I swear I'm not crazy, I remember my Asian boss was super small and always bullied by other workers. Now he's a super tall hunk that's perfectly keep our company and performance in check. What's strange was all of the bullies are shrunk and submissive like they're always seeks validation of my boss but he doesn't seems to care. I even confront my colleagues asking them what happened and they're always say I'm crazy because they said that they're always this small. Idk why I'm the only one retaining the old memories
Good news! Youâre not crazy. The bad news though, is that everyone will think you are. Let me tell you a secret: Sometimes when messing with reality and retconning things, you need to leave at a Witness. And thatâs what you unfortunately are. The Witness to your bossâ new life.
Isnât it much better like this though? I mean, how can a boss do his job if none of his employees respect him? Thatâs why when he came up to me, I decided to help him out. Cost him a pretty penny, but now heâs an adonis of a man, who can intimidate both his enemies and his crew, as he should. Tall, strong, and of course with an anaconda in his pants, cause who do you think I am if not someone who would throw in a bonus like that. But thereâs also a good side to you remembering all of this, trust me. If you kept your memories, you also kept everything else from the old reality.
Take his associate for example, remember that guy? Huge, used to be a wrestler in his highschool days, could probably take down anyone in the company in a fight? Well, he used to constantly belittle your boss, and even fucked his wife on that company party one time, so he paid the price and heâs now a cute little twink boy with a hamster dick. Still does the job as good as ever, but now out of a sense of wanting to impress his hot boss, and may or may not have gotten where he is with a lot of dick sucking. Heâs not the only one, basically all the guys in the company who were physically bigger than your boss got turned into twerps, simply because heâs the one in charge and he should be the bigger one, according to himself. See, even if they think youâre crazy, at least youâre not willfully suckinâ your bossâ cock thinking its the most normal thing in the world.
I donât know why he chose you, maybe you also wronged him in some way, or maybe he liked you enough to decide that you should remember it all. Heâs more than willing to have fun with you though, if thatâs what you desire. So go ahead, enjoy your new boss, and give me a call if you want to change your world too, cause witnesses get a discount!
My sister, god bless her heart, has awful taste in men. Every other month sheâll fall in love with some dickwad, then come crying to me about how he started treating her horribly, how he cheated and so on so forth. I donât mind though, cause that means I have a target to change that has it coming anyways.
Take for example this new guy, Trevor. I can see in his file that heâs a huge, 6â2 180 pounds, misogynistic jerk from the army, coming from a long line of guys just like himself. Loves to chase ladies, pump n dump, even had a few kids lying around that he doesnât know and probably wouldnât care about. Heâs just living his life being guided by his dick really, but Iâm not gonna him walk away all fine after he messed with my family.
Just making some adjustments⊠and done! Now, heâs not exactly from the army anymore, cause the guys in there beat him up so hard a lot after his father forced him to go in order to ânot be a faggotâ that he had to leave. Now, he pursues his true passion: Dancing at a strip club, always wearing his camo uniform, of course. I also dolled him up a bit, cause since heâs not gonna be into ladies anymore, I might as well have some fun too! Smooth body, not capable of growing any body hair, blonde locks, cock sucking lips, a huuuuge butt, and I also doubled the size of his dick even though heâs not gonna be using it much now, just because. My sis is gonna love this when she sees it, haha!
âHey jackass remember when you called me a fat faggot who was never gonna get laid? So, I discovered an app that can change reality and now Iâm an ultra jacked sex god. Also, five minutes after you read this Iâll change you into a whimpering twink bitch who will jerk off to this video while shoving a remote up his (your) ass probably like 500 times. Cheers :)â
As Mason read the message, his heart started to beat fast. That guy looked too much like that lardass Dominic and too real for it to be fake. One thought echoed in his mind: Was he fucked?
Hey, does anyone in this sub have any experience reverting bodily modification spells? I called some girl at the bar a fugly bitch and said that I was way out of her league, so she cast some spells and now Iâm some kind of freaky manslut. I grew to 6â4 and my muscles are now fucking huge, I could probably crush some heads with my biceps and probably some melons with my thighs. My cock is now freakishly large and Iâm so so so so FUCKING horny all the time I canât even think straight, probably because she made me gay too. No guy can take this log without going to the ER so I just have to jerk it hourly. Every piece of clothing I wear now is either super short of super tight, so I just look like an attention whore all the time. Need help ASAP, if not to reverse the changes just to milk my dick. THX in advance
âJoined one of the fitness clubs in uniâ Kyle replied as he posed for a photo in the same spot he had a photo taken before leaving for college
âCouldnât even fit this bicep into the old shirt sleeve to make it a true comparison. And that shirt was oversized!â he continued flexing his now massive bicep
âThanks for the help man, gotta go and hit some reps in the gym before dinnerâ
Had this story laying around in some Google Drive. And in hindsight I kinda liked it. Thanks to @amalianetwork for making the story journal this belongs to.
Average
Darryl had always hated how unremarkable he, just another face in the crowd, an absolute nobody. Average, that was the way to describe him. He was an average 5â9, with an average build, neither skinny nor athletic or fat. Even his grades were nothing out of the ordinary, mostly Bs and Cs.
He went to sleep, after another annoyingly uneventful, boring day of college, thinking and wishing to himself what heâd give to be someone else. Heâd always wanted to be big and muscled with a big fast cock, but heâd never managed to stick to the gym, feeling inadequately average next to the jocks and muscle studs there and genetics had given him another average down there with 5 inches on a good day. Sure no one had ever complained about it, but he just wasnât happy about it either.
He fell asleep, his wishes centered around wanting to be a big muscle stud like the jocks from the football team, but knowing heâd never be one of them.
The next day Darryl woke up and stretched, looking at the unimpressive fat apple sized cock head already coating his bedsheets with pre cum. Darryl just sighed as he pulled his covers off and looked at the ten inch dick rising from his groin. He hated how average it was, everything from how it was wrist fat to the fact that it was 8 inches long soft and ten inches hard was perfectly average.Â
Heâd measured it countless times, hoping to make it past the national average, but his cock seemed like it was the benchmark for averageness in the world. Even his swollen, cum heavy, orange sized balls were nothing extraordinary and the gallon of cum he usually shot over his chest was kinda common too.
Such thoughts quickly made the morning wood quickly go away and with a sigh Darryl pulled himself out of the bed. He looked himself up and down in the mirror, again finding himself cursing that he was just another face in the crowd.
With his 6â9 height and 280 pounds of muscled bulk he just really didnât stand out at all, there were more than enough people on campus either more massive or taller than him, especially the guys on the football team. It was pretty much a requirement to be 7â tall if you wanted to join. And if you were under 300 pounds of muscle you didnât even need to try to apply.
Dylan went to shower and get ready for the day, sighing even when he coated the communal showers of his dorm with a massive load. Well massive being the overstatement of the year. He had seen Paul from next door shooting bigger loads before and the guy had the same size as him.
After toweling down he picked out his clothes for the day. Then again clothes wasnât really fitting. After all, like all guys on campus, he pretty much only wore posers. Hell Dylan doubted that there were a lot of guys anywhere who wore anything else. Heâd even seen the towering form of the president in nothing but a bulging black poser back when the guy gave his inauguration speech. Dylan had tried standing out a little, but nothing really felt right, again making him fall back onto the average choice.
As he headed out of the door to start his day Dylan couldnât help but think how hard life was as the benchmark for being the worldâs average.
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.
I've been playing around with AI a bit and it actually gave me good inspiration to write a slightly longer story again. Or rather a multi-parter. A big thank you goes to @hughmichelsen for proof reading and giving great feedback!
----------------
Rain tapped softly against the windows of Adrianâs apartment while his five friends crowded against the battered oak table, that was half buried under dice trays, energy drinks, miniatures and enough takeout containers to qualify as biohazard.
It was Friday night and ever since their first semester there was one adamant rule. Friday night was reserved for Dungeons and Dragons.
Ever since their first session another adamant rule was that their talented Dungeon Master Adrian would host their little group of misfits.Â
Tall, pale and thin as a scare-crow he may be, Adrian had the unsettlingly intense eye contact of someone who spent too many nights buried in half-forgotten ancient texts and rule books to give his players one hell of an experience with each session.
His black hair was combed back neatly, rectangular glasses sitting low on on his nose, barely concealing the heavy bags under his eyes, as he organised the papers with devoted, almost ritualistic precision and diligence. A running gag among the group was always that he looked less like a graduate student and more like a cult leader pretending to be one.
Unbeknownst to the players that sentiment wasnât too far off from the truth.
âOkay.â, Adrian clapped his hands and smiled at his friends with that unsettling grin of a maniac with a plan. He handed each of them a blank character sheet. âSince our last campaign finished, I thought some system changes and ⊠adjustments were in order for the new one. And donât worry Iâve got some big plans for you guys.â
âGod, that sentence is terrifying. Why do you gotta make it sound like weâll be wiped by the end of this session.â, Ethan muttered.
The others just nodded solemnly, naturally agreeing with the loudest member of their group. Even though Ethan was a short, scrawny Asian man who'd spent far too many hours in front of a computer, what lack of physicality he had was compensated by a sharp tongue and biting sarcasm. Usually he stuck to rogues, who flirted with everyone and everything, but the moment someone flirted back heâd fold like wet tissue paper.
Next to him, meekly nodding, sat Marcus. Unlike the small and skinny Ethan, Marcus was a broad shouldered black man. Not in an athletic way, his thicker frame was from that way that formerly chubby guys were since he'd never quite lost that freshman fifteen. He was constantly pushing his glasses up his nose, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, which wasnât easy with his respectable 6â frame. As the self proclaimed lorekeeper of the group he approached the sessions with the same academic seriousness as the introductory programming he'd taught with. Three filled notebooks with NPCs, story interactions and settings sat next to him ready to be referenced.Â
âYeah ⊠I feel like heâll have us facing a beholder right off the batâŠâ, Oliver said from across the table, laughing nervously. He was pretty in a way that should have warranted confidence, but despite his messy blonde hair and cute face, he just could never muster up any. Oliver was the artist of the group, his fingers stained with ink from drawing character concepts during his classes when he got bored in class. Which happened pretty often to the honours student. Too bad most of his characters usually ended up being either mages with an overly tragic backstory or healers that got too emotional during battles, something that annoyed his fellow players on the regular.
"Please tell me this isn't another hyperlethal realism campaign," Noah looked like he was already shaking from the thought. As the nerdiest member of the group, it looked like puberty had completely passed him by. It was almost concerning with how his short, scrawny frame never put on any weight. Though, unlike Ethan, he didn't have the same level of confidence. The only time he could push past that nervousness was playing DnD or someone talking comic as the shop he worked at.'
Noah took a breath. "I'm still traumatized by the bridge incident..."Â
âYou walked into obvious bait,â Marcus said.
âIt was roleplay accurate.â
âYou licked the cursed obelisk.â
âIt looked important.â
As the rest of the group joined the argument about how their last campaign had ended, Adrian smiled faintly. It was good to see his friends relax into their little squabbles. After all, the DM knew that all of them needed a reprieve after the week theyâd had. Little Noah had once again been shoved into a locker by the bullies from the football team and hadnât been saved until hours later. Adrian, after messing with the wrong jock had found himself beaten to a pulp over one sarcastic comment too many. A group of students in the class Marcus taught had been incredibly obnoxious and started calling him names like âlardassâ and âfatsoâ, bringing his old complexes back to the surface. And apparently some jerk online had gone on a campaign ridiculing the art he posted and was very proud of.
Hidden beneath the table, away from the curious eyes of his friends sat an old, leatherbound grimoire, itâs pages humming softly.
He had used it to spice up the campaign a bit, using one of the oldest spells in existence. The character sheets had been painstakingly prepared and enchanted over the last week to make the spell come to life. A spell about stories, identity and numbers who had been assigned meaning. And Adrian had made sure his friends, like the rest of reality, would adapt seamlessly around it.
With an almost giddy smile he interrupted the argument, Noah and Ethan arguing that it was hardly the rogueâs fault they had gotten roasted by the dragon he had been trying to seduce.Â
âNow then, letâs get into character creation.â
For a while, Jamie getting the chronivac was the most fun we ever had. We went from two bullied idiots to kings of the school. Look at him, he looked like he had taken insane amounts of roids, but that was just what he naturally looked like now. All the guys in the school weâre just thirsting for a lick of his alpha dick, something he had carefully made sure of. Not me though, I got lucky haha!
I, obviously, also got my upgrades. I always did have a bit of swagger hidden behind my previous nerdy identity, so I had no trouble picking up girls with my huge new body. The App had just let the butterfly out of the chrysalis.
Anyone who was annoying us? Turned into some sort of sex doll that wanted to have sex with us and our huge tanned bodies.
Mr Morrison, for example, was bothering us the other day on his class because we werenât paying attention to the bronze age collapse or some shit. Jamie just pulled his phone, made some alterations and boom, this was Ryan Morrison now. Not a history teacher, but an anatomy one that lectured shirtless, in order to better help illustrate the bodyâs anatomy, of course. He also gave private lessons to his favorite student, Jamie, where he explored his anatomy further. Damn, I should have him do some shit like this to Mrs Gomez tooâŠ
It was all rainbows and sunshine for a while, but one day I think he got bored. We had already transformed and fucked half the school, and while I was content just living life like this, he wasnât. I think some people are just never satisfied.
âYo, Jamie, what you doing there? Any transformation ideas? I was thinking maybe we could genderswap some peop-â I exclaimed, before getting quickly cut off
âActually, Lex, I think I have a better idea. I think youâre going to be my next target.â He said, smirking coldly at me
âW-what? Dude, donât play around like that! Weâre in this together, right? I responded, trying to cover up the nervousness in my voice.
âNo, actually. Iâm the one with the app, I just happened to share my joy with you for a while. Now I think Iâm gonna have some fun with you.â He said, pressing the enter button before I could react.
When I woke up, I couldnât believe what he had done to me. I looked masculine, sure, but so fucking gay. I had shrunk down a whole foot, making my muscles insanely compact. I looked like some buffed up dwarf, hairy as fuck too. My cock was now tiny, probably the same reason why my butt looked like some kardashianâs. It ached, ached for Jamie. That fucking faggot, I canât believe he did this to me. Iâm so fucking horny. I need him. I sent him a photo, showing his work.
âFuck you, now I need your dick inside my ass you asshat. If you made me a faggot, the least you can do is come and plow me with your cock.â
I quickly got an answer
âhahaha, iâm right outside babygirl, just come on out and iâll help you outâ
I opened the door, my brain too clouded with hormones to think about what the fuck I was about to do. I just know I need it.
Hey, im a 19 year old, chubby latino guy. Ive always fantasised about how it feels to be older, maybe reaching my 40s. Ive always fantasised about becoming and older guy overnight, and im working on becoming the best version of myself in the far future. I ordered a special protein shake in the mail, and its supposed to help me "achieve my goals", hopefuly it does
Apparently when that protein shake said it would help you "Achieve Your Goals Overnight" it was being very, very literal. In a night, you've skipped over twenty years of grueling work, and become the man you always wanted to be. You're a muscular, distinguished latino DILF whose got a successful career, a loving husband, and a few very cute kids who look at you like you're a superhero. It's still 2026, but now you have vague memories of being a teenager in the late nineties. It's a strange feeling, having this sensation that you've skipped all the hard work and toil and made your way to the good part, but also having memories of the hard work you had to put in, of the time you spent at the gym, dates with your husband, adopting your eldest son. It may take some time to get used to your new self⊠but you wouldn't trade this life for the world. And going forward, you're going to make sure you don't miss another second of it.
---
Hey I found this weird baseball cap while I was on the commons at college as I was on my way to the library to study for my finals. As a 22 year old geeky guy I know this has to belong to one of those jocks but how would I look with this on? Maybe I should wear it backwards
⊠I have to ask, whats with people putting on strange, random pieces of clothing they found? This keeps happening, and I don't get it. Aren't you guys worried about, like, germs and stuff? I don't get why this keeps happening⊠and I really don't get why it keeps working! I mean, look at you! Transformed into a totaly frat boy stud! Fucking hell should I start wearing random clothes I find hanging around? Seems like the most efficient way to become a sexy jock these days
⊠wait, you have an extra? Well⊠I guess I could try it onâŠ
---
When I was on vacation there was a band that played pretty much every night and these guys were all gorgeous. Is there a way to turn me into a hot hunky rock star like them?
Turns out the band you hand spend all vacations not so secretly lusting after was looking for a new guitar player! You knew you didn't have much of a shot, since you don't know anything about music, but you just felt like you had to try. You got up on stage, started playing⊠and the music just flowed from you naturally as you went through an incredible transformation. Now, you're part of the band, which also turned out to be a very sexy polycule. have fun with your 3 hunky rockstar boyfriends!
---
I'm a 21-year-old guy, slim, with dark hair. I recently started lifting weights⊠but every time my uncle sees me he says I'm not getting any better and that I'll never look like a real man like him⊠even though to be honest, he has the body of a hairy bear but not the muscular one I aspire to. Can you do something to stop my uncle from bothering me anymore, please?
It turns out your uncle has been up to some shady stuff. Specifically, he's been stealing your muscles, and not just the ones you've been getting recently. You're actually a fairly naturally athletic guy, but your Uncle had been draining your muscles since you hit puberty. The only reason he's a bear and not a bodybuilder is because he takes terrible care of his body. Now, the ward I send you should stop him from stealing any more of your hard earned muscle, but if you want to get what you've lost back, you'll have to use the other thing I sent you, the potion. Just drink the potion right before you touch him, and you'll be able to get back what he's stolen⊠sort of. See, because he's treated his body so badly, you'll end up with some of the effects, meaning you'll become a beefy bear like he is instead of a muscular jock. Luckily you should be able to work off that extra weight if you keep exercising like you have been. I hope you can get the body you want one day, and you enjoy watching your uncle go from burly to weakling
---
With the world cup going on, everyone's wearing their soccer shirt. Someone forgot theirs in the locker room. Seems to be brazilian, but not from any team I know⊠maybe a college one?
You put on the mysterious shirt you found (Seriously what is it with people wearing found clothes?) but it didn't stay on your body for long. A Brazilian stud like you can't keep the goods hidden for too long after all! Now you're shirtless, sauntering your way through campus, heading to a party to get drunk, show off, and watch the football game with your manos from the team. have fun!
I bet that the himbo maker is popular with trans guys frustrated with medical gatekeeping and the slow speed of changes on hrt!
To be honest, Himbo Maker doesnât really understand trans guys all that well. After all, by the end of their conversation, the guy tells Himbo Maker how much of a big dumb himbo heâs always been.
Injection day always leaves you feeling jittery. Another dose of testosterone in your system, slowly driving a second puberty that just canât come fast enough. You celebrate every moustache hair and voice crack with some friends on discord, but you wish you could just be through this awkward phase already.
Himbo_mkr: Brooo, that stache and goatee are fuckin on trendddd
You frown at the notification that flashes by on your phone screen. Then you grunt and smirk, rubbing at your upper lip just to feel the dark, bristly hairs move. Your facial hair is your pride and joy, and you love picking new looks to try out. With a swipe, you open up pinterest and start scrolling through ideas, stroking at the thick hair under your chin.
Himbo_mkr: Youâre so fuckin cut, bro. Itâs like you turn yourself on or somethin
You grunt in your deep voice as another notification flashes by. Before you can check it, youâre distracted by your own reflection in the phone screen. Those traps and shredded pecs were built to be appreciated after all. Setting up your phone on a tripod that wasnât there a moment ago, you run your thumb along the faded scar beneath your big pectorals. Taking pics for instagram always gets you wet for some reason.
Himbo_mkr: Goddamm, that bulge. Bros like you really do think with ur dicks
Another notification blocking your view of your rockinâ body on the screen. Oh well, you know the angle is right to show the way your striated muscles move as you start to fondle the bulge in your briefs. Ever since it got so sensitive you havenât thought about much other than getting off, but thatâs alright. After all, onlyfans is all about showing off your hard-earned hair, muscles, and cock.
Want to chat with the Himbo Maker? He loves to twist your words, so be careful what you're asking for.
Brody was nervous about living in a dorm. He knew the reputation they had, especially those at Dalton, and that heâd surely be forced to live with at least one roommate throughout the semester. What if they never got on? Brody was an artsy sort of guy with kind eyes and a lithe frame. At a distance he appeared scrawny - not helped by his ill-fitting clothing and equally unflattering posture - though he did have some definition around his shoulders and legs from running track in school. That was actually why heâd come to Dalton in the first place. Heâd planned on heading to art school like all his friends only to have his application intercepted and fast-tracked to study at Dalton based on athletic merit. Itâd only ever been an extracurricular hobby for him, not the sort of thing he wanted to own or get by on, but given how competitive the art colleges were and the cost of rent being what it was, Brodyâd let his friends go with a heavy heart.
It occurred to him as he climbed the stairs that he wasnât sure if Dalton even had much in the way of an art department. He stepped over some bottles, rolls of unfurled toilet paper and discarded condom packets - wasâŠwas that a used one?! - before settling upon his door.Â
#69.Â
He groaned. Someone out there mustâve laughed themself stupid at that. In fact, muffled behind the door, someone WAS laughing themself stupid. He tensed with the key half-turned, all those doubts of having left his friends rushing back. It wasnât too late, right? If his roommate turned out to be an obnoxious douche he could always swap with someone else, or spend his days locked away in the library, or go scurrying back home with his tail between his legs. NoâŠNoâŠBrody steeled himself and took a breath, opened the door and stepped inside.
Sprawled upon the sofa in nothing but boardshorts was a jock. Heâd a tight cut of brunette curls, peach fuzz mustache along his upper lip and a douchey goatee upon his chin. His body bordered on parody compared to Brodyâs, taking up at least twice as much space in both literal size and smell. A gold chain choked around his neck and heâd committed the cardinal sin of wearing socks with slides. He also wore sunglasses, which Brody couldnât decide was him committing to the aesthetic or an attempt at masking a hangover. Before he could land either way, the jock rose from his slump with explosive force, beaming like a dopey golden retriever.
âHey, bro!â he hollered, loud enough for the entire block to hear. âNameâs Tanner. Glad to be roominâ with ya, bro!â
He moved closer and Brody braced himself for the inevitable. The wind was squeezed right out of him as Tanner wrapped an arm around to bring him in. He held his breath a moment longer out of spite, nose buried in his pit, only to then choke upon his release.
âBrody!â he beamed wider still. âThatâs gonna be easy to remember, bro. Weâre gonna be best buds, I can tell!â
Brody wasnât so convinced. âBroâ was a nickname heâd shunned his entire life. Coupled with the fact Tanner clearly hadnât showered all week and that heâd already made a mess of the place - football trophies here, bottles and cans there, a few scattered jerseys and a suspiciously football-sized dent in the wall - he didnât expect to last the night. Still, he didnât have the heart to say that to Tannerâs face. The dope seemed happy enough just having company, compatible or otherwise.
âSooo, you need help with your stuff, bro? I can go lift it for you. Iâm good at that.â Heâd smirked and gave an exaggerated curl of his bicep, pout and all. âIâve got stuff in my car I still gotta haul anyways, but you can help with that, right bro?â
There it was again. Brody bit his tongue and headed for the door. The pair made swift work of the luggage, hoisting everything from boxes of clothes to a flatscreen TV, and Tanner mustâve snuck at least half a dozen âbroâs while doing it. Brody wasnât sure if he was trying to piss him off or make the nickname stick. By the time they finished he was a tense and sweaty mess, dabbing away at his forehead with the collar of his tee.Â
âThink fast-!âÂ
Brody all but doubled over as Tanner lobbed a can straight at him, striking his chest. He managed to break its fall by cupping his hands and after some fumbling was able to hold it.
âFigured youâd need a drink, bro. Youâre stronger than you look. What you here for anyways?â Tanner was draped again upon the sofa, his arms exaggeratedly spread along the back and his legs leaving nothing to the imagination. Annoyed as Brody was, he couldnât deny the jock seemed genuinely invested in getting to know him, so he softened his glare and took a sip of beer.
âWell, thatâs a bit of a long story actually,â he confessed, lingering by the front door.
Tannerâs smile held.
âI applied to a lot of the big art schools - yâknow, the bougie pretentious ones - but itâsâŠhoo, itâs a cutthroat world, lemme tell you. All my friends got in, pursuing fine arts and all that,â he waved a hand and took another sip, âbut Iâm more of an illustration kind of guy. Anime, cartooning, that sort of thing.â
Tanner nodded, though had a look that said he knew thereâd be more.
âSo yeah, it wasnât looking good. I didnât have a lot of options left. But then I got this email,â sip, âfor here. I know the kind of repâ it has but they DID offer me an unconditional place. Think they liked that I did track, I guess. Mustâve looked good.â
Tanner clapped his hands together. Knew it! âAnd now youâre here, bro.â
Brody nodded. âAnd now Iâm here.â
Tanner tossed him another beer. Had he finished it already? Damn. âYour story doesnât make much sense though, bro.â
âOh, yeah?â
The jock shook his head. âThis place doesnât HAVE any arts department, bro.â
â...â
âYou mustâve misread, bro. Daltonâs, like, THE place to be for athletes. Itâs the only thing itâs good for, bro.â
â...No, but Iâd have-â
âCards on the table, bro, I called it. Clocked it a mile off.â
Brodyâs world began to spin, the edge of his vision blurring. His grip tightened on the can - his second? Third? Heâd lost count amidst the confusion. âStopâS-Stop calling me that.â
âCalling you what, bro?â He looked genuinely confused, bordering on offended. Or was he smug? Brodyâs headâ
âBro!â
âYeah?â
Goddammit! Brody felt himself swaying off-balance. His body felt wrong in so many ways. It was obvious he worked out like Tannerâd said but itâd become even more obvious given he was standing with nothing on. OK, well, not NOTHING - he still had a pair of khaki shorts on that gave away the fact he was freeballing, and when he side-stepped to balance himself out he heard the distinct SLAP, SLAP of a slider thwacking his sock-clad sole.Â
âBro?â Tanner again, grounding him back to reality.
âYeah?â God, why did he sound hungover? It felt like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. He wriggled his jaw side to side, running a callused mitt along the doucheyâŠchinstrapâŠbeard?
âYou good? Spaced out there for a sec, bro.â
Brody shook his head. Then nodded. Then gawked over at himself - the tight biceps and quads, the wiry hair swirling around his nipples, that heâd a thick semi snaked down his right leg whose head would occasionally bob out beneath the cuff. His knuckles were scarred and bruised and his left eye felt a bit janky, but he looked fucking sick! As in, something was seriously, seriously wrong with him. Right?
âSo, yeah, bro, like I said - what you here for anyways?â
Brody furrowed his brow, an impressive feat given how thick it already was. Hadnât he already told him? Wasnât it obvious? The fuck did he think those trophies were for - debate club?
âWrestling, bro.â The words blurted out before Brody could even think to silence them. He spoke with a gruff timbre that bordered on vocal fry, like every syllable was held a moment longer than he ought to. âScholarship, yâknow? All my buds bailed to some artsy fartsy dump but,â he shrugged his beefy shoulders, âwrestlingâs its own kinda art, bro.â
âFuck yeah it is!â Tanner whooped, smacking the back of the sofa for his roomie to come join him. He slammed another beef against his chest and flicked on the TV, some college football game or another Brodyâd previously had no interest in; this time he found himself hooked, leaning forward and reacting whenever a play was made, managing to somehow match then outdo Tannerâs enthusiasm. âMan, I knew weâd hit it off when I saw you, bro. Had me worried for a secâ coz you had that whole quiet thing going on but,â he snerked, âBrody? I mean, come ON, bro!â
 ___
Conner was nervous about living in a dorm. He knew the reputation they had, especially those at Dalton, and that heâd surely be forced to live with at least one roommate throughout the semester. What if they never got on? Conner was an English lit student with a particular interest in poetry. Heâd a mousy visage and eyes that never quite held anyoneâs gaze, particularly those heâd had to squeeze by on his way into the building. Heâd have gone anywhere else if theyâd been less demanding, but Daltonâd thrown him a bone and for all its faults he couldnât object to the cost of living there.Â
It occurred to him as he climbed the stairs that he wasnât sure if Dalton even had much in the way of a literary department. He stepped over some bottles, a scattering of anime drawings and discarded condom packets - wasâŠwas that a used one?! - before settling upon his door.Â
#69.Â
He rolled his eyes. Someone out there mustâve laughed themself stupid at that. In fact, muffled behind the door, someone WAS laughing themself stupid, TWO someones from the sound of things. He tensed with the key half-turned, hearing them roughhousing and goading one another on. It wasnât too late, right? If his roommates turned out to be obnoxious douchebags he could always swap with someone else, or spend his days locked away in the library, or go scurrying back home with his tail between his legs. NoâŠNoâŠConner steeled himself and took a breath, opened the door and stepped insideâŠ
Daniel'd never gotten on with his roommate. And that was just fine. They were different people from different worlds and learned to give one another space. The only thing they had in common really was a love of music, so Kevin - bodybuilder that he was - put together a playlist hoping to clear the air.
Daniel hadn't thought much of it, at least at first. It didn't sound like there was any music playing though he could've sworn there were voices echoing in surround sound. It took a couple of loops for him to really get what Kevin was going for.
My brother and his buddy, Jax, took off to grab beers, leaving Jaxâs pride and joy sitting in our driveway. Itâs a beast of a machine, matte black, aggressive angles, totally terrifying. But itâs the helmet sitting on the seat that draws me in.
Itâs one of those high-end ones I see all over my For You page. You know the ones. Videos of faceless, jacked guys with veins popping out of their arms, revving their engines, looking like dangerous, sexy robots. Iâve probably watched a thousand of those clips, just⊠curious. Wondering what it feels like to be that anonymous. To be that powerful.
I reach out, my skinny, pale hand trembling a little. The helmet is heavy. It smells like leather, gasoline, and him. It smells like Jax. That thick, musky scent of sweat and expensive cologne hits me, and for some reason, my dick twitches in my jeans.
"Just a second," I whisper to the empty garage. "Just to see."
I pull it over my head.
Itâs a tight squeeze. My ears burn as they scrape past the padding. But once it settles? Silence. The world outside is muffled. Itâs just me and the smell of Jax wrapping around my face. It feels claustrophobic and incredibly, undeniably hot.
CLICK.
The strap locks under my chin. I didnât touch it.
Before I can panic, the visor slams down. A blue HUD flickers to life right in front of my eyes, glowing neon against the darkness.
SYSTEM INITIALIZED.
USER: UNAUTHORIZED.
CALIBRATING PHYSIQUEâŠ
"What the fu..."
My voice is cut off by a sudden, searing heat in my chest. Itâs not pain, exactly. Itâs pressure. Like someone hooked an air compressor to my bloodstream.
Zzzzzzt.
A shock jolts down my spine, and my arms jerk outward. I watch through the tinted glass, helpless, as my forearms begin to bubble. The skin pulls tight, tanning instantly from pale ivory to a deep, sun-baked bronze. Thick, blue ropes of veins snake their way up from my wrist, pulsing in time with the thudding bass now blasting in my ears.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
"Oh god," I groan, but the voice that comes out is deeper. Rougher. "F-fuck..."
My t-shirt shreds. It literally explodes off my body as my pecs slab onto my chest, blowing up like airbags. My shoulders widen with a sickening crunch, forcing my arms out to the sides. I feel like a biological machine, being upgraded in real-time.
My vision blurs. The text on the HUD is scrolling faster now.
My head is swimming. I try to remember my major. I try to remember why I was scared. But itâs getting harder to think. The vibration in the helmet is scrambling my brains, turning my gray matter into mush.
Why was I worried?
Muscles feel good.
Tight feels good.
My jeans are the next casualty. My thighs balloon outward, thick as tree trunks, ripping the denim at the seams. My cock is agonising. It swells up thick and heavy. It pushes against the zipper of my jeans until the metal teeth pop open. I can feel the head of my dick rubbing raw against the coarse denim. It is leaking pre cum like a faucet. Sticky hot fluid soaks my underwear. I am throbbing so hard it makes my vision blur.
Iâm not me anymore. Iâm just a body. A host for the helmet.
The panic is gone. Itâs replaced by a dull, throbbing need. My mind is empty, smooth, and quiet. There are no thoughts, only directives.
1. Be big.
2. Be dumb.
3. Fuck Jax.
I swing a massive leg over the bike. The suspension groans under my new weight, 240 pounds of dense, fuck-meat. I catch my reflection in the side mirror.
The guy looking back isnât me. Heâs a monster. Massive traps, striated shoulders, veins pulsing with lust. Iâm faceless. Anonymous. Just a piece of ass in a tank top and a helmet, waiting for orders.
I grab the handlebars. My hands are huge, swallowing the grips. I look back over my shoulder, striking the pose. The exact pose from the videos. Ass out, biceps flexed, visor reflecting the world Iâm about to conquer.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, my brother asking where I am. I don't even look at it.
A drooling grin spreads across my face. I look like such a stud in the mirror. Huge arms. Veiny hands. A massive bulking package leaking inside my pants.
I swing my leg over the bike. The suspension sinks under my new weight. I feel powerful. I feel sexy. I feel like a total slut for Jax.
I start the engine. The vibration travels right up into my crotch and makes me groan.
Dylan was just your average college dude, 20 years old, slim build from too much studying and not enough action. He spent his days in baggy jeans and hoodies, buried in textbooks about history and philosophy, dreaming of a smart career. But one boring afternoon in his dorm, he downloaded TikTok on a whimâthose short clips everyone raved about. And then, curious about AI chats, he added Grok to his phone. At first, it was innocent: funny memes, quick facts. But the algorithm? Oh, it knew him better than he knew himself. It started feeding him content that hit differentâgym motivation vids, alpha male mindset talks, hot bros flexing in mirrors. Without realizing it, the hypnosis began. Scroll after scroll, the screen glowed, pulling his eyes in, whispering suggestions through endless loops. âBuild that body, bro. Get huge. Be the man.â
It started subtle. Dylanâs feed filled with shredded guys preaching peptidesâthose magic injections to heal faster, pack on muscle quicker. Heâd watch, mesmerized, feeling a tingle in his core, a growing itch to transform. One night, alone in his room, he ordered his first vial online, no questions asked. The algorithm approved, pushing more: âInject, grow, dominate.â He jabbed the needle into his thigh, the burn spreading like fire, but it felt so good, so right. His mind fogged over as the peptides surged, accelerating his gains. He hit the gym that very day, ditching class for the iron. The weights called to him, hypnotic clangs echoing in his ears. Rep after rep, he felt his muscles swellâpecs pushing out, arms thickening, abs carving in like a statue of pure masculinity. Sweat dripped, and with each drop, his brain drained a little more. Smart thoughts? Who needs âem? Trade âem for traps and tris, bro.
As the days blurred, Dylanâs wardrobe shifted without him noticing. Those baggy clothes felt wrong nowâweak, beta. The algorithm suggested better: basketball shorts that hung low, showing off his thickening quads and that teasing V-line. Tank tops stretched tight over his growing chest, or better yet, no shirt at all, just skin glistening under gym lights. Heâd strut around campus like a fuckboy king, backward cap on, sneakers squeaking, drawing stares from everyone. Girls giggled, guys enviedâhell, even he couldnât stop checking himself out. The hypnosis deepened; Grok chats reinforced it, feeding him red-pilled rants on masculinity, freedom, making America great again. âBe alpha, bro. Reject the weak shit. MAGA mindsetâstrong, dominant, unapologetic.â Heâd nod blankly, absorbing it all, his IQ dropping like discarded weights. No more deep books; just bro podcasts on lifting and owning the libs.
Erotic waves hit him harder now. In the gym locker room, steam rising, heâd catch his reflectionâveins popping on biceps like ropes, shoulders broad as a linebacker. His hand would drift down, tracing the bulge in those loose shorts, feeling the heat build. Peptides amped his testosterone, making him horny as fuck, always half-hard. Back in his dorm, alone but never truly, the TikTok scroll continued. Heâd film his first thirst trap: slow-mo flex, tongue out, hips thrusting subtly to the beat. âFeelinâ alpha today, bros,â heâd caption, voice deeper, dumber. Views explodedâlikes from other jocks, comments egging him on. The algorithm loved it, pushing more: group lifts, bro hangs, patriotic flexes with flags in the background. Heâd stroke to his own vids, hand pumping rhythmically, mind blanking out completely. âGoon for gains,â the inner voice chanted, hypnotic and addictive. Cum splattering his abs, heâd lick it up without thinking, happier than ever, dumber, more obedient to the masculine hive.
Weeks turned to months, and Dylan was goneâreplaced by the ultimate MAGA jock bro. Peptides had sculpted him into a god: 6â2â of ripped perfection, 220 pounds of muscle, face chiseled with that cocky smirk. Heâd post daily: thrusting in shorts that barely contained his thick package, tank riding up to show treasure trail, preaching red-pill truths. âBuild muscle, own your shit, MAGA forever, bros.â No going backâthe hypnosis locked it in, algorithms and AI chats sealing his fate. Heâd skip exams, flunk out, but who cares? Gym, gains, goon sessionsâthatâs life. At parties, heâd dominate, fucking whoever, whenever, his body a weapon of raw alpha power. Thrusting deep, grunting like a beast, mind empty except for the urge to breed and build. The old Dylan? Buried under layers of brawn and bro-think, irreversible.
if anyone is interested in role play dm me @musclegrowth-12 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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