ā Convinced this is accurate, his smile grows wider as he watches Cal nod and take this unfortunately incorrect information in.Ā
Then before they can enjoy their stew-ish dinner, Tobyās phone starts going off. He silences it only for a second one to stop blaring as well. āWhat theā¦ā Squinting at the phone, he starts to mute this one as well before Cal speaks up.
āWait brobro, I think those are your As You Like It Alarms.ā
āAs I like what dude?ā
Cal smiles, finding his broās stupidity and disregard charming rather than concerning. āThe play Tobe,ā gently pushing Toby to the door, he pats his bro on the ass to try and strike some urgency in him. āAh and I packed some clothes from the gym in your bag in case you get too sweaty again. Now, go! And onāt worry about dinner, Imma slowcook this shit!ā
Realizing he forgot to show off his chest hair to Cal when heās about 3/4th there, Toby makes a note to do so later since it seems like heās already late. Yanking on the door, he forgets he needs to do his ID since itās after hours. Dutifully retrieving it from the bottom of his bag, strange even after four attempts the building refuses to yield. Itās almost as if he no longer had permissions for the building?
Whatever. He sneaks in with some little dude wearing all-black head to toe. Must be a goth, Toby figures. Making no rush, Toby strides in with pride and disregard for the rest of the production. āWorry not everyone, ol Tobeās here,ā the director calls cut from the scene theyāre working on and turns to chew out an actor he used to trust implicitly.
Turning around, priorities instantly realign as he sees a man now seemingly twice as wide and infinitely hairier than the one he knew to be a leading actor. āJesus Christ Toby!? Are you on steroids for this part or something?ā
Looking gravely serious the man shakes his head, āGod no! Wouldnāt dream of doing gear dude. Theyād kick me off the team!ā
āTh- Are you on the wrestling team?ā
Rubbing the back of his neck and exposing his beyond-hairy musk traps he shoots back a āDonāt worry about it.ā Scratching the same pit with his other hand, he looks deadeye at the director, āSo we starting with my stuff or what?ā
With a sigh he motions to set, this was all supposed to be a favor for Toby. āWe were in the middle of something but I suppose we could-ā
āAces. Well Iāll be backstage listening for my cue.ā
He misses it. Twice. And when he at last returns itās beyond obvious that heās no longer the Shakespearen scholar he once was. āGood uhhhm, day tāyou mister,ā Puffing out his chest he gives a nod to the audience. After being reminded he can call ālineā if he finds himself lacking, he does so at every turn and still manages to screw up.
āCome! Where is this young Gallons- No I swear thatās what she said!āĀ
āToby, is this a joke to you?ā
His brow twitches, āNo? Iām here arenāt I?ā
āI suppose you technically are.ā
āYou wanted me to be a wrestler dude!ā
āWe wanted you to play Charles. We wanted you to- Look.ā
āCan you freaking chill!?ā He feels his blood start to boil. He hears the sirens that resound in his head when itās time to fight. His arms twitch as he looks through the auditorium and sees Claude standing in a crowd of other actors. Ignoring the intrusive thought about the manās height, how he needs to be taller, Toby stills his rage and takes a deep breath. āSorry, s- sir. I swear Iāll get my shit together. Iāll be good for the dressing rehearsal.ā
Wiping his nose with his thumb, he jumps from the stage and sits in the dark auditorium. When Claude takes the stage, despite trying to read his lines, Tobyās unable to take his eyes off him. Watching as people fawn over the man returns his heart to racing. His shoes squeak on the floor as his legs slowly stretch longer.Ā
Staring daggers at the man, he reminds himself he didnāt even want that role, but for the life of him he canāt remember who he auditioned for. What this play even is. Didnāt he like it for some reason? A character, or..? Lost in struggling thought, the auditorium chair creaks as his back stretches taller and wider. It was like Jake or something, Jock?
Putting his all into recalling this name, sweat trickles down his brow as he tries to set his mind to anything not-physical. It just makes him want to punch a wall. Bouncing his leg as his feet start to outgrow his shoes, Toby tries to cross his arms and realizes how difficult it has become with how swollen his forearms and biceps have become, opposing an equally unyielding pec shelf.
After receiving a text from Cal, he guffaws loud enough for someone to trip on stage and shouts an apology, āSorry gotta call someone! Donāt you worry Coach, Iāll be shipshape by game day!ā And with that, the cast and crew watch as his defined ass carries him out of the theater. The directorās eye twitches, what is he supposed to do with this.
Free from the humdrum boredom of a rehearsal heās not altogether much involved with, Toby feels the clarion call of clothes heās about to outgrow as he feels the leg holes start to ride up and sees his package getting more and more visible. Shittt- Heās not even getting hard!Ā
Rushing home he pulls Cal into a bear hug and the pair spend the rest of the night together. Theyāre something of an inseparable pair these days and Coach certainly isnāt going to complain. The new Toby obviously needs all the help he can get to show up to practice on time. Beyond that Cal seems to be quite the incentive for Toby to be the best wrestler he can be.
Since both their places only have the one bed they have to share wherever they end up. Some time ago Cal invested in earplugs as Toby developed an oppressive snore once his neck grew in. Less manageable is the sweaty furnace of manās body heat as his sleeping self always ends up snatching Cal to use as a pillow to hug. Even more of a problem are nights where his bro gets riled up, you wouldnāt believe the number of times Calās already woken up to the hulking man dry humping him in his sleep.
Not that he minds, shit really they should start burning off some of that energy before bed. Certainly easier to clean if they get ahead of it. Sleeping through Calās alarm the next morning, when Toby eventually falls back to consciousness heās happy to not feel any telltale stain besides the hefty pool of pre safely contained to his jock from the day before.
Drinking two protein shakes before heading out for his morning jog, Tobyās surprised to get such an early call from Coach. He takes it in stride as his heavy footfalls pound onward. āYo Coach, wazzup?ā
Already in his office, the Coach smirks at how nonchalant his newest wrestler has grown as he bulked up. āNothing, nothing. I know your dress rehearsal is today so I just wanted to say ābreak a leg.āā
Toby trips up in shock, thick brows furrowing in concern, āB- But Coach? I thought you wanted me to stick in the play? Said it was good for me?ā
Fighting back a smirk at just how effective a wrestler heās made if Toby canāt remember even the most common of theatrical terms, he apologizes, āCome now Tobe, you know that means good luck. Itās a switch-em-up. Them actor-folks think itās bad luck to say good luck, yāknow that.ā
Laughing at forgetting that, āAhh like MacDuff!āĀ
Toby is a success beyond measure. āRight, just like that, boy. So, Iāve been thinkinā about your place on the team. Gonna have the boys vote on it ācourse, but howād you like to be Team Co-Captain.ā
Having only just returned to his jog, Toby stops dead in his tracks once more, heart racing. Team Captain. His biceps pulse larger to his sleeves limit. His underwear would tear to shreds if he wasnāt already commando. Instead his athletic shorts reveal his instant hardon themselves. The cleft of his pecs are as clear as his nipples as his breathing stretches the fabric of his shirt enough to make it sheer.
Then he realizes, when did he even join the team, āB- But coach? Iām not even..?ā No, he for sure is? What is he if not a wrestler?
āDonāt worry too much ābout it Tobe. You just focus on rehearsal and weāll talk after. Callinā a special training at about 7 PM. Remember, break a leg.ā
With that, Toby jogs at an even better pace down the road, buff chest held higher from pride if not from his spine creaking longer and his shoulders spreading wider. Thereās certainly a skip in his step as he rounds the block back to his apartment complex before bolting up the stairs back to his place. Meaty fists cutting through the air of a stairwell only he and Cal use, he yanks open his usually unlocked front door and shouts for his bro.
āCaaaaaaaaal!āĀ
āBro shhh! You know the neighbors asked us to chill a little!ā
Before Cal can get another word in, Toby throws his sweaty arms around a waist thin perhaps to him alone. A waist that not a month ago would have had him drooling for its overwhelming size and muscular density. Now the brute lifts him in the air with ease and spins with excitement.Ā
āDude! Coach just said they wanna make me Co-Cap!āĀ
Grinning, Cal feigns surprise, āYādonāt say? Any idea who suggested it, Big-T?ā
Staring blankly, mouth hanging ajar, it takes a few moments for the idea to spark and his eyes light up. āBro?ā His dumbfounded confusion turns into a grin.
āBro.ā
Spinning once more as his chest widens enough to finally ruin one of his few remaining shirts, Toby squeezes Cal even tighter. āGod I canāt wait to captain alongside my best bro.ā Vibrating with excitement, Cal grappled against him, his heart racing like itās life and death. Just like in the ring. His eyes fall on his best bros lips, āFuck dude. I could kiss you!ā
With a sharp gasp as Toby squeezes him tighter than life, the wrestler looks up to find Tobyās eyes hungrily staring. Hazy with need as his own eyelids droop, Cal meets him with a question, āWhy stop there bro?ā
Before a second passes Tobyās mouth is on his neck, tasting his sweat, feeling the sharp curve of his carved jawline as his tongue feels the scritch of his sandpapery cheeks. And then his lips find purchase, and as they do his face begins its final changes. His already impressive beard thickens as it scratches against Calās face.
His nose cracks bent before reshaping a couple times over as his skin loses whatever softness remained from a regimen from a life now forgotten. Scars scratch into his face from victories he can almost remember as he feels the shocking sensation of one of his ears puffing up from a far more recent injury. Whatever style remains in his once-deliberately coiffed hair dissipates as it flops onto his head lifelessly and perpetually greasy.Ā
All the while he keeps breathily grunting and moaning as he leads Cal to their couch and falls onto his back. Cal giggles as much as a baritoneās able in between pecks as the sofa creaks and starts to give, unable to bear their overwhelming load. Feeling the lightning rod of Tobyās need poking into his abs, Cal steals a beat to sit up and once more take in the intense hazy need filling every inch of his soon to be co-captainās face. No thought in his head besides āwhy Cal stop?ā
Ā Apparently coquettish despite his otherwise masculine demeanor, Cal puts his hand under Tobyās jaw and clenches slightly, grinning at the massive man moaning with need at the action. āBro I think we should bone later, you donāt wanna be spent addressing the boys for the first time!ā
Groaning as he doesnāt hear anything but Cal saying not now, the āactorā throws his head back in annoyance and frowns. Struggling to cross his arms yet again, he gives up and instead reaches towards Cal and rubs his calloused hands up and down the wrestlerās thighs. Biting his scarred lip as he feels his cock edge close to coming hands free, Toby whines as Cal straddles his waist, āFuck bro you got me all riled up on purposeā¦ā
Pushing up off Tobyās chest, happy to get a handful of his meaty pecs, Cal dismounts and adjusts his own visibly tighter shorts. āLook at you! And you say youāre not that smart dude,ā turning back with a wink he heads off to the gym and leaves Toby to attempt to study his script before a rapidly approaching dress rehearsal.
It takes a full hour for the man to think about anything but sex with his bro, but after at last doing so he pulls out a script stained with sweaty handprints and food. Overnight his theater coach emailed him to say not to worry about all the word parts, apparently heās just gonna focus on the wrestling part.
This, heās more than happy to hear. No sense in him worrying to remember dumb fake words like morrow or acquit. Heās no acquitter, thatās for sure. Instead he focuses on the match heās got with Claude. Sure, itās just a practice today, but he wants to go all out. His theater coach was pissed at him for whatever reason last time and Toby needs to prove him wrong.Ā
Struggling into his latest singlet, Toby makes his way to the Fine Arts Building with haste that has been quite lacking for his previous sojourns to the school. Thinking of this rehearsal as a match rather than some laborious play has done wonders for the man. And a match it certainly is to be.
Handled with the care of an explosive, fair given the power within those biceps, thereās a tech stationed at the entrance to lead him backstage. Everyone gives him a wide berth and a kind smile as heās led, perhaps concerned that one of their departmentās stars has had some kind of a mental break. Their shy grins are often replaced by a tight grimace when he gets near enough to sniff.
Led to a changing room where he stews in his still pent-up state from not getting some earlier, Toby watches Scene I with disinterest. Impatiently bouncing his meaty leg as he sees some tiny man in a singlet that must be the chump heās going to be wrestling for, Toby frowns.Ā
āThat fuckerās tiny!ā Are they treating him like some kind of joke? Eye twitching, his ire changes targets and he clenches his jaw when he sees Claude saunter onto the stage with his own petty irritation. Thatās his challenger. Quickly busting through a few stretches to prepare for the match, he starts hopping to raise his heart rate. Doesnāt need to be on his A-game to beat that little nerd but heās not going to leave anything out of the ring.
Hearing the scene end, Tobyās poor stagehand leads him to the wings to await his cue. Slightly distracted from breathing in his musk even before Toby started deliberately working up a sweat, the tech is struck woozy as they get in position backstage. Too confused to question the stance that makes it certainly seem like Tobyās about to pounce, when the new comedically twinkish Charles rushes off stage with a ābreak a leg!ā to Toby, the stage hand barely remembers to tell him thatās his cue.Ā
In the end it wasnāt strictly needed as Claudeās nervous eye-contact was more than enough to call the match to order. Toby charges the man who is already cowering in place āYouāre supposed to lose you fucking animal!ā He whisper-whines as Tobyās meaty fists find purchase.
As fuckinā if heās gonna choose to lose. Heās the best wrestler this stage has ever seen. If heās alive it is to win. To dominate. And so he does with ease and aplomb. If Toby himself was handled like a ragdoll in his bygone first spar with Cal, Claude is thrashed like a plushie.Ā
Legs flung through the air with a single one of Tobyās arms, he is then yanked back towards the stage floor with an unpleasantly loud boom. Pinning the moaning actor to the stage warmed by spotlights, Toby waits for a count that never comes. Hearing nothing but stunned silence, he starts doing it himself.Ā
Slamming his padded fist into the stage he shounts a countdown, āOne!ā his chest heaves with excitement, pushing his singlet to new extremes as he weighs heavier on Claudeās crumpled form. āTwo!ā He feels his cock twitch against the lycra, not an infrequent occurrence when heās on the precipice of victory, but this one feels special as a pre stain seeps visible. āThree!ā He takes in the reeling face of his defeated foe with a wide grin before pushing himself to standing with impossible ease, raising his arms in victory.Ā
The handful of actors and extras that were supposed to share the stage with him cower in the wings. Still theyāre hesitant to return to the stage where the wild man who charged their lead still stands. Claude continues whining on the ground and Toby starts to feel a little confused. āWhatās the problem? You guys wanted me to wrestle, yeah? Yāallāre looking at me like I just said Mac-ā everyone gasps in fear, āguffin or whatever.āĀ
Tremors of cast and crew saying āJesus Christ, he almost named The Scottish Playā in the audience sends Tobyās single remaining thespian neuron firing. Eyes light with the now infrequent feeling of him remembering something, he canāt help but speak it aloud, āOhhh! Wait! I got it!ā His innocent grin grows wider, āItās MacBeth! Right?!āĀ
Someone cries in agony as the wrestler is expedited from the stage. He doesnāt know why, nor does he really care anymore. Shoot heās already forgetting whatever bizarre situation just happened. Weirdest wrestling ring heās ever been in, thatās for sure.
Final growth spurt oncoming, Toby shrugs with a grunt as some nasally dweeb shouts āAnd donāt come back!ā as he scratches his sore chest and begins his way to the gym for wrestling practice.
The final walk away from a building thatās apparently for art or something is a blur. His mind is instead focused on recalling the years and years of memories of doing what he actually does best washing over him. Wrestling and winning. Muscle groups surge even further with strength as he recalls countless victories, months spent in the gym bulking up, cutting to stay in his weight class, and sparring with Cal until it devolves into fucking.
Thatās what bros are for.Ā
By the time he arrives at the gym the vote is obviously a formality. The only reason he wasnāt captain the previous years was simply a matter of interest, Cal barely got him to sleep with how focused he was on the olympic trials. These days heās only sticking around on the college team to help out with Cal and to otherwise hang with his best bro.
Sauntering up on stage next to Coach, only taking a moment to slap Calās ass as he walks by, Toby smirks as he looks out across his team. Canāt wait to whip them into shape and make this program a powerhouse now that heās already proven himself the greatest at every turn.Ā
Cal goes up to perform a speech for the pair of them about the year that is to come and the effort it is going to take to be the best. Toby tunes it out as Coach instead whispers in his ear. āGlad to have ya Tobias. Donāt know what you were ever thinkinā struttinā on a stage. Look what puttinā all that effort into your body- into your sport led to.ā
Having absolutely no idea what Coachās referring to, Toby just turns with a confused look to his superior. Coach just smirks and ruffles his hair, feeling as it retracts into a short buzz cut, delighting as Toby finishes hardening into the greatest wrestler heās ever trained. āDonāt you worry ābout it kid. You just focus on the gold.ā
Well Iām 34 white shy guy with dirty blonde hair with a sight belly and I got a pair of huge 3XL under Armour boxer that was custom made with a bigger pouch and backside
The package had arrived without a sender.
He, 34 years old, shy, ash-blond hair, with that little belly he couldn't lose, opened it with curiosity. Inside was a pair of Under Armour boxers. 3XL. Huge. Dark gray technical fabric, with a designed front pouch and a roomier back.
"Custom made..." he murmured, reading the label.
He hadn't ordered anything. Yet his hands trembled as he touched them. The fabric was warm. As if someone had just worn them.
He put them on.
The fabric hung loosely on his hips, far too large for his average body. The front pouch dangled empty. The back sagged. He looked ridiculous.
Then the heat.
A dense, powerful wave exploded from his lower abdomen and spread through his entire body like lava.
"Ah..."
A moan. His voice cracked.
His little belly began to melt away. His skin trembled, vibrated. Beneath it, his abs emerged. One, two, three... eight. Deeply carved, like bricks beneath the skin.
His shoulders snapped. His collarbones lengthened with a sharp crack. His back straightened, his lats swelled like wings. His shoulder blades creaked as they realigned.
"AH! I CAN FEEL IT..."
Muscles exploded everywhere. His pectorals lifted, becoming two massive, heavy shields. His biceps swelled to 55 centimeters in circumference. His triceps became defined, thick bluish veins surfaced like ropes, running across his arms like maps.
One meter and seventy-five became a memory. His spine lengthened, vertebra by vertebra. One meter and eighty. One meter and eighty-five. One meter and ninety-five.
His thighs exploded. Seventy-centimeter quadriceps swelled, his calves widened to fifty centimeters of hard muscle. His buttocks lifted into two firm, round spheres.
Hair. Hair began to sprout everywhere. Across his chest, thick, black, coarse. It covered his pectorals like fur, running down his abdomen in a V-shape. On his arms, the hair thickened. On his legs, a dense coat of dark hair covered the new muscles.
His jaw snapped. It widened, becoming massive. His chin squared. His beard began to grow. Thick, dark, perfectly groomed. It framed his chiseled jaw and upper lip.
His ash-blond hair darkened. Brown, then dark brown, almost black. Thicker, fuller.
His body swelled even more. His shoulders reached eighty centimeters in width. His chest measured one hundred and forty centimeters around. His forearms reached forty-five centimeters.
His penis. He felt it growing. Swelling, lengthening, becoming enormous. The front pouch, once empty, was now full, stretched to its limit. An enormous, heavy bulge pressed against the gray fabric.
The 3XL underwear, once far too loose, now fit perfectly. They clung to his new massive body.
"AH! FUCK! YES!"
The final jolt. His whole body contracted. His muscles pulsed, tightened. Sweat streamed down his body.
Then silence.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
An enormous man looked back at him.
One meter and ninety-five tall. One hundred and thirty kilos of pure muscle. Eighty-centimeter-wide shoulders. A one-hundred-and-forty-centimeter chest. Fifty-five-centimeter arms. Seventy-centimeter thighs. Fifty-centimeter calves. The body of a giant.
A thick, well-groomed beard framed his face. Dark, wild hair. Skin covered in thick, coarse, dark body hair.
The gray Under Armour boxers were stretched to their limit. The bulge was enormous, heavy, obscene.
He flexed. His biceps swelled, monstrous. Fifty-five centimeters of hard muscle. His pectorals tightened, bouncing beneath the black hair.
"Shit..." he murmured in a deep voice, almost a growl. "Look at me..."
He turned around, showing his broad back, his expanding lats, his firm, round ass.
His hand moved over his hairy chest. The hair was coarse, bristly. Beneath it, pectorals as hard as stone.
Sweat ran down his new muscles. From his shoulders, his chest, his back. The smell of a man. Masculine. Powerful.
The 3XL underwear fit perfectly. The front pouch held his enormous cock. The back covered his massive buttocks.
He struck a pose. One hand on his hip, the other flexing his bicep. His huge body swelling. The dark hair gleaming under the light.
A slow smile appeared on his bearded face.
"I'm a giant. I'm a monster."
A low, guttural laugh.
He looked at himself in the mirror again. The new body. The enormous body. The body he had always wanted.
"Now... now I'm ready."
The gray underwear, the full pouch, the pulsing muscles.
Hey. So I donāt know what to do with these stupid purple briefs I got in this weird package. Theyāre addressed from my ex and itās not like anything bad happened between us, he just wasnāt super attracted to me is all. I mean, Iām a 20 year old chubby guy with little else physically to my name. Could I maybe have some help so this purple underwear stops staring at meā¦?
The package had been sitting on the table for three days.
He, a 20-year-old guy, a little overweight, without much confidence, looked at it suspiciously. It was addressed to his ex. The one who had left him because "he wasn't physically attractive enough." Words that had remained lodged in him like thorns.
The purple underwear was inside. Bright purple, almost glowing. Smooth, silky fabric. They looked new, but they gave off a strange warmth.
"Stupid underwear..." he muttered.
But his fingers touched them. The fabric was warm. It vibrated. His eyes couldn't look away from that hypnotic purple.
Try them on. Just to see.
He took off his boxers. He put on the purple underwear.
The fabric clung to his hips, to his soft belly. Warm. Too warm.
Then it began.
A heat exploded from his lower abdomen. Dense, powerful. Sweat began to run down his forehead, his chest, his back.
"Ah... what..."
His voice dropped. It became deep, hoarse.
The fat. The fat he hated began to melt away. His belly became thinner, flatter. Beneath it, his abs emerged. One after another. Six, eight. Sculpted, deeply carved.
His chest. His pectorals lifted, swelling. Flat, hard, muscular.
"AH! YES..."
His shoulders snapped. They widened. His back straightened.
Muscles exploded everywhere. His biceps swelled, enormous. His triceps became defined. Thick, bluish veins surfaced.
His jaw snapped. It widened. His chin became massive. A beard began to appear. Thick, dark. It grew before his eyes, covering his chiseled jaw.
His chest. Hair began to sprout across his chest. Thick, black, coarse. A dense covering of hair spread over his pectorals and down to his abdomen.
His arms. The hair thickened. His legs. Hair grew wildly across his thighs and calves.
"AH! AH! FUCK!"
His body swelled even more. His thighs exploded. His buttocks lifted, becoming two firm, hard spheres.
His penis. He felt his penis growing. Swelling. Becoming enormous. It pressed against the purple underwear, forming an enormous, obscene bulge.
His face. His face became younger yet more mature. Thirty years old. He looked like a thirty-year-old man. Bearded, muscular, virile.
One final jolt. His entire body contracted.
Then silence.
He looked at himself in the mirror. He was no longer himself.
He was a thirty-year-old man. Muscular, sexy. Huge pectorals covered in black hair, sculpted abs, veiny arms. Broad shoulders. A thick beard framed his chiseled jaw.
The purple underwear was stretched to its limit. Big bulge.
His phone vibrated. A message.
"See you tonight at the usual bar? I need to talk to you."
His ex.
His heart raced. He didn't know why, but he felt that he had to go.
The bar was crowded, neon lights, music pounding.
He walked in, his new body attracting glances from every direction. The girls looked at him. The guys too. But his eyes searched for only one person.
And he saw him.
At the bar, a man. Tall, muscular, bearded. Huge pectorals. An enormous bulge in his shorts. Dark, wild hair.
His ex.
But he was no longer the skinny guy he remembered. He was a man. Muscular, hairy, sexy.
They walked toward each other. They looked at one another. Their bodies had changed. But their eyes were the same.
"You... you're..." his ex murmured, his voice deep.
"You too..." he replied.
His ex smiled. "The purple underwear... I ordered it especially for you. Because... because I knew it would transform you. I wanted to see you like this. I wanted you to be like me."
"Like you?"
"I found a pair just like them. Purple. I changed. I wanted you to do it too. I wanted us to be... the same."
Their hands clasped. Their muscles tensed.
His ex looked at him, admiring him. The thick beard, the hairy chest, the veiny arms, the hairy legs. The big bulge pressing against the purple underwear.
"We're made for each other," his ex said.
"Now we are."
Si baciarono. La folla intorno a loro scomparve.
His ex's hands moved down onto his hairy chest. The hair was coarse, bristly. Beneath it, the muscle was hard.
"I want you," he whispered.
"Me too. Tonight. Every night."
They left the bar. The city was illuminated. Their muscular bodies moved together.
Hello I found a yellow pair of briefs delivered to me. Its weird because I never ordered a pair. Im a chubbyish guy in his 30s with reddish hair. I feel these briefs are wanting me to try them on but im worried. Can you help me?
The package had been on the kitchen table for three days.
He, a robust man in his thirties, with reddish and unkempt hair, looked at it every morning while drinking his coffee. Addressed to him. But he had not ordered anything.
That afternoon, after his shower, curiosity got the better of him. He opened it. Inside, a pair of yellow briefs. Bright yellow, almost fluorescent. Smooth, elastic fabric that seemed to shine under the light.
There was no sender. Only the briefs.
He took them in his hands. The fabric was warm. Too warm. As if someone had just taken them off. His fingers trembled. He brought them to his nose. They did not smell of anything. And yet, he could feel them vibrating.
Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe not.
A thought crossed his mind: Try them on.
He shook his head. "No, I'm stupid."
But his fingers, as if they had a will of their own, began to unbutton his jeans. He lowered his pants. He put on the yellow briefs.
The fabric clung to his wide hips. Perfect. Strange. The sensation was one of warmth. A tingling that started in his lower abdomen and spread.
Then the itching.
He scratched his chest. The reddish hair fell between his fingers. Tufts. Then entire locks. He looked at the floor covered in red hair. His chest was becoming swollen and smooth. The skin emerging, bare, smooth as silk.
"Ah..."
A moan. His abdominal muscles began to contract. Beneath the soft skin of his belly, he felt something moving. Fibers stretching, swelling. The fat melting away. His hips narrowing.
His hands grabbed the table. His bones cracked. His shoulders widened, his back straightened. He could feel every vertebra snapping into place, realigning.
His biceps exploded. The veins surfaced, bluish and thick. His deltoids rounded. His chest swelled like a balloon, his pectorals becoming two hard, heavy plates.
"Yes... yes..." He moaned, his voice lowering.
His abs became sculpted. Eight perfect squares. A narrow waist. His buttocks lifting, becoming two spheres of steel.
His thighs exploded. His quadriceps swelled like tree trunks. His calves became massive. The yellow briefs, once loose, were now stretched, completely filled.
His penis grew. Hard. Thick. It pressed against the elastic fabric, forming an enormous, obscene bulge.
Sweat poured everywhere. From his forehead, his neck, his smooth chest.
He felt his head. His scalp itching. His red hair falling. Beneath it, new hair was growing. Dark brown. Shorter. Thicker. A mohawk cut, short on the sides, longer in the center.
The beard. He felt his chin tingling. Hairs sprouting, thick and dark. His jaw widened, his beard becoming thicker, growing before his eyes. Becoming that thick, well-groomed beard of a real man.
His body swelled even more. All his muscles contracted together.
And his jaw clenched.
He looked at his reflection in the window glass.
He was no longer himself.
He was a bodybuilder. Enormous. Pectorals like shields, six-pack abs, arms like tree trunks. Skin completely smooth, without a single hair. Dark brown mohawk hair. A thick beard framing his chiseled jaw.
And that bulge. That enormous protuberance pushing against the yellow brief.
He touched himself. His pectorals were hard as rock. His shoulders three times as wide as before. His arms heavy. Sweat ran down his perfect body.
A slow smile appeared on his chiseled face.
He raised his arms. His biceps swelled, monstrous.
That little something was a powder called Ovid's Wet Dream, and it had found its way inside of Eli's morning coffee courtesy of Silas. Now, Silas clutches his legs as he watches his equally nerdy friend explode in height.
"I'm so fucking horny!"
Silas is practically drooling at the sight of Eli's modest erection begins fattening. Eli's sweatpants are so thin and soaked with pre-cum that they're practically see-through, and do little to hide the inflating sausage between his legs. The cock's head flares and pushes out pre at a more urgent rate, as his balls begin churning and inflating with backed-up cum, becoming veritable, hairy baseballs between his legs. Eli's balls flood his body with testosterone. Sweat begins pouring out of his body, his pubes and pit air thickening and growing denser.
"I'm glad it feels good!" Silas says, encouragingly, squirming as his 5-inch erection brushes against his shorts.
Eli only moans in assurance as his frail chest begins inflating. If Eli had the mental faculties to do so, he would be asking lots of questions. But through the drool flooding out of his mouth, it's obvious the mental changes the powder promised are steadily kicking in. The overwhelming flood of hormones makes the loss of Silas's intelligence even more pronounced as he begins mindlessly humping, thrusting his hips, desperate for release as his cock surges to 9, thick, long inches. The head of his cock pumps a steady stream of pre down his knee.
"Fuck, bro!"
"Oh my god," Silas mutters, licking his lips.
Now, the most important question is why. Why is Silas watching his friend play with his fattening nipples, moaning like a whore and groaning with pleasure as his chest begins inflating with displaced fat and muscle? Why is Silas slowly stroking himself as Eli begins furiously massaging his expanding muscle tits, his hands cracking and inflating, becoming thick and veiny, callouses forming on his hands as workout routines replace complex math problems in Eli's shrinking brain? Why is Silas drooling from horniness as Eli flexes an expanding bicep and shows off his fattening arm, the thick hair growing beneath his pits, damp and sweaty, reeking of musk and testosterone?
Well, the poor guy is a virgin.
Still.
Eli stands and grabs his tight shirt, abs carving themselves into his stomach, and rips it clean down the collar. His back widens and thickens, biceps pumping with more meat as he bumps his beyond hard dick against his desk, files deleting themselves from his computer. All of his math homework? Gone. All of his coding programs? Gone. In their place is all the gay porn the gay, horny jock can possibly masturbate to whenever his massive, constantly producing bull balls need draining. The aroma of cum, sex, sweat, and musk fills both Eli and Silas's noses. It makes Silas's hole twitch, clenching in feverish anticipation, and only inflates Eli's burgeoning ego, and his burgeoning ass. The pancake ass begins stuffing itself with muscle and fat just like his pecs, the cheeks filling out whatever room is left in his straining, soaked sweatpants as his thighs, calves, and feet begin growing to match his upper body.
Eli looks at Silas with half-lidded eyes, cloudy with lust. He bites his lip as the cocky streak in him begins growing, seeing the cute twink in a different, much less platonic light as his pale skin begins growing a healthy tan, moaning as his nipples expand further, becoming more sensitive as more heft is packed onto his already meaty chest.
All Silas has ever wanted was to lose his virginity. Eli lost his recently but that's only because Eli was bolder, a little more comfortable using the apps than Silas ever was. It filled him with jealousy as Eli gushed about the experience. How nice the man was. How careful he was. Silas sat there silently fuming and mildly embarrassed at the fact that he was seemingly such a late bloomer. So many people he'd met had fucked already. And here he was, fingering himself and quietly moaning into his hand as he came. Besides, none of the men on the apps fit the exact parameters that Silas was looking for. Sure they were hunky, but did they have such a fat ass splitting the back of their sweatpants, the hairy globes released into the air and nearly clapping from their size? Did they have such meaty, juicy thighs sandwiching their fat nuts? Did they have such huge, musky feet, stretching across the carpeting, the toes thickening and thin hairs growing on the backs of them, the musk adding to the heady smell in the air, making Silas woozy with lust? Did they think with the head between their legs more often than the one on their shoulders?
Eli groans in pleasure, his newly deep voice ricocheting through the small room. His computer bloats into a massive, color-changing gaming computer. Java closing itself and COD showing up on the computer screen.
For Eli, he's never felt so good in his life. His brain totally devoid of worries and fears. No anxieties at all. He's just horny as shit. His brain is a carousel of images involving some bottom in front of him, their hole clutching tight to his thick dick, the massive schlong buried deep in their holes as it gains another inch in length and girth. Or his fat ass being impaled by one of his workout buddies, bent over in the musky locker room, cock oozing on the floor as his eyes loll in pleasure. He rubs his chiseling chin, moaning in approval as a thick beard begins growing on his chin. A baseball cap appears on his head, his wardrobe simplifying into the only attire necessary for a horned up jock like him. Sneakers, tank tops, basketball shorts, sweatpants, tight jeans, tighter polos, nipples and pecs and abs and dense, meaty biceps forever in display. Begging for a worshipper to lick him from head to toe. To swallow his cock down to the base, nose buried in the thick, musky pubes.
His cock strains with backed-up cum. His torn T-shirt (size small? Why the fuck did he buy such a small shirt) draped over the boner that's finally broken free of his destroyed sweatpants.
Silas mouth falls open and he gasps.
"Shit, bro I didn't know you were in here," Eli says, pressing down on his dick and making it bob. His dick pulses hungrily.
"Um," Silas says, speech temporarily shorted out by his own boner and the musk spreading through the room.
"I was gonna game," Eli says, "but then you walked by me with those shorts on." He bites his lip. "That ass looks perfect."
"I'm a virgin," Silas blurts and then blushes.
Eli only chuckles, before standing and letting the shirt slide off and his cock to bob in front of the mesmerized twink in its full, drippy glory. He wonders why he never considered fucking his nerdy friend before, maybe as a reward for doing his homework or something. Yeah, maybe he should start doing that. It's hard to pay attention to some dumb professor when all your dick wants to do is bust a nut everywhere. Maybe his friend and roomy here could help him with his large problem.
OohhāUuoohhāHuuhhā¦ Hoooo, WOW. Hoomygod, fuck what a mmesssssā¦ Jesus Christ, man, I canāt believe it took all that to tap me out. But fuck get a look at us!
Look at theseā¦ guns as big as my headā¦ And these.. mmff, these titsssss, yeeeow! Damn I gotta be 280 at least, andā¦ god, Iām gonna choke some motherfuckers with this thing. Hah! Almost hurts to swing around.
Alright dude, Iāll let you go your own way, but first weāre gonna have a weekend together thatāll change your fuckinā life. Hell, you might come crawling back to have me to slip you on like a condom on the regularā¦ All my other clients do.
The entire table gulped audibly as Adrian handed them the character sheets. Even though they didnāt know about the magic, something about the sheets felt weird to them. However that feeling was quick to pass as the excitement of creating new characters took over.
Noah went first, basically vibrating as he grabbed the dice.
āOkay,ā he said, grinning nervously. āIām doing it. Full commitment. Human barbarian.ā
Ethan burst out laughing immediately.
āYou? A barbarian?ā
āI can play against type!ā
āYou look like you lose fights against folding chairs.ā
Noah flipped him off, but blushed slightly, looking at Adrian for the okay to start the character creation.
āRoll in order.ā, Adrian nodded softly, āStrength first.ā
The D20 clattered against the old wooden table, everyoneās eyes drawn to the shiny piece of plastic.
18
For a second nothing happened. And suddenly Noah inhaled sharply as he sat upright Ā in his chair, his posture suddenly remarkably straight.
Underneath his hoodie his shoulders shot out to the sides as meat piled onto his frame, the fabric just barely adjusting in time to not get completely shredded under the pressure of the frail nerdās inflation. His forearms thickened, his biceps bringing the sleeves devastatingly close to breaking point, veins pushing out against his skin. His hands flexing as they grew to the size of dinner plates, powerful and manly. Then his chest expanded, pulling the fabric already struggling with his cannonball arms tightly against his enormous pecs.
The chair creaked.
āOh my God,ā Oliver whispered.
Noah lurched upward as another inchāthen anotherāwas added to his height. His knees pressed awkwardly against the underside of the table before the transformation settled. Not monstrous. Not absurd. Just overwhelmingly athletic. Broad. Powerful.
Like a heavyweight fighter hidden beneath a nerdās clothing.
And then reality adjusted.
The others blinked.
New memories appeared, the image of tiny Noah disappearing like ice under the midday sun, the awkward ginger runt replaced with the overwhelmingly manly mountain of muscle who acted like a tiny nerd. Only Adrian retained his old memories, smiling faintly at the awkward way the towering Barbarian warrior sat there, squeezing his enormous bulk at the table and still trying and failing to take up less space than his intensely huge frame demanded.
Noah himself looked oddly surprised by his new size, carefully balling and relaxing his fists a couple of times, almost seeming unsettled by the size of his own muscles. Only the sound of Adrianās smooth voice ripped the Barbarian-sized nerd out of his stupor.
āDexterity.ā
Noah nodded and rolled again.
8
The change was subtler this time.Ā
His posture and movement looked less precise, less graceful. It really appeared like the low roll on Dexterity had grounded the mountain sized geek somewhat. His posture now seemed more confident and solid, heavier even, his behaviour now showing less nervous and anxious shifting. Like someone who relied on power over grace.
A water bottle slipped from his grasp a second later.
āJesus, dude.ā, Ethan laughed, āI still canāt get over the fact that a guy thatās built like a linebacker has finally dipped his toe into playing a Barbarian after all these years. Speaking of which, are you still hellbent on getting on the football team? Coach must be getting fed up with your clumsy ass constantly trying out.āĀ
Noah just blushed, his ears nearly as ginger as his hair, which he now hid under a cap of the local football team. With his clumsiness he didnāt make for the best player, but heād tried enough times to like the sport.
Adrian watched from behind his DM screen as reality settled around Noah, curiously observing the mental changes that had begun around the edges. Noah was still Noah ā¦ just more.
āConstitution.ā, Adrian prompted.
Noah rolled.
The die bounced once. Twice.
19
The effects hit like a freight train this time.
Noah gasped as his frame became denser. Not bigger per se, but more sharply defined, his chest swelling against the fabric and pulling it tight against his mid section, the outline of 6 brick sized abs clearly visible. Even his neck thickened, a prominent Adam's apple pushing into existence and lowering the Barbarianās voice from a soft tenor to a booming bass.
Even a beard forced itself into existence against his more masculine lantern jaw. Not the teenage scruff he had been able to grow before, but a thick manly beard that looked utterly right on his rugged face.
Noah looked amazing. Not delicate. Not pretty-boy handsome. Dangerously handsome. Like some mythological northern warrior accidentally dropped into a college apartment.
āHell yeah,ā, the incredibly sexy lumberjack said, once again shocking his friends with the foghorn boom of his voice, āNineteen Con.ā
The other three players just nodded. Even sitting down, Noah dominated the room physically now. His shoulders stretched the seams of his hoodie so badly he eventually peeled it off entirely, revealing a black tank top straining across an absurdly broad chest and thick, powerful arms.
The Barbarian shifted in his seat, immediately drawing attention to another result of his roll.
āDude, canāt you wear underwear for once to DnD? Your sweatpants look ridiculous!ā, Ethan complained, trying very hard not to stare at the obvious outline of what was running down his left leg. Noah just blushed, trying to make his footlong soft cock somehow less noticeable through his grey sweatpants. And failing miserably.
Like the rest of him the thing sat heavy, thick and huge off the edge of the chair, even the outline of his bull balls being faintly visible through the fabric trying to cover his crotch.
āTalk about Barbarian Constitution.ā, Marcus chuckled.
āShut up,ā Noah muttered.
But he sounded more embarrassed in theory than in practice. The growing confidence from his partially locked-in stats kept blunting his old insecurity before it could fully form.
Adrian quietly watched the magic settle again.
āKeep rolling.ā, he said, āIntelligence is next.ā
Noah, still feeling high from the absolutely monstrous roll on Constitution, enthusiastically threw the die.
5
The change was immediate.
Noah blinked.
Then blinked again.
The sharpness behind his eyes dulled and he relaxed in his seat. The constant anxious overprocessing vanished instantly as his racing thoughts slowed to a crawl. Adrian just grinned. A Barbarian wasnāt meant to be smart after all. He already had the overwhelming physicality, he didnāt need to think too much.
His posture spread wider in the chair.
Heavy.
Certain.
He looked at his friends with a relaxed and easy smile, confident despite his reduced intelligence.
āDude, youāre literally playing yourself. Huge in body, but not the brightest bulb.ā, Ethan chuckled at his simple friend. Noah just grinned in return and threw up his enormous cannonball biceps in a flex. Reality had settled seamlessly around the giant himbo.
Adrian cleared his throat and nodded towards the dice. āLetās roll Wisdom next.ā
Noah rolled.
6
The effect was subtler but somehow more unsettling.
Noahās eyes softened immediately.
Not weaker physicallyāfar from itābut more suggestible. More trusting. More willing to follow stronger personalities without questioning them deeply. Especially Adrian. Adrian noticed it at once. So did Ethan.
āEarth to Barbarian,ā Ethan muttered. āYouāre looking at Adrian weirdly again.ā
Noah frowned faintly.
āHuh?ā
āYou keep waiting for him to talk before doing stuff.ā
Noah opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then shrugged.
āGuess heās the DM.ā
Simple.
Logical.
Final.
The room laughed.
Only Adrian understood how profound the shift really was.
Noahās independent critical resistance had just permanently collapsed. Not mindless obedience. Just reduced willpower. Reduced need to question. The barbarian archetype was crystallizing perfectly. While always physically in charge, he liked for others to take the lead, make suggestions and tell him what to do.
And there was still one stat left.
Charisma.
Adrian folded his hands together behind the DM screen and smiled faintly.
āLast roll.ā
Noah rolled the die.
It spun across the wood.
Stopped.
15
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Noah smiled and the entire atmosphere of the room shifted instantly. Not magically glowing. Not supernatural mind control. Justā¦ overwhelming presence.
His posture straightened subtly, massive shoulders rolling back with effortless confidence while his expression relaxed into an easy, rugged charm that looked absurdly natural on him. The lazy grin beneath his copper stubble suddenly carried weight behind it. Warmth. Magnetism.
His face redefined itself, becoming even more devastatingly handsome, manly, rugged. Like his entire look had been designed by someone who wanted to show what copious amounts of testosterone would do to a handsome manās face.
And reality adapted around him. To the rest of the table Noah had always been overwhelmingly charismatic. He could say the most stupid shit and people would still laugh with him, his entire personality just becoming comfort food, easygoing and welcoming, while never losing the raw sex appeal that made people want to suck his cock or get impaled on his meat hammer within 5 minutes of meeting him.
āGuess Iām just charismatic.ā, the massive ginger chuckled dumbly.
Reality now insisted he had never existed in that form at all.
Instead, Noah had always been this. A towering, massively muscular ginger barbarian of a man with movie-star ruggedness, absurd stamina, effortless charm, and the simple confidence of someone who had never spent much time doubting himself. A beautiful brute with long wavy copper hair, heavy stubble, broad hands, thick muscle-packed limbs, and a mind optimized less for critical analysis and more for instinct, confidence, and immediate physical certainty.
And according to everyoneās rewritten memories? He had always been the heart of the group. The guy strangers flirted with constantly. The one who won arguments through sheer presence instead of logic. The one who solved problems by kicking doors open.
Noah himself looked down at the completed character sheet and grinned proudly.
āDamn,ā he rumbled. āThis dude rules.ā
āOur resident himbo literally plays himself.ā, Ethan rolled his eyes. āMassive super stud football player, massive super stud barbarian. Tomato, tomato.ā
āStill taller than you.ā, Noah countered and the room burst out laughing.
And Adrian quietly watched the rewritten world stabilize around the completed barbarian.
One player down.
Three to go.
The grimoire beneath the table pulsed warmly against his knee.
Glad to see you having some time off work and getting some much needed rest. I kind of have a selfish request if that's alright. My boyfriend is not as into muscle as I am, so I am kind of wondering if you could help me out. Would it be possible to make me into the perfect man for him? I love him so much but he likes skinner twink body styles and I want to understand why, bells and whistles included I want to really get into what makes smaller skinny guys so hot. Heh maybe make him into my perfect man ripped and bulgy in all the right places too haha.
Oh haven't had such a nice double change for my Chronivac in a while. Let's start from the bottom, meaning with your favorite top, or rather your boyfriend. You said you're into muscle? And that you want your man to be your perfect guy? Ripped and bulgy? I'd love to say that's a tall order, but I'm not gonna lie to somewhat so nice.
I think I have the shortcut for one of those transformations laying around in a folder somewhere. So you probably want a big set of pillow pecs to cuddle into and we'll gonna do just that. An enormous set of muscle tits, capped off with thick chewy nipples for you to play with, right out the door. Next we'll go for a pair of muscled, vascular arms to hold you tight against that comfy chest. Nothing better than a hug from 22 inch arms while you're trying to doze off.
A wide set of shoulders for you to be thrown over like a bag of potatoes are also a nice touch. You may find you man a lot more demanding and dominant, though I'm sure you won't mind too much. Can't have your ideal muscle hunk be too much of a wuss after all. Don't worry, he's still gonna be kind and caring normally, but that guy knows what he wants and with muscles like that he's gonna get it when he's horny. Let's have a look at your new and improved boyfriend.
Kinda cute, don't you agree? I paired his boyish face with some masculine male models, can't go wrong with a youthful looking muscle hunk. And a quick read on his mind tells me that he's currently popping that arm sized boner (I might have gone a bit overboard with that and the swollen orange sized bull nuts. Sorry for that) just thinking about getting big for you. So yeah, I think it's safe to say that he's now just as much into muscle as you. Though I guess he's more about getting his muscles worshiped by you.
Speaking of which, I think I'll give you a lesson on why he prefers small twinks.
First off I feel like he gets hard just thinking about how much bigger he is next to you. And you really can't blame for that. I very much understand loving the feeling of having a little twink eye level with your nipples, looking down at them getting smothered into the bulging chest you built just for that purpose. And you remember me mentioning how he wants to fling you over his wide shoulders? Would be a bit tough to fit you there if you're too big. And I think the feeling of your little hands roaming over his expansive body will never fail to get that anaconda of his hard. Trust me, I made sure of it.
Secondly I think you'll soon understand one of the main selling points of twinks. I'm of course speaking of that stereotypical fat bubble butt bouncing behind your much skinnier body now. I didn't make you too skinny, don't worry, just a lithe gymnast build so your new bullfriend can bend you into any position he wants as when he fucks your new and improved hole. For both your and his pleasure I made sure you're always tight as a keyhole, but also able to accommodate that horsecock I "accidentally" gave him.
Don't know if he prefers your ass or mouth, so I made sure to also give you thick, pouty Dick Sucking Lips, got rid of your gag reflex and also gave you a long, dexterous tongue for you to really savor that amazing schlong of his. Another one of the allures of twinks I guess.
I think that's about everything I'm gonna be telling you about that topic for now. I'll leave you to figure out the rest for yourself when your boyfriend comes home, just as eager to explore your holes as you are to explore his muscles.
A college jock gets mad after losing his wrestling match and goes into the locker room ripping his singlet into shreds. He takes his anger out by transforming his opponent whoād beat him into a new singlet
The locker room door swung open, slamming into the tile wall behind it, cracking some of the older stain tiles behind it. Pushing through open door and past one of the other wrestlers waiting for that match was an enraged Dio. The pale-skinned and toned Asian college student had spent years training both his body and mind for wrestling, learning different techniques requiring both muscle and skill. Dio was the star wrestler for his college's league and was just a step away from reaching the national tournament, one last match. And that last step was a slippery one, which he found out the hard way.
Just moments before, Dio was preparing for his bout against his opponent, Brad, a wrestler from the rival college in his white singlet with blue trim. His short dirty blonde hair and muscled body, but definitely not as fit as Dio. What caught Dio off guard before the fight was how sweaty Brad had been. His opposition looked like he had spent the day sweating in a sauna rather than wrestling other dudes. But the sweat stains covered Brad from head to toe, dripping off of his nose, heavy stains underneath his arms, and even a bit in his buttcrack. No homo of course, he was just sizing up the competition.
Dio had no time to think about that though, as his final match was about to begin. This was it, his make or break moment of getting to nationals. He could feel his heart pounding. Dio and Brad squared up against one another, the ref getting to the side of the two. The wrestlers gave each other a light slap of their hands for a before-match "good game" and sweat splashed off of Brad's hand. The two got low, waited..... *TWEEEEET* this ref's whistle sounded off.
Dio moved quickly to grap his opponent, hoping to get a quick, clean grab to take his opponent to the ground, ending this match quickly. He lunged, and the next thing he knew was that he was falling straight into his opponent. His hands that had grasped at Brad's sides had slipped off of the slick singlet and flown right past, causing Dio to lose his balance. Falling face first towards the open stained pit, Dio was quickly squished into the swamp-like material, just a wave of thick musk filling his nose, that soon clutched his face. Brad had taken advantage of Dio's misstep and wrapped his arm of the now pithuffing wrestler.
Brad had total control from this angle. In one swift movement, Brad brought Dio down low, fall prone on his back. Dio still reeling from the pitstink was dazed, allowing Brad to spin around and pin Dio. Unfortunately for Dio, it left him right underneath his opponent's well-defined ass, where the true swamp-stench lied. Swamp Ass filled every breath of Dio's and he couldn't help but start coughing from the overwhelming scent. Dio started flailing underneath Brad, his hand hitting the mat several times. The ref saw this and the fit Dio was having and took this as a signal of giving up. The ref blew on his whistle, declaring Brad the winner.
And just like that, his chances of reaching nationals was over. Brad got up as the crowd cheered, the ref showing off the winner and the wrestler advancing his college onward. There on the ground lay Dio, his singlet covered in the sweat and stink of Brad. Everything he had worked for, gone because some idiot couldn't keep himself from sweating like a fucking pig!! His anger swelled within him and he stormed off to the locker room.
Jumping back to the present, Dio huffed and puffed while sitting on the bench of the locker room. The moments of the match replaying in his mind, over and over. Pissed off, Dio couldn't hold back anymore, swinging at a nearby locker with all his might. *BANG*
The only other wrestler in the room yelped at the sound. Dio turned to find the guy he pushed past earlier staring at the fit of rage, eyes wide and one hand holding his nose. "What are you staring at?!" Dio yelled, causing the scrawny freshman to flee from the room.
As he continued to breathe heavily, Dio continued to smell the sweat from Brad, the stain of his ass and pits lingering in his mind... wait. No, not in his mind. On his fucking singlet!! Dio looked down to see the heavy stains where Brad had grabbed and pinned him. The sweat had soaked into his own singlet and left that stench just stewing there. Dio, blinded with anger, began to tear and rip away at his college singlet. He needed the smell, the reminder of his failure, gone.
*RRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIP*
Thread by thread, the singlet was torn asunder by Dio's strong hands. A grip that he had strengthened to better grap his opponents and never let go now being used to destroy the thing that he cared for most. The ultimate goal in his mind, now shredded in his hands.
In no time, Dio was free of the tight singlet, his breaths heavy but slowing down. Taking in what he had done, he... he had to do something. Something to get his chance at nationals back. Something to that gross, sweaty loser who took it everything away from him, who humiliated him!!
"My, my, my. After watching how that match turned out I'd be pissed off too," a seductive but almost mocking voice spoke from the side of the room. Dio turned his head and saw towards walking from around the corner where the toilets were was the short, scrawny little dude. Dio immediately started thinking how out of place this guy looked in the locker room; the soft lips, well-kept hair, the very revealing jockstrap and no other clothes. Like, Dio wasn't homophobic but this stereotypical twink was definitely not what he wanted to deal with right now.
Dio grunted at the twink's words, just trying to get him to go away, but the twink continued, "I can see it all over your face right. You want to get back at that sweaty freak don't you. Just find some way to put him in his place." Dio's eyes narrowed in skepticism, "Yeah... what of it. Can't do anything now. Match is over. The team's done."
"Yes, unfortunately that part is true. Not much to do about that... but I can help deal with the one who caused your grief, aaaand get you a new outfit in the process." Dio can't help it but the twink has caught his attention. "Deal with him how exactly?" "Exactly the way he humiliated you, and maybe a bit more," the twink said flirtatiously, winking at Dio. He couldn't help himself, he was beyond angry at Brad and had to get revenge.
"Fine, I'm down for your offer. What's your plan and how much will it cost me?" "Oh no no no, no money needed. All I ask is that you enjoy yourself once it's done," the twink's smile grew wide and knowing of something beyond Dio's comprehension that made him shudder. But he nodded, he wanted this.so badly.
"Good, the plan is simple," the twink began walking over to a green gym bag that Dio hadn't noticed before. "All you have to do is drink this," the twink pulled out this small energy drink bottle. It was filled with a vibrant green fluid that oddly shimmered with a prismatic flash in the lighting, but really just looked like a standard sports drinks. "And once you've finished it, do what you do best. Wrestle. Wrestle and pin your opponent to the ground." Dio's minded wrestled with the confusion in this moment, how would an energy drink humiliate Brad at all? He started to believe it was too good to be true. The twink started to swing the bottle back and forth, "Tick tock, this is a limited time offer and your chance at revenge expires in... 3... 2.... 1-" Dio practically lept forward, snatching the bottle from the twink's weak grip. He popped off the cap and began to chug the drink down.
The taste of the drink was that of a very very strong green apple and cherry, and it was just far too sweet! The fruity taste and overwhelming sweetness Dio could only guess that there was an overload of sugar in the drink. As the drop fell into his mouth, he was expecting to feel a rush of energy but he began to feel increasingly warm. He looked at the twink smiling at him as his vision blurred. The bottle fell from his hand as he grew dizzy, his eyes unable to focus on much. He was going to try and yell for help or grab the twink but was struggling to do much.
"Oh you are going to have so much fun," said the twink before turning the corner to the other half of the locker room. Dio's eyes, even in their haze, locked onto the twink's plump ass until it disappeared. The heat grew more and more intense around Dio, and he found himself drooling at the lasting image of the fat ass in his mind. It felt as though a fever had just hit him and scrambled his brain. He could feel his body begin to tingle and itch slightly, his hand moving towards the sensation. He found sweat, sweat that was beginning to just drip down and cover his body.
As the daze began to clear but the heat remained, Dio began to hear footsteps approaching. His awareness seeming to return to him as he attempted to act as nonchalant as possible, though was failing. With how much sweat was pouring down his body and the light sway to his stance, anyone would have assumed he was getting ready to pass out due to heat exhaustion. The footsteps drew closer and closer as he focused his eyes.
Stepping through the locker room door was Brad, still slick with sweat but far more exhausted than before. The elation on his from celebrating with his team before retiring to the locker room to clean up. Brad was briefly surprised at Dio and his appearance but quickly covered it with pleasantries. "Oh, uh hey there man. Didn't see where ya ran off to earlier. Should've figured it would have been here."
Dio's mind filled with emotion at the sight of Brad. Anger as the humiliation, a thirst for revenge, his heart pounding... with excitement and... fuck he was sweaty... he could smell it... it was- no fuck that! Remember the twink's words. His seductive words... The flash of shame and humiliation welled up within him as he began to charge.
Brad now turning to his bag and oblivious to Dio's rage continued, "Yeah sorry about earlier. Had worked up a sweat practicing for our match. No hard feeli- UGH!" Dio slammed into Brad, grabbing around his waist where he had tried before. This time he managed to get a grip around Brad's body. Brad attempted to push Dio off but, in a reverse of before, found his hands slipping off of his attacker's form. With one big lift, Brad was brought down to the ground and underneath Dio.
Both wrestlers found their sweaty bodies pressed uo against one another. The slick singlets (or what remains of one) rubbing against one another. Brad ended up in Dio's now-drenched pit and got a full breath of the miasma of musk drifting off of him. How did he not smell it before?! Dio smelled completely different from before, and it was awful. It was like every single discard sweaty item of clothing from an old locker room had been bunched up together and rubbed across Dio's body. The stench stained the shreds of a singlet and every muscle. Already exhausted from the day, the smell was beginning to make his consciousness fade.
Dio was also finding himself light-headed - but a little differently from his target. Sure, his heart was racing from rage but his still constricted member was pulsing as it rubbed up against Brad. The sweat making everything more and more slick, and the musk emanating off of Brad just pushed Dio further. "Yeah that's right!! How do you like it loser? Getting smothered by a muscular sexy body like this, just like I did!" Dio grunted out between breathes.
Dio glanced down and began to see Brad's eyes found somewhat vacant, his body going limp. "No you don't! You're not getting off that easy." Dio shifted his weight so he was practically sitting on top of Brad and pulled at his arms, slamming Brad's face towards his back and butt. The swamp ass a greater source of the stink.
What Dio failed to notice and Brad was losing the ability to point out was as Dio smothered and pulled Brad's body, elements of his arms and legs began to shift and shrink, portions beginning to be a little more stetchy than they would have been. Dio's toned ass was squishing down Brad's abs and chest, the muscles becoming thin. Dio grabbed Brad's arms and pulled them around his exposed body, forcing them to hold hands. As the hands clasped together, the sealed into one piece of slick, stretchy fabric covering Dio's pecs. Dio rolled across the ground to pin his opponent and Brad's body stuck to his form, no longer having definition, his skin beginning to turn blue, blue like Dio's original uniform.
Brad's ability to speak, to move, to push against anything happening slowly faded. He found himself shrunken from what he was and instead stretched around Dio's body. His head and hair, all appendages, every part of him now wrapped around and conformed to Dio's sweaty muscular body. He couldn't quite see anything but was able to sense around himself. The feel of the cold floor. The wet sweat from Dio's body soaking into him. The way that every muscle moved and glided within him. The stench soaking into his new body. It was fucking overwhelming and felt amazing to Brad!! He shuddered and vibrated with what little will he had.
This subtle movement made Dio moan and stop rolling across the ground. As the vibrations hit right around his crotch, he finally had noticed the outcome of his impromptu match. Dio had finally realized what the twink meant and laughed.
"Well isn't this perfect. How does it feel, being forced to be so close to my sweat all the time?" Dio took a moment to sniff his sweaty pits and recoiled slightly. "Pee-yew I REEK! Can only imagine how much it stinks when every bit of you is forced to soak it up?" Brad, once again, almost seemed to take in more of the sweat and the entire singlet quivered. Dio moaned loudly at the sensation and his cock leaked with pre. Dio slowly lowered the new singlet across his body so more of it was resting towards his cock. With one firm hand he reached behind himself, the image of the twink's butt flashing in his mind, as he grabbed his own ass and singlet firmly but passionately.
The image of grabbing the twink's ass, other wrestlers' asses, other hot guys' asses he'd seen around campus, just sexy fucking sweaty man ass all flashed through his head. Meanwhile the firm grip once again caused Brad to writhe against Dio. The mixture of new lust, the overwhelming stench, and the constant pleasure Brad gave sent Dio over the edge! His cock erupted into Brad, soaking him with a new wet stickiness and smell.
Dio panted, his knees going weak, his eyes crossed in pure sweaty bliss. Fuck, this is what he now wanted, his new everything. His revenge served and he certainly enjoyed himself while doing it. With a deep breath to try and calm himself, Dio speaks towards his new singlet, his forever singlet, "Gotta say, first time finishing in a dude feels really great. Don't think it's gonna be my last." He smirked to himself, an entirely new world to wrestle in. "But whatever happened to me, I don't think this sweat, this stink is going away anytime soon. Nor do I plan on taking you off- EVER!" Dio laughed to himself before heading out the door of the locker room, a miasma of musk forever following behind him as he sets of to enjoy his new sweaty pleasure.
Only a small chuckle is heard from behind him, as a cute looking twink sniffs at the remaining stench. Another satisfied customer. And one more stinky sexy man in the world~
It was a normal alternoon, you're working out at the gym feeling kind of good today. Normally you would train with your mate but he said, that he'll be coming later because of an important delivery he has to receive.
'Okay dude, but don't be too late. I'm not gonna wait forever. You know I have a date this evening.'
'Yeah yeah, sure thing. I promise you won't be disappointed!' your mate says.
'...I won't be disappointed? What does he mean? ' you think to yourself. But that doesn't hold you back from getting to your next set of curls.
When suddenly you hear someone coughing, carrying a big package near you.
After dropping the big carton you notice, that it's you pal Mike. He was sweating as if he just ran a marathon.
'Sorry for the delay!' he says.
'No... problem? Why did you bring your delivery to the gym?' you asked.
'Just let it happen bro!' He opens the carton and pulls something out that looks like an air pump.
He assembles the different parts and trys to figure out how to get it to work. He shakes the package when the manual falls out. Quickly you grab the manual and read the name of the product: Pump-Up-Gym-Pump.
'What is that? Do you want to inflate the gymnastics balls here?'
Mike grabs the hose, looks at it and lunged towards you. You couldn't even act as fast as he takes the hose around your right thigh when he rams it up your butt.
'What the fu-!' you try to scream at Mike but as soon as the hose was in position, Mike starts to pump. He pulls up the handle and pushes it down with all his might.
You feel something pumping up your... body? What? You anticipated that the air would flow right into your intestines but instead you feel how your legs... tighten is the best word you can come up with. Mike keeps on pumping when you take a dare to take a look downwards. And as you notice it, you nearly freak out.
You see how your pants get tighter and tighter. Your legs start to swell into bigger proportions then the rest of your body. But your proportions are the smaller issue right now, you legs are fucking swelling bigger. You feel how the fabric keeps getting pushed to the edge when suddenly you hear the first tear rips open.
Now you see whats really happening down there. Your muscles are getting pumped up. Not just you thighs, also you calves and feet. You're not sure how to react because on one side you always dreamed of getting a ripped body. On the other hand you have to face the fact that your best friend put a hose into your ass that pumps air into you? But is it really air? Or is it something different?
As you keep thinking about what happens right now you hear on big tear from your jeans.
'Wha... Mike! What are you doing!?' You screamd in disbelief. Still feeling overwhelmed from the fact that your legs now look like those of an bodybuilder who trains them like 7 days a week. 'I can't go out line this man. People mustn't see me in my underwear.'
'Thank me later dude. I figured that you would need new pants after this so I brought you some bigger one.' Mike replied.
'Wait... you just pumped up my legs? What about the rest?' you confront him.
'After our workout session, okay? One at a time.' Mike said calmly, trying to get some patience into you. He moves to the treadmills and starts with a light jog.
That's when you see you opportunity. You grab the pump and head to the locker room, hoping that Mike didn't notice anything.
You try to change and he didn't lie, Mike actually brought some spare pants with him. They were tight but your massive quads fit inside them.
You put the pump inside your gym bag to sneak it out already imagining what you would do with it when you're home.
Arriving there you head straight to your bedroom wondering what else the gym pump can do to you. Since you have a date tonight you think it's a good idea to pump up your upper body. You don't want to look like a freal, do you? You figured that if the pump was pumping up your legs when the hose was put up your ass, plugging it into you belly button will inflate your torso and arms. So you don't hesitate to do so. You think it would be a good idea to lay down, just in case. As you plug it in you feel a short sting inside but that shouldn't let you stop to start pumping. You felt a light fullness as you keep on pumping. Not just that, you feel a rising sensation spreading out your torso. With every pump that feeling grows stronger so you unconsciously start to push the handle faster and faster.
You feel your body sweeling up. As you do you rub your thighs together, feeling your meaty legs and calves. Your dick starts to twitch, slowly becoming hard and sensitive to every touch your legs did to it by mistake.
You feel your arms being pushed to the side because your back starts to spread, buldging with muscles. You notice that your pecs are pushed outside, getting soft and pillowy. Your shoulders round up next. You feel how hard it gets to operate the pump because of how heavy your arms are becoming. Veins begin to push against you skin as you bisceps, your triceps your forearms start to buldge with piles of muscle.
After a minute of pumping which felt like an eternity you decide to have a look at you upper body.
As you feel your newly gained mass with one hand you grab you dick with your other, beginning to stroke it slowly. Your body feels great, everything is so dense but yet soft. Thats when you feel a rising pressure in your ass, rampaging in your stomach. You can't hold it back and let out the biggest fart of your life. You feel your ass cheeks clapping together but there is no sign of stopping. As the gas leaves your body, you see that your soft body slowly loses mass, revealing pure muscle. Now you're turned on!
You grab the hose and put it on your cock. You don't hesitate and start pumping. You feel how your balls get bigger, heavier. Your already hard dick feels like it's getting harder. You see how it get's veinier, longer, thicker. With one final big pump, you came. Your cock squirts one rope of cum after another on your newly gained washboard belly.
After cleaning up, you admired you member.
Suddenly your door bell rings.
'Shit! Max is here. I totally forgot obout our date!' You throw on some shorts you found on the floor just to discover, that it won't fit how it used to. You also feegot to take a shower after your gym session, so you put on a cap. Your hair is a real mess.
You open the door. You date stood there in total awe.
'Max?' you asked.
'Holy... yes. How... what... sorry. Your photos in the app didn't suggest that you're THAT hot.' Max stuttered. 'Hell I bet you're thinking I'm a total idiot...'
You pull him in, locking him up between your sexy body and the hallway wall. You start to kiss him gently. 'No I don't. But I have a question. What's your favourite body part?' you whispered.
Max looks ashamed, putting one hand up to your buldging pecs and rubs one of your nipples.
Oh god, you haven't felt that kind of pleasure before. You pick Max up, feeling is rising boner rubbing against your boulder of a shoulder.
Arriving in the bedroom, you throw Max onto your bed and show him the current state of your body one last time.
Next you grab the pump, plugging the hose to your left nipple. You feel the sting again and start to pump. You feel your chest beeing pushed forward, your other nipple getting hard like a balloon. Max watches the scene with excitement and starts to rub his dick. You keep pumping up your pecs, becoming two incredible huge tits. You detach the hose and push your chest right in Max' face.
Max doesn't hesitate and starts to suck you nipple. You moan in pleasure as Max sneaks the hose to your other nipple and starts to pump. You never felt so hot before, the strength spreading across your chest, creating some juicy tits.
Max got off and with him the pump. You investigate yourself, realizing your pecs are the perfect love toy.
You imagine how Max rubs his dick between those juicy melons. You tower above him, thinking of what he could look like, then lean towards him and start to whisper in his ear...
.
.
.
.
.
.
A lot of pumping later:
'Shall we get to the good part now?' Max asked with a much deeper voice now.
'Fuck yeah! I want to feel your rod inside me!' You replied as you see him approaching you.
Your holding the Box in your Hands. You always felt attracted to cheesy underwear but too shy to really buy one... not to think of wearing it. But since you've seen the commercial fir this 'Strong-Thong' in your Instagram feed for quite some time, you decided to purchase it.
You ripped open the carton, pulling out the small piece of fabric.
Huh, it was quite small and looked like it was out of a women's collection for pyjamas but nevertheless you stripped down your clothes and put it on.
As soon as it touched your skin you felt good, like it belonged there. You felt confident and you were 'proud' of your body all of a sudden.
"Wow, I look good in this! Guess I'll keep it on for the rest of the day."
So you did. You dressed as usual and everything seemed as always. You checked yourself in the mirror one last time noticing that your underwear could be seen it you lift your shirt. But you thought that's sexy. And it kinda turned you on.
You went to the city by train since you're living in the suburbs. Lost in your thoughts you began to itch your balls. You didn't even notice it but something felt different as usual. Maybe it was bust because of the thong...
A few hours passed and you felt like your jeans were tighter as usual. Weird, you didn't gain any weight. The scale showed the same numbers as yesterday and you didn't seem to look chubbier in the mirror this morning. You looked down and realized that your pants really looked smaller... did your quads always stand out like that?
You went to the nearest bathroom to investigate the situation. You lifted you shirt and were surprised by a dump truck of an ass.
Your ass cheeks bumped up and down when you flexed your muscles, letting them rub against each other. Holy shit, that felt good. And it looked even better! You decided to give yourself a better look on your new gained confidence. You stripped down and checked yourself out.
No way this is your ass. You flexed and squeezed your cheeks, feeling yourself. But as soon as you put your thong down, you felt like something was missing. Like your body needs this piece of fabric.
So you put it back on, the rest of your clothes followed soon.
Before you left the bathroom you lifted your shirt one mire time. Apearently not only your booty got thicker.
your upper body also gained some muscles looking like the beach body you always wanted.
Finnishing your shopping spree you headed home. Since you came by train you had to take it back home. You plattform was on the opposite of the train station so you took the elevator to get to the upper floor. Waiting in there you noticed the changes your body went through.
Your whole body blew up with muscles. Big, buldgy arms, your chest standing out, a wide back that could carry your fridge alone and of course you legs, that looked like tree trunks... you couldn't belive your eyes. Hoping to get home soon you couldn't wait to check out the rest of your new beef body. The train ride was quite bumpy and with every jump the train did, your muscles bounced heavily, especially your new muscle tits. It was a huge turn on and you couldn't reseist touching and feeling the mass of your body. Running your hands over your chest, your arms, your legs and, accidentally, your dick. It twitched with joy as you beefy hands got on it.
You never ran home so quickly.
You ran to your bedroom to see the full glory, when you felt an energy surge puls through your body.
You felt heavy, your body inflating with even more muscles.
You burst out of your clothes and let out an animalistic roar. You felt like your true self came to the surface... and it won't leave so soon.
(a short 4 part caption series voted on by my patreons and kofi members in the discord!! Feel free to join links, pinned to the top of my page, they get to see it all first!)
I needed a pick me up! It had been weeks of studying, acing tests, leading my outreach group and dealing with dumbass smelly jocks. Not to mention the horrendous dating scene at my university, all everyone fucking cared about was looks, not personality and definitely not intelligence. These idiots were so obsessed with abs, symmetrical faces and perfect hair that they would tolerate a boring conversation, just because I wasnāt super athletic, with what time? I had to study to stay number one in my graduating class, so what if I was skinny fat. And I wasnāt some genetic freak with perfect looks, and had thick glasses, meant I didnāt even deserve a second look. I just wanted to be given a chance you know, why couldnāt Chase Smith get some like all the jocks, twinks and douchebags.
I ordered from the local gay frat (superficial assholes, even if they were also gay) one of their KOKSTRAPS that was supposed to change your life. I had heard from a friend of a friend they had some type of magic that guaranteed results so why not get a permanent one. I got their āBetter in Twinkā one, it was this pastel pink that was supposed to hug you in all the right ways and enhance your assets. It came in the next day and I rushed to put it on, not paying attention to the fact the package was already opened, not noticing the darkened spot near the front of the pouch. Pulling it all the way up was like going up on a rollercoaster, the anticipation killing me. The way the waistband and bands snapped into place, lifting my cheeks, the fabric hugged my small three inch package, now that was divine and as I looked at myself in the mirror I could feel it PULSE.Ā
This warm, gentle energy cascading through me, centered around the KOKSTRAP, the bands lifting my ass higher and cinching my waist warmed even more. I could feel it growing tighter, my crotch heating up, dickā¦ no cock getting harder, balls fuller. My ass looked fatter, more bubbly then it ever did before. The flab on my body started to melt, my stomach becoming toned, my man boobs turning into a perfectly flat, slim chest. My skin started to clear up, my lips became plumper! God all of my acne was gone, my cheekbones looked higher. God I looked so hot, a little bit too much like those airheaded twinks but as a bottom I couldnāt wait for some of the tops to get a look at this ass and PULSEā¦.
My body lurched forward, that pleasant warmth, pleasurable tingle that raked through my nervous system intensified. PULSE My body started sweating, my chest started rising with every breath but refused to fall. My new slim chest, the one this KOKSTRAP had just crafted became pillowey pecs, my shoulders broadening, my face with abject horror as The Fabric warping my body PULSED again. Smatterings of dark hair spread across my body as the heat continued to rise, abject horror crossing my face as my arms now bulging with biceps for days moved on their own to feel me up.Ā
My hands which had been smooth and dainty grew into masculine baseball gloved mitts finding their way down to my bulge. My cock was getting harder, no longer. Images of men fucking me, my position as a bottom, all started to blur as PULSE PULSE PULSE the idea of bending some twink over this sink and fucking his brains out became all consuming. My massive nine inches leaked into my red KOKSTRAP. My intelligence, my grades, all the work I had done and community outreach was in a free fall as it was replaced with working out, frat parties and endless debauchery. My soft boyish features became corrupted as my eyes rolled back, losing all my spark and replaced with hunger. My jaw became chiseled, my nose widened. Hell my lips stayed plumped but my voice deepened as my adams apple became more pronounced.
I grabbed onto the sides of my head, trying desperately to hold PULSE onto the PULSE person PULSE Fuck Im PULSE Hard AS ever PULSE need to PULSE FUCK. My overgrown mop of hair felt so good in my hands. I was air humping, the fabric of my favorite Kokstrap basically started jerking PULSE me PULSE off. Till with a triumpant roar and thrust I came my brains out, my old life, smarts, ambition eaten away as the fabric absorbed my cum leaving me in a dizzy state.
I couldn't help but smirk at my reflection before doing a quick bicep flex. Fuck I loved beinga jock
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'tā¦"
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, alrightā¦ 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. Heās 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.
āYāall ready?ā Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. āLetās go!ā 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, "Thatās what I like to hear! Alright, letās 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, "Dudeā¦ 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 moreā¦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 theā¦?"
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, flexingā¦
"Whoaā¦" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "Howā¦?"
The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for thatā¦ 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 positionāback straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed backāas if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feelā¦ 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 youāre 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.
Somethingās off, right? Like... this aināt how it used to be. You know that. You werenātā¦ this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. Youāre absolutely shredded. I mean, cāmon, those arms? That chest? You donāt just wake up lookinā this jacked without beināā¦ 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 cuzā¦ 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 forā¦ 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 forgetā¦
Gay Stories Im Into @michaelangelovonroofington - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
kianamaiart
ellievsbear
turnnoffyourmind
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
theartofmadeline
