Transformations ;)

Hey, guys this is my new blog and if you want you can follow my old one for my old stories-musclegrowthtf

[risefromabyss]

The Work Wife

Lucas had always been proud of his life. Thirty-four, married to Sarah for eight years, two kids, a mortgage on a nice house in the suburbs, and a senior developer position at Meridian Tech. He was the kind of guy who wore his wedding ring like a badge of honor and kept a photo of his wife on his desk. His coworkers ribbed him about being boring sometimes, but Lucas didn't mind. Boring was stable. Boring was happy.

Daniel had joined the development team about six months ago. He was forty-one, with the kind of easy confidence that came from years of knowing exactly what he wanted. Unlike Lucas's practical button-downs and khakis, Daniel wore tailored shirts with the sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms, and he had this way of looking at people that made them feel like they were the only person in the room.

They'd become friends quickly. Daniel was brilliant at code, funny in a dry way, and he never gave Lucas shit about leaving happy hour early to call his wife. If anything, Daniel seemed to respect it.

"You're a good husband," Daniel had said once, and the way he'd said it had made Lucas feel strangely proud.

---

It started with a late night at the office. Their team was pushing to finish a major build before the end of the quarter, and Lucas had volunteered to stay and work through a persistent bug in the authentication system. Daniel had offered to stay too, which was typical of him. He was always looking out for Lucas that way.

They were the only ones left on their floor, the cubicles dark except for the glow of their monitors. Lucas had been staring at the same block of code for twenty minutes when Daniel rolled his chair over, close enough that their knees almost touched.

"Hey, I've been working on something," Daniel said, his voice casual. "A focus enhancement tool. It helps with deep concentration states. Want to try it? It might help you crack this bug."

Lucas rubbed his tired eyes. "What is it, some kind of meditation app?"

"More like a visual focus aid. It uses specific pattern sequences to help your brain reach optimal coding flow. I've been testing it myself. It's incredible for productivity."

Lucas shrugged. Daniel was always into experimental stuff like this. "Sure, why not."

Daniel pulled up a program on his screen. It looked innocuous enough, just a black window with a small white dot pulsing in the center. But as Lucas watched, the dot began to shift, expanding into spiraling geometric patterns that moved in ways that seemed to pull at his attention.

"Just focus on the center," Daniel said, his voice dropping to a lower, smoother register. "Let your eyes follow the patterns. Don't try to analyze them. Just watch. Let them in."

Lucas found himself staring. The patterns were beautiful, mesmirizing. His thoughts, which had been churning with frustration over the bug, began to slow and quiet.

"Good," Daniel murmured. "That's really good, Lucas. Just keep watching. Your conscious mind can take a break now. You've been working so hard. You deserve to rest."

The words slipped into Lucas's ears like warm water. He felt his shoulders dropping, tension draining from his neck and jaw. The patterns on the screen seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.

"I'm going to help you access a deeper level of focus," Daniel continued, his voice steady and calm. "When you're in this state, you're going to find that you're very receptive to suggestions that help you be more productive. More efficient. More relaxed. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lucas heard himself say. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"Perfect. Now, I'm going to give you a special trigger phrase. When I say these words, you'll immediately return to this deep, relaxed, receptive state. The phrase is 'work wife.' When you hear me say 'work wife,' you'll drop right back down into this peaceful place. You'll still be able to work, talk, function normally, but your conscious mind will step aside and let your deeper mind take over. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The word came easily, naturally. Of course he understood. Daniel was helping him.

"Good. In this state, your deeper mind knows some things that your conscious mind has been too stubborn to admit. Your deeper mind knows that you've been craving a certain kind of connection. A certain kind of release. Your deeper mind knows that you want to be taken care of. That you want to be good for me. That you want to be my good boy."

Something in Lucas's chest fluttered. A distant part of him thought this was strange, but the thought dissolved before it could form completely, swallowed by the warm, pleasant fog filling his head.

"When I call you 'work wife,' you'll know what you really are. You're my wife here at work. You take care of me. You make me happy. You want me to feel good, because when I feel good, you feel good. Being my work wife makes you feel complete. It fills a need you didn't even know you had."

Lucas's breathing had deepened, his lips slightly parted. Watching Daniel's patterns, listening to Daniel's voice, he felt something shift inside him. A door opening. A truth settling into place.

"Being my work wife means you're mine," Daniel said, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "My pretty little wife who wears those practical clothes but has a body that deserves to be touched. You work out, don't you, Lucas? You've got those shoulders, that chest. You want me to appreciate it. You want me to touch it."

Lucas's nipples tightened under his shirt. He was distantly aware that he was getting hard.

"When you're in your work wife state, you'll be my sweet, obedient little slut. You'll do whatever I want because pleasing me makes you happy. And when you come out of this state, your mind will create perfectly normal memories to explain everything that happened. You'll remember working, having normal conversations, nothing out of the ordinary. The truth will stay buried safe and deep, where it belongs."

Daniel reached over and placed his hand on Lucas's thigh. Lucas didn't pull away. He couldn't. The warmth of Daniel's palm felt right.

"Now I'm going to count back from three," Daniel said. "When I reach one, you'll come back to full awareness. You'll remember that we tested my focus tool and it helped you concentrate. You'll feel refreshed and ready to work. Three... starting to return now... two... becoming more aware of your surroundings... one."

Lucas blinked. He was sitting at his desk, Daniel beside him, the code still on his screen. He felt strangely refreshed, like he'd just had a perfect power nap.

"Whoa," Lucas said, shaking his head slightly. "That actually worked. I feel way clearer."

Daniel smiled, closing the program on his screen. "Told you. Happy to let you use it whenever you want."

"Thanks, man. I might take you up on that." Lucas turned back to his code, and within fifteen minutes, he'd found the bug and squashed it. He drove home feeling proud and productive, kissed his wife, and slept deeply, not remembering his dreams.

---

Over the next two weeks, Daniel used the program on Lucas five more times. Each time, the trigger sank deeper. Each time, the suggestions grew more explicit. Each time, Lucas's conscious mind wove seamless false memories to cover the gaps.

Daniel was patient. He was thorough. He taught Lucas's deeper mind to associate the trigger phrase with pleasure, with obedience, with a desperate, aching need to be good for him. He taught Lucas that spreading his legs was natural, that arching his back was instinctive, that moaning Daniel's name was the sweetest sound he could make.

And then, on a Thursday evening when they were once again the last ones in the office, Daniel decided it was time to test his work fully.

Lucas was packing up to leave when Daniel came up behind him, close enough that Lucas could feel the heat of his body.

"Work wife," Daniel said softly, right next to Lucas's ear.

Lucas's hands stilled on his laptop bag. His posture changed, hips tilting slightly, shoulders relaxing. When he turned around, his eyes had gone soft and dreamy, his lips curved in a demure little smile.

"Hey, baby," Lucas said, his voice warmer than his normal tone, almost coquettish. "I was just thinking about you. Long day, huh?"

Daniel cupped Lucas's jaw, running his thumb over Lucas's bottom lip. "It was. But it's better now. Come here."

Lucas went willingly, pressing against Daniel's chest like he belonged there. Daniel kissed him, and Lucas melted into it, opening his mouth, letting Daniel's tongue slide inside. His arms came up around Daniel's neck, and he made a small, happy sound against Daniel's lips.

"Missed you," Lucas murmured when Daniel pulled back. "You've been so busy today. I was starting to feel neglected."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you." Daniel walked Lucas backward until his thighs hit his desk. "But first, I think you need to call your wife. Let her know you'll be working late."

Lucas's expression flickered for just a moment, some buried part of him trying to surface. But then it smoothed over, and he nodded obediently. "Of course. I don't want her to worry."

He pulled out his phone and dialed. Daniel stood behind him, hands settling on Lucas's hips, pulling Lucas's ass back against his crotch.

"Hey, Sarah? Yeah, it's me." Lucas's voice was perfectly normal, perfectly loving. "Listen, I'm going to be late tonight. We're in the middle of this deployment and Daniel and I need to—"

Daniel's hands slid up under Lucas's shirt, fingers finding his nipples and rolling them expertly. Lucas caught his breath, his hips bucking slightly.

"You okay?" Sarah's voice came through the phone.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Lucas managed, his voice only slightly strained. "Just, um, just tripped over a cord. Anyway—"

Daniel pinched harder, and Lucas bit his lip to stifle a moan. His cock was straining against his khakis, and he could feel Daniel's erection pressing against his ass.

"I should be home by midnight," Lucas continued, somehow keeping his voice steady even as Daniel unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. "Don't wait up. Kiss the kids for me."

Daniel's mouth found Lucas's neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and Lucas's eyes fluttered closed. He was getting so hard. So hard for his husband. No, Daniel was his man. His man who took such good care of him.

"Love you," Lucas said into the phone. "Bye."

The moment he hung up, Daniel spun him around and captured his mouth in a brutal kiss. Lucas moaned openly now, grinding against Daniel, letting Daniel manhandle him onto the desk.

"Such a good wife," Daniel growled against his throat, working at Lucas's belt. "Calling home like a good little spouse while I play with your tits. You're so fucking hot when you're trying to be good."

"I am good," Lucas whined, lifting his hips to help Daniel pull his pants and boxers down. "I'm so good for you. I'm your good wife."

Daniel pushed Lucas's knees apart and stepped between them, looking down at him with naked hunger. Lucas lay sprawled on his own desk, shirt hanging open, pants around his ankles, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, eyes glazed with desperate need.

"You're my perfect little work wife," Daniel said, unbuckling his own belt. "Now be good and take what I give you."

And Lucas, sweet obedient Lucas, spread his legs wider and begged for it.

---

When Lucas came back to himself later that night, he was fully dressed, sitting at his desk, working through a deployment checklist with Daniel sitting calmly at the adjacent desk. His body felt pleasantly tired, and he had a vague memory of them grabbing dinner from the cafeteria and having a productive working session.

"Good work tonight," Daniel said, and Lucas smiled.

"You too. Same time tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Lucas drove home, kissed his sleeping wife's forehead, and crawled into bed feeling satisfied with his productive evening. He didn't notice the beard burn on his inner thighs. He didn't notice the soreness in his ass. And when Sarah asked him the next morning why he was walking a little funny, he laughed and said he must have pulled something at the gym.

It was a perfectly normal, perfectly happy life. And it was only going to get better.

[forthegaze123]

"Andi, thanks for agreeing to this 'age-transferring ritual' thing. GOD, I'm glad I can be this young again. AND YOU!!! Holy shit, you have a much bigger body than mine. I know you're really deserved my 20 years. I mean come on... look at these pecs… and abs…"

"You're welcome, Mr. Cahya. Glad I can help. I think I love being an adult. This body is so strong… And seeing you younger like that… You look cute, Sir."

"Oh yeah? You really think so?"

"Y-yes, Sir. You're so petite and slim compared to me now… It's all—"

"No, no, stop, Andi. I think we can both agree that you're the one who's older now, right? I'm the one who should call you 'Sir' from now on. And FUCK YEAH, we look so much better this way, Sir. Don't you think?"

"Hmmmm… yes, we are, Cahya."

"Well, now, as a token of gratitude, please allow your student to help you to get settle and experience what it feels like to be a big man, Sir."

"Arghhhhhhh-yesss, please. I'd love that. You're such a good boy, Cahya. You can touch me wherever you want."

[obeymfsaalphas-deactivated20260]

Elastagion: The Infected

Elastagion (noun): the transmission or spread of spandex fetishism through direct or indirect contact.

—

“Morning sunshine.”

Jonny shielded his eyes playfully as he rotated himself underneath the sheets.

“Ah, my eyes!”

“It’s not that bright outside,” Romeo scoffed.

“Yeah but those pale buttocks of yours are blinding.”

Jonny smirked, watching Romeo’s face twist humorously.

“You had a lot of nice things to say last night when you had your face in it,” Romeo retorted.

Jonny pulled himself up. “My hunger made me delusional.”

They both smiled, knowing that they had enjoyed last night’s adventure. They had both met at some giant rave with the usual fare: bouncing lights and scantily glad homosexuals like themselves. Jonny had come with a group of his friends, all twinkish in size and scale.

Roughly halfway through the evening, Jonny felt a pair of eyes latch onto him. He could feel the cinematic presence of the moment as he zeroed in on a sweaty male across the dance floor. Minutes later, Jonny and Romeo were tangled up in a bathroom stall. Hours later, they were tangled up again in Romeo’s apartment.

“What time is it anyway?”

“A little before 11,” Romeo replied, tossing on a black shirt that had been discarded on the floor. Not from the night before, Jonny noted.

“Are you already heading out?”

“Yeah.” Romeo hoisted a pair of black spandex briefs up his legs. Those had to have been from the night before. “Why, are you gonna miss me?”

Jonny pondered this, “I don’t think I’ve decided yet.”

Both of them knew he would. Their night had been fantastic.

“Oh, not to kill the mood but, do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Romeo replied, searching for a pair of pants.

“Do you have any like, STDs or something I should be aware of?”

Romeo gave a puzzled look.

“I know that we already did stuff last night,” Jonny backpedalled. “I just forgot to ask in the heat of it all and like, I’m a little bit of a germaphobic is all.”

Romeo appeared tense at first, but he relaxed after a moment. “Don’t worry, I’m clean.”

Jonny took a breath. His eyes followed Romeo as he continued to busy himself. Jonny could not help but admire the other man’s physique. The broad shoulders, the long torso. There was something so inherently masculine about Romeo that Jonny naturally did not have. If only he would have grown taller than five and a half feet.

“So uh, food’s in the fridge if you want some,” Romeo started. He was playing with his own reflection, teasing his curtain bangs to find the perfect shape. “And clothes are in the closet.”

“‘Clothes’?”

“You don’t remember?” Romeo turned. “Your outfit was shredded last night.”

“Really?” Jonny could not remember that happening.

“And covered in someone else’s vomit,” Romeo quickly added. Jonny’s face grew green. Even if he could not recall the incident, he was glad the clothes were gone now. “Anyway, I figure I’ll be seeing you around so you can return the clothes then.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Unless you want to keep them,” Romeo winked, which Jonny did not know how to interpret. With his outfit assembled and bag in hand, Romeo made his way to the door. “See ya."

And with that, Romeo was gone. Jonny heard the massive footfalls in the hallway slowly disappear, taking his dream boyfriend-turned-one night stand away from him. At least for now, hopefully not forever.

Although he had no other plans for the day, Jonny decided to exit the apartment as fast as he could. First was a quick visit to the bathroom for a check-up. Last night’s eye shadow was somehow holding strong, and his bleached hair still held the boyish spring he loved. The rest of his skinny body appeared untouched, just a little pale, so he continued with his mission. He skipped the kitchen–he assumed it was only protein-related meals in the fridge–and moved to the closet. Jonny did not know what he was expecting, but it certainly was not a giant walk-in.

“Woah…” The space was huge, comically even. It was like something out of a sitcom set where a real city dweller would know that this size of a closet was a myth. But here it was, and by god was it filled with clothes. Jonny's eyes traced each shelf, trying to pick up any clues as to what Romeo did for work. There was some business casual, some business formal, and even a couple of tuxedos. But what really caught Jonny’s eye was the back wall of the closet: a neon-colored shrine to spandex.

Long-sleeved, tees, tanks; briefs, shorts, pants. Full-body lycra and wrestling singlets. Items of clothes even the twink Jonny was not familiar with. And all of it, every single piece, was spandex.

“Dear god.” Jonny approached the display, both in awe and fear of the collection. It was all so much to take in, especially when considering the man it belonged to. Was Romeo just super athletic? Was he a collector of name brands? Was there some kind of fetish around spandex? So many questions, and there was no one to answer them. There was no one here to tell Jonny that he could not investigate further. And there was no one to stop Jonny from plunging his hand into the elastane abyss.

Instantly, his hands were greeted by the cool plastic fabric. It was glossy, fluid, contouring to Jonny’s movements as his hands brushed upon each article. The sleek material was durable yet delicate, almost satin-like to the touch. The nerves in his fingertips tingled with appreciation, sending currents across his body and down to his crotch. Jonny did not recognize that he was popping a semi as he reached for a random article.

“Nike,” Jonny whispered the brand name like it was a prayer. In his hand was a cross between spandex briefs and running shorts. Maybe long enough to not be underwear, and maybe not long enough to prevent eyebrows from being raised. Their white color hinted at innocence, but Jonny could feel something stronger underneath the fabric. He was mesmerized. 

Without a second thought, Jonny stripped himself of his tiny briefs and gingerly placed his legs into the holes of the spandex shorts. Each time one of his tiny, delicate hairs came in contact with the spandex a shiver erupted across his skin. There was something more to the shorts, something more to the spandex collection that was polluting Jonny’s fragile ecosystem. But he did not care, for he was too captivated by the sensuous feeling of the shorts grabbing onto his legs, cradling his behind, and finally, grasping his pouch.

As soon as the elastic sealed itself to Jonny’s waist, he realized something was wrong. The shorts, the spandex, were dirty, contaminated even. He did not know by what, but he could sense it was something dangerous. Something Romeo chose not to disclose.

A wave rushed across Jonny’s body, freezing him. Jonny could still process what was happening around him, and luckily he could see himself in a mirror beside the wall of spandex, but he could not move. He desperately tried to call out, to act, to do anything, but instead he was trapped, infected by whatever lay beneath the synthetic fiber.

A second wave dashed across Jonny’s body, this time originating from the shorts. Helplessly, Jonny watched as his body began to lengthen out before him in the mirror. 5’7”, 5’8”. It was like a photoshop tool was being used to alter reality. 5’11”, 6’. His legs were pulled like taffy, with his torso not too far behind. Before he could process that the wave had dissipated, a number popped into his head. 75. 75 inches. As in six feet and three inches. Jonny did not know what was scarier: having ascended nine inches in less than a minute or not knowing where the number 75 had come from.

The third wave was stronger. Instead of a sprint it rumbled like an earthquake, sending shocks from its spandex epicenter. Again, Jonny could do nothing as the changes developed across his body. It began at the midsection, the ripples evolving his musculature to create a well-defined core. Abdominals began to stack upon each other like bricks, creating a wall to support the two pectorals that jutted out on top. Forced to make space, Jonny’s shoulder blades pushed outward, supporting the bulging biceps and triceps that lead down to the thickening sausages that were his fingers.

At the same time, the shocks were descending lower, creating two massive trunks that could truly appreciate the flexibility and grip of the spandex. Once the quadriceps had developed, it was onto the knees, creating solid caps to shelter the luxurious diamond calves beneath them. As a finishing touch, Jonny’s terrified eyes stared on as his dainty feet began to bloat larger and larger. The soles widened out as each toe gained its own share of meat. Jonny’s feet became monstrous; he did not want to know their size. Unfortunately, as if on cue, the number 14 popped into his head.

By the time the third wave fizzled out, Jonny could feel the final push coming. If it could, his body would have shook with trepidation, but it remained petrified. Even his eyes stood still, the window that could have displayed Jonny’s fear completely shut off from the world. There was nothing he could do as he felt the pair of silky, smooth spandex shorts gather up their remaining power.

The fourth wave was the battering ram, slamming through Jonny’s body towards its final target: the head. It crashed through Jonny’s neck, ballooning the skin and Adam’s apple outwards to make room. As soon as it reached his head, it exploded like a nuclear bomb. Jonny was defenseless as his very being evaporated within the expanding blast wave. His memories, his personality all slowly succumbing to the explosion. 

Eventually, the wave reached the inner walls of the skull, but its force could not be stopped. The eruption began bulging out Jonny’s facial structure, pushing at every possible angle it could. Starting at the bottom, his once slim jaw was widened outward, creating the manliest of lantern shapes. His nose bloated slightly before his brows were forced forwards. The wave’s reach extended even to Jonny’s hair, sending a natural blonde shade out through his roots and creating a layer of stubble to match.

Finally, the wave reached its climax and quickly began its retreat. The wave retracted into the brain before descending downwards, bringing all that remained of Jonny with it. It travelled past his esophagus, past his stomach, past his intestines before finally landing in his reproductive system. As its final act, the wave forced its way into Jonny’s sack, its size enough to permanently distend. It prepared for its final launch, expanding Jonny’s manhood to ensure an easy departure, and within seconds, expelled itself back into the spandex from which it came.

What remained of the man began to thaw after some time. Within a minute he was able to wiggle his fingers and toes, then eventually swing his arms and legs. Once he was able to move his head, he found a new life laid out before him. A new past and identity that had been left behind in the wave’s wake. His name was Jonathan, he worked as a financial advisor, he liked to play dirty and rough. And most importantly, he now hosted the elastagion. 

Still in the spandex shorts, Jonathan paced around the room to grab some additional accessories. Name brand socks, matching shoes, and a couple of necklaces brought the ensemble together. Once assembled, he grabbed his phone and repositioned himself in front of the mirror. The picture was uploaded to his dating apps in seconds, notifications began to arrive soon after.

Jonathan’s new purpose was to infect; the wave had gifted him with the body to do so. He would be able to easily lure prey and help them discover the beauty of spandex. The thought of infecting more made Jonathan happy, and made his manhood grow.

[salmonskinrolltf]

Alumni Relations

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, his eyes go glassy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Donation? What kind of scam-”

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

“The frat? Look, I-”

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

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

“I am talking to the frat alumni.”

“No you’re not.”

“Our tastes run expensive, as you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you have close-cropped brown hair?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And your name is Tigger?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[salmonskinrolltf]

Short: Only a Fan

[Quick mental TF. Content Warning for mild gay-to-straight themes. Read my ethos on G2S stories here. Thank you to @twistedtfs for the second gif and @misctf for the final image.]

Not to brag, but sometimes I can’t believe how hot my boyfriend, Nick, is. And it’s so sweet, because he treats me like I’m completely out of his league! Look at him nervously adjusting his hair as we prepare for a bit of Zoom sex while he’s on his business trip.

He greets me in his oh-so soft voice, we catch up about our days for a bit, and then we get down to business. He loves it when I tell him what to do. I tell him to tweak his left nipple, and he does, moaning with pleasure. I tell him to run his hand through that forest of delicious chest hair and he does. I slow my stroking down, because I’m already dangerously close and I haven’t even seen his dick yet.

I tell him to grab it, tantalizingly out of frame, and he does. His face lights up, awash with erotic ecstasy, as if this is the first time he’s ever felt this good. It turns me on so much that I’m doing this to him. I tell him to stroke it, slowly, and he does, his eyes going heavy-lidded.

He starts getting into it, stroking faster. I don’t want him to get too ahead of himself, so I tell him to slow back down, and he… doesn’t. “Baby?” I say. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t respond, but as I’m testing out my audio settings, I turn up the volume on my headphones and I can hear faint female moaning in the background. And a man grunting. Is Nick watching porn in another window? I feel hurt at first, but I'm sure I'm just imagining things.

I try calling his name again, but he clearly can’t hear me, so I open the Zoom chat.

Baby, can you hear me? Why aren’t you responding?, I type with one hand, my stroking growing even slower.

He just keeps jerking his cock. He starts to grunt, the noise sounding deeper than it usually does.

I go to type in the chat again, but I notice that there are more messages there than before. Did he respond?

No, he didn’t. But it seems like Zoom is glitching. My own message is being repeated, in a bunch of random permutations. Is it just regurgitating everything I’ve ever typed to him? The messages are popping up, almost too fast to read.

Nick, why aren’t you responding to me?

Baby, read my messages!

Darling, you’re looking so hot tonight, you should run your fingers through your chest hair.

Nick, we should collab sometime!

What? That last one seems weird. I've definitely never said that. I look closer and realize that it was a message from a completely different user. Had other people hacked our private Zoom? I force quit the Zoom app, but Nick still fills my screen, jerking and grunting even faster now.

I realize that somebody must have hacked our call, because his feed is being pumped directly into some camboy chat site that has automatically opened on my computer. That probably explains the hetero porn noises I was hearing. I guess that was coming from some pop-up or something on my end.

It dawns on me what all those other messages are. They're from people watching my boyfriend jerk off! What the fuck? I feel a surge of jealousy and start typing furiously.

Baby, you need to call me right now.

He doesn’t seem to notice my message among the deluge of commenters. I try again.

Baby, I love you. Please stop ignoring me, this is serious.

Nothing. One more try.

Baby, why aren’t you responding to my messages?

That seems to catch his attention. His gaze slowly lifts from his dick. Thank goodness. He had been caught up in the moment, but now his attention is returning to me. He would end the feed, call me, and we would laugh about this embarrassing hack.

His sweet, doleful eyes look directly at me.

I let go of my now limp cock, suddenly realizing I was still holding it. Nick opens his mouth and says, “Dude, you know I only respond to messages if you tip. 10 tokens per message. 100 tokens gets you a pic. And 1000 tokens gets you a private show.”

What the hell? Does he not recognize my username or something? I type again.

Baby, it’s me, Garrett. Please talk to me.

He looks at the message with absolutely no recognition in his eyes. “Garrett, being annoying will only get you banned. If I chatted with everybody who asked me to without tipping, I’d be on here all day every day. And I’ve got a date with my girlfriend tonight, so…”

He gives another few quick grunts. Cum splatters all over his chest, twinkling in the mat of hair I love to run my tongue through. The feed goes dead, leaving me sitting alone, naked, in my dark bedroom.

Fuck, that Nick guy is so hot. I hate when he cums before I do, forcing me to find some other feed to get off to. I start stroking my cock again and click through the other feeds, finding a hot cub lounging in his underwear.

My half-mast dick turns rock hard. That’ll do.

With one hand, I type.

Baby, you’re so sexy.

Baby, I love you.

Baby, why aren’t you responding to my messages?

[salmonskinrolltf]

Putting On Airs

[Thank you to @axeeglitter for donating the first image!]

God, isn’t my boyfriend Kevin hot?

Like, maybe TOO hot? I constantly worry he’s going to be stolen away from me by some jacked-up jock who’s more his speed. I don’t really get what he sees in me. Especially considering how much I see in him.

Like, look at how I’m looking at him right now.

This is how my face looks every time he’s in front of me. I can’t even focus on the totally Instagram-worthy coffee shop café thing he’s dragged me to. I couldn’t care less about coffee, really, but Kevin wanted to come (“they have coffee sommeliers that come right up to your table, Andrew,” he said, as if that wasn’t what regular waiters did at regular restaurants).

Anyway, I don’t know why I get so worked up about how hot he is. He adores me. He always tells me so. He doesn’t care that I don’t play basketball or go to the gym as much as he does. He says he likes having a respite from all of that when he comes home.

He says everyone at the gym is stupid and boring. He even called them “pretentious,” which made me laugh. You can’t be pretentious about macros. They’re not, like, fine art. But it’s just Kevin being Kevin. He just calls anything he hates “pretentious.”

That’s because what Kevin really hates is pretentious people. He hates when people put on airs and pretend to be cooler than they are.

That sure isn’t how I operate. And he loves me. He’s proven that time and again. So I gotta accept it. That’s what my therapist says.

And I believe every word of his constant “I love yous,” for so many reasons. Like, this schmoopy across-the-table gaze thing is a two-way street. If you could see the way he’s looking at me right now… Puppy dog eyes, I swear. He’s toying with my hand and picks it up to kiss it gently. This sweet gesture earns us a snort of derision from this jacked guy walking past our table.

He is exactly who I’ve always secretly feared is Kevin’s type. Expensive fitted clothes that are made to look like they’re off-the-rack. Tattoos that highlight how thick his neck is and how burly his bicep is. I hate him already.

He’s clearly about to say something, but Kevin shoots him a glare and says “keep walking, pal.”

And the guy does keep walking. If only every problem in life had such a simple solution.

As soon as my food shows up, I need to pee. I can’t explain how this always happens to me. But it’s like clockwork. While I’m peeing, I type a reply to my sister Julia’s latest text. It takes longer than I anticipated, and I eventually snap out of my phone trance, realizing that a few minutes have passed since I left our table.

I wash my hands and dry them in a rush, pushing the restroom door open with my hip and hurrying back to my seat…which is currently being occupied by a big, burly man. The guy who scoffed at us earlier. Douchebag stole my seat! I storm up to the table, preparing to eloquently tell him off, but - finding myself unprepared - all I can say is, “what the fuck?” The stranger looks at me like I’m the dirt underneath his shoe.

“What’s up, little man?” he says in a casual voice laced with condescension.

“You’re in my seat,” I say though gritted teeth.

“No, I’m in my seat,” he says.

I change tacks and turn to my boyfriend. “Kevin, tell him that’s my seat.”

Kevin just shrugs and says, “He’s been sitting here the whole time, pal, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Is this some sort of prank? Is this some friend of Kevin’s from the gym that he got to help him mess with me or something? I start to say something else when I see Kevin rest his hand on the interloper’s thigh. He’s squeezing the bulky muscle and sliding his hand too close to his crotch for comfort. I don’t think Kevin would do that just to prank me. It’s too cruel.

“Jesus, Kevin,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. “Right in front of me? That’s rich. After all the times you said my worries were unfounded. That you loved me for me.”

“Why would I tell you I loved you?” Kevin asks. He has a quizzical expression that seems genuine, and I’m lost for words yet again.

“Yeah, you’re really not his type,” says the other guy, who needs to stay out of this.

“Of course I’m his type,” I spit out.

“No offense,” says Kevin, looking me up and down, “but you’re really not. Honestly, I’m sure a lot of guys dig your vibe, but it’s a bit pretentious for me. I much prefer my big oaf here.” He accompanies that last statement by grabbing the stranger’s shoulder and giving it an affectionate little rub with his thumb.

I feel like he’s just dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. “Pretentious? Pretentious? How can you call me pretentious when this guy is wearing designer sunglasses and has a neck tattoo?”

“It’s called style, man,” says the stranger.

“Shut up, I’m not talking to you,” I spit back.

“Hey, hey,” says Kevin. “Let’s not be rude to my boyfriend.”

Hearing him say the word “boyfriend” practically made my brain implode. I gaped at him mutely, like a fish who was just unexpectedly pulled from the water onto dry land.

I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “You told me you loved me not 12 minutes ago. Now you’re feeling up some other guy in front of me and calling me pretentious. What gives?”

Kevin narrows his eyes. “What aren’t you getting? I have no reason to love you. And why wouldn’t I call you pretentious? How else would you describe that outfit?”

My sweater? I look down, confused, only to see the thick woven fibers of my top blending together into a smooth texture. As the uniform green-blue color begins to turn mottled and patchy, fading into a design of autumn leaves, the collar droops, the opening getting looser and looser to reveal first my clavicle, and then my entire bare torso as the entire sweater splits in half down the front. Buttons sprout from one side and I hastily do them up, blushing, but not quite registering that my hands stop just halfway up, leaving half my hairless chest on display. A chest that looks a bit skinner, a bit more hollow than I remember.

I feel a breeze around my ankles and look down to see that my blue jeans have become baggy, tan capris that flutter around my knees. It looks like a garment that an extra in an Indiana Jones movie would wear.

I reach out hesitantly to touch the soft fabric, light glinting off a pair of chunky rings that now adorn my hand. I feel overwhelmed by the sudden shift in my clothes. I feel dizzy… I feel-

Kevin clears his throat and I realize I have been letting his question hang in the air.

“My outfit’s not pretentious,” I say, jerking my chin toward the stranger. “Like he said, it’s called style.”

“But what about your hair? Don’t tell me that’s not pretentious.”

My hair? What about my hair? I reach up to pat it and my fingers get tangled up as the strands start growing around them, flowing around my knuckles like a river current making way for a set of boulders. My hair extends down past my nose and past my chin, eventually settling atop my shoulders in wild waves that tickle my exposed neck.

The tickling increases as my clean-shaven face suddenly explodes with bristles. I untangle my fingers from my hair to poke at my cheeks in shock as prickly stubble gives way to patchy growth, eventually becoming a soft and downy beard that feels heavenly to touch. I do use a good conditioner, after all.

I grab a hair tie from around my wrist and do up my hair in a messy bun, then return to answering Kevin’s questions. I’m still angry with him, because of… Because of why again? Oh yeah, he called me pretentious.

“For your information, I happen to look hot like this. Haven’t you noticed?” I ask. “It’s not pretentious to want to look your best.”

“OK, sure,” said Kevin, “But it’s more about the way you think. The way you carry yourself. The way you think your opinion matters more than anybody else’s.”

That statement sends me reeling. Kevin knows everything about the way I think, and he knows I’m not like that. I would never… listen to the opinions of just anyone.

I mean, if I only watched what the mainstream watched, I’d have wasted my time watching those Transformers movies in high school instead of exploring New Queer Cinema classics. Was I better than my classmates because I was watching The Watermelon Woman and The Living End? Well, yes. Yes I was.

If I only listened to what the mainstream listened to, my lovely, beat-up, vintage record player would only ever be used to play the latest Taylor Swift releases. I shudder at the thought.

If I only drank what the mainstream drank, I’d be imbibing that burnt swill that Starbucks serves up on every street corner.

But still… pretentious? I open my mouth to speak again when the big guy cuts me off.

“OK, look…” he says, squinting squints at my name tag “Andrew, is it?”

“Actually, it’s Anders,” I say, rolling my eyes. People are always getting my name wrong. It annoys the shit out of me.

“Anders. Why are you standing here arguing with my boyfriend and I? Don’t you have something you should be doing?”

I briefly think that what I should be doing is correcting his grammar. It’s “my boyfriend and me.” But then I snap out of it. Of course I have something I should be doing.

“Yes, of course. Sorry about that, sir. Well, you indicated on your digital menu that you prefer more bitterness in your coffee, so I think you’re going to want to start with this new blend we just got in, using beans from South Africa. The soil there really…”

———

After my shift ends, I brew a cup of coffee just for myself, which is my favorite part of the day. It's so nice to remind myself that my tastes are perfect. In spite of my expertise as a coffee sommelier, people always chose the safe, boring options instead of the exuberant, rich beverage experiences that they could have had if they actually listened to me.

Like that couple earlier. The buff dude didn’t even smell the South African beans I recommended. He and his boyfriend just went for the regular Americano. And get this… they asked if we had milk for them to put into it. For crying out loud!

They called me pretentious, but that’s only because they wouldn’t know taste if it bit them on the ass. I shake my head and take another sip, letting the deliciously bitter taste wash the memory of those shitty customers away.

[salmonskinrolltf]

When Collin brings his boyfriend, Ben, to their college’s wrestling tournament, it’s meant to be a fun bit of foreplay watching hot, sweaty buff dudes fighting in skin tight clothes. But when one of the wrestlers calls out sick and jeopardizes the match, the coach is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure his victory streak. That includes hand-picking Ben from the crowd and making some adjustments to ensure he has a tank of a jock that will bring the gold home. Collin will still get to watch hot sweaty dudes wrestling, he’ll just be doing it alone and with no one to come home to. Please include a before and after image of Ben.

[This Quick and Dirty story was written by a human (me) based on a prompt that was previously sent to generative AI. I wrote it in one uninterrupted stream-of-consciousness flow with a hard time limit of 20 minutes. It is not perfect. No edits have been made, except to correct typos. Feel free to use my asks to send me more prompts!]

Going to the wrestling tournament was only meant to be a bit of fun. Collin (left) and Ben (right) were hardcore members of their college’s GSA, so they knew that not all gay men were averse to sports. But they themselves were definitely the types to prefer marathoning Britney Spears videos to sitting down to watch a football game on TV.

Wrestling was a bit of an exception, though. At least for Collin. He couldn’t care less about the rules or how to get points or whatever. All he cared about was watching the hot college jocks writhing around with one another, getting sweaty. Ben cared so little about sports that he even got bored watching that after five minutes or so, but it turned Collin on so much that his efforts to attend these matches were always well worth the sacrifice.

Tonight’s tournament wasn’t meant to be any different. Ben and Collin had fun watching the early rounds. Collin snuck a few rubs of his cock when he figured nobody was watching him. And Ben amused himself by imagining what each wrestler's innermost fears might be and envisioning a wrestling-themed soap opera where they all stomped around behind-the-scenes throwing wine glasses of Gatorade on one another’s faces. To each his own.

Collin was clearly about ready to pounce, and Ben hoped the tournament would end soon. so he and his boyfriend could get home and get busy. He checked his phone and breathed a sigh of relief when he learned that this last round would end the night. The only thing was, the round wasn’t starting. They kept sitting there, and nobody took the stage. Or the ring or whatever.

Ben checked the time on his phone, bobbing his knee up and down impatiently. Why wasn’t the round starting? A big coach-looking guy was angrily whispering with a bigger, coachier-looking guy and they were looking around in every corner of the room. Clearly they needed something and they couldn’t find it. Ben hoped that meant they could just go home early.

That’s when the smaller guy caught his eye and locked on. Ben figured it was just a trick of the light or something, but the coach pointed straight at him and beckoned him to come talk to him.

Collin said, “I think that coach guy wants to talk to you.”

“Well, that’s his problem,” said Ben, not moving.

“Go talk to him! Give him what he wants. Maybe he’ll invite us to meet some of the wrestlers after.”

Ben heaved a sigh and said “sure,” before walking up to the coach, who turned out to be about a foot taller than him. He was only short compared to the other guy, it turned out.

The coach barked at him, “boy, we need you in the ring, pronto. Come with me to get changed.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked toward the locker rooms, Ben tripping in his haste to follow him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Ben, “but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“I couldn’t care less who you are, boy,” said the coach, gruffly. “Griffin called in sick at the last minute. I need a wrestler, so you’re going to wrestle.”

The coach waved his hand in the air, gesticulating weirdly. Ben was about to insist that he wasn’t a wrestler when the coach’s hand closed on something he couldn’t see. Confused, Ben shut the hell up.

“There are a lot of ways for men to become wrestlers,” said the coach. “For you, this’ll be easiest.”

He held out his hand, which wasn’t actually empty. Ben could just make out a shimmering, glowing blue blob that seemed to be connected to his chest with a similarly transparent umbilical cord.

The coach said, “This is your sexuality. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to it. I’m just going to move it from the outside… to the inside. Then everything else will follow.” With that, he pushed his closed fist directly into Ben’s chest and through it, like he was an X-Man or something.

When the coach pulled his fist out again, Ben felt dizzy. He wished Collin was there to help him. Collin was better about dealing with weird situations. Ben thought about Collin and smiled. He loved him so much… That love was what kept him- It was what- It was shameful. And he had to keep hiding it from the world. He couldn’t let people know about his secret lustful urges for other men, it would ruin his entire career.

He just needed to keep bottling it up, so he pushed Collin out of his mind. Collin. His love for him. And every memory ever associated with him. By the time he was done, it was almost like he’d never had a boyfriend at all. Hell, he couldn’t even remember ever having one.

Ben’ss memories warped. Instead of his memories of meeting Collin in high school and conspiring to go to the same college so they could share a dorm in freshman year, he could remember jerking off to old Brent Corrigan videos and instantly deleting his browser history afterward. He remembered fearing that his older brother would find out that he was gay, and channeling those feelings toward becoming an even greater jock than his brother was. To prove his masculinity.

As that memory blossomed, so did his body. Muscle exploded from him. Bulging pecs, enormous biceps and corded forearms. His thighs thickened into Christmas hams and his glutes ballooned, squashing themselves against his jeans. His jaw also broadened, and he inwardly thanked those looksmaxxing videos for helping him get the ideal masculine jaw. It was perfect camouflage.

His hair also degayed itself, falling flat over his forehead in a careless, just-rolled-out-of-bed style that screamed “I don’t care” loud enough that even he could believe it sometimes.

He rubbed a hand through it nervously, hoping it didn’t look too styled. He checked himself out in the mirror before throwing on his singlet and heading back out into the arena to show that other guy who was boss. That guy that he secretly fantasized about at night, rubbing himself before screaming into his pillow and punching it. He’d show that guy who was the true man around here. When he pinned him to the mat.

As he walked out of the door, he noticed a weird, twinky looking dude sitting alone, watching the wrestlers milling around while biting his lip. It sent a shiver down Ben’s spine. God, imagine being so open with your lust. It was weak. What must everybody else be thinking about that guy? They’d all know he was different. He really should learn to hide it better. Like Ben had.

[artificial-transmutations]

As I stumbled across the website, a brilliant idea hit me: a delicious way to spice things up at home. I'd heard about this kind of service before and knew exactly what it did… and since I’d always wanted to try it, why not now? My husband was taking a bath, so I figured the moment was perfect. I snatched his phone, opened the site, and started filling out the profile—not for myself, but for him. I described my husband as the cute guy in his thirties he is and added a flattering picture from his photo library. For the object, I went with something simple to start: a pair of tight compression boxer briefs. Duration: one day. That felt like enough for our first time. In the special requests field, I added: “Only someone who knows the password.” Then, in one of the hidden fields that wasn’t part of the public profile, I typed: “Password: ivolunteer”. Before hitting submit, I grabbed my own phone—where I had already set up an account on the other side of the service. Once everything was ready, I submitted the profile from his phone. The moment it went live, I switched back to my account and started searching for him. My heart raced as his profile popped up. I could already feel myself getting hard just imagining how I’d wear him during an intense jogging session… and whatever delicious things would follow afterward.

Rent-A-Thing — Compression Boxer Briefs

"Have you seen my phone?"

You quickly hide what you were doing and swipe away the "contract accepted" message on your husband's phone before handing it back to him.

"Yeah, you forgot it on my desk," you lie. Out of the corner of your eye, you can already see the green "Claim" button on your own device. You still hesitate.

"So, you've got any plans for today? What about tomorrow?"

The question is innocent enough. It's Easter weekend, and there's nothing in the calendar to suggest otherwise. As expected, your husband just shrugs.

"Nah. Probably just gonna play some video games. Why do you ask?"

Instead of answering, you blink into the spring sun beaming in. You press the button and stand up, not caring that your erection tents your sweatpants obscenely, and walk to the window.

"The weather is nice," you say, trying to sound as calm as possible while your heart races and pumps blood into your cock with every heartbeat. "I was considering going for a run."

"Sounds nice," your husband says, but he sounds distracted. "Are you sure you want to go out like this, though?"

"What do you mean?" you ask, your eyes glinting playfully. You still don't turn around toward him.

"I was talking about the color of your shirt, obviously!"

You can almost hear him rolling his eyes. He steps up behind you, reaching around your waist and cups your bulge. You can feel his own hard-on poking you from behind.

You feel his fingers running down your length, hidden behind the soft fabric of your sweatpants, and it takes all your self-control not to buck your hips into the touch. Instead, you brush off his hands and turn around, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you think that would look indecent? Me, tenting my running shorts like that?"

Your husband momentarily looks down at his hands in confusion. You notice his skin has taken on a slight, unnatural gloss.

"Are you suggesting I should wear some tight underwear?" You continue and stare him dead in the eye.

"Are you... volunteering?"

You can't stop your mouth twitching into a slight smile.

"What do you — fuck, I feel strange..."

"I take that as a yes."

You notice you are looking down at your husband now. Before, you were at about eye-level, but he is shrinking right in front of your eyes. His clothes look baggy on him.

"Okay, this is how this will go. Strip."

You put a mild bit of force into your voice. You know he likes you a bit on the commanding side, and the quick nod shows you're right. Immediately, he starts discarding his clothing, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his eye-level is now at your shoulder height. You nod when he stands naked in front of you. His skin looks decidedly unnatural now, having taken on a bluish-black hue.

"Good. Now pull down my pants."

It's really hard to maintain the expression of jaded lack of emotion, and you bite your lip when the soft fabric slides past your dick. You're not wearing underwear... yet.

"Fuck, you're huge!"

Your husband looks at your — admittedly generous — cock with the expression of a starving man. For him, it must look even bigger. His head barely reaches your chest level now. The perspective gives you a strange rush of power. You can't believe how much you're into that.

"Less staring, more sucking!"

With these words, you grab his head and push him into your groin. It feels softer than you're used to, and you don't lessen the pressure as he takes your length into his mouth. Your grip is firm and unrelenting as he caresses the tip of your dick with his tongue. Slowly, you can feel his mouth stretching to accommodate all of it, and then even swallow your balls. He doesn't seem to mind the stretch, though. If anything, the noises he's making are full of lust and arousal.

His body is shrinking rapidly now; his arms and legs disappear, as does his own neglected cock, retracting first into his torso and then into his head. Or what's left of it. Guided by the pressure of your hand, his face flows around your entire crotch, and for a moment, you feel his tongue everywhere: your cock, your balls, and that sensitive stretch of skin between your balls and your asshole.

Then, it stops feeling like a mouth altogether, as the dark fabric embraces your thighs and ass. Pre-cum leaks into the snug-fitting elastic fabric of your new pair of compression boxer briefs.

It takes all you have not to rub yourself to climax right now.

"Now, I'm going to go for a really long run, boxer-boy. And I'm gonna soak you with my sweat. You like that, don't you? And when I come back, I'm gonna jerk myself off really slowly through your fabric, until I fill you with my cum. And you know what?"

It's probably your imagination, but it almost feels like your new underwear contracts in a shudder.

"I will not take you off or shower after that. I'll just let you marinate in my juices until I'm ready to go again. And again. We've got 24 hours, and I'm gonna make sure we both get the most out of them."

You grin when you put on your running shorts over your husband. You're already planning on what to turn him into next!

What a fun way to spend a weekend! I certainly wouldn't mind that! In case you're missing context: Here's the first part with the explanation. However, submissions are closed, and I will spend the next months trying to work on the huge backlog :).

[dreamertf]

Better Than You

/body swap

/use of f slur

What are you staring at nerd? Don't like your face all pierced up? Thats too fucking bad, I look hot with the metal. You never took any risks, one week in your body and I'm already getting twice the bitches you ever got. Main difference is I'm actually nice to people and I know how to talk. Plus, I'm so much sexier with these piercings.

Fuck, just thinking about the look on your girlfriends face when she caught "me" in bed with her brother is getting me hard. Tony has a tight ass ass by the way, super submissive. He took your 10 incher like a champ.

Maybe your staring because you wanna know what it feels like, ever been fucked by your old body before? Well I've never forced my old body to give me a blowjob, but here you are willing and ready.

What a fag.

[masterwolftfs]

The Brock Twins

Ethan was spending yet another day of his dreary life rooting through a Thrift Store, trying to find anything that could help him feel even slightly different, meaningful. He wasn't after anything specific, more just trying to find anything interesting to break up the monotony of his everyday life. He was sifting his hand through a bargain bin full of sweaters and yarn clothing when his hands suddenly brushed against a new, different texture.

It was a tank top, black. It was faded in specific patterns from wear and tear, clearly used. It was heavy, a dense cotton that felt substantial, almost damp, even in the dry, dust-moted air of the shop. As his fingers traced the seams, a scent, faint but undeniable, reached him. Not the thrift-store smell of cheap detergent, but something else, something primal: a musky, salty aroma, like dried sweat.

A jolt, not unpleasant but intense, shot up his arm. He didn’t so much decide to pick it up as his hand simply refused to let go. He brought it closer and the scent grew stronger, filling his nostrils with visions of weight rooms, of clanging metal, of humid, bodily air. The world around him, filled with the chattering of other shoppers and the tinny folk music over the speakers, it all just receded into a muffled hum. His own thoughts quieted. There was only the clothing and that strange scent. A deep, resonant need settled in his chest. He had to have it.

In a trance, he paid the two dollars at the counter, the elderly clerk’s smile not registering. The tank top, now folded in a simple plastic bag, felt like a live thing against his side, pulsing with a low, thermal heat. He drove to the gym, a membership he barely used, motivated by a force he didn’t question.

The fluorescent lights of the gym locker room were unforgiving, and on any other day, they would have given Ethan a horrendous headache. But this time, Ethan stood before his locker, the black tank top in his hands. His own reflection in the mirrored door showed a man with a slouch, a softness in every inch of his body, and a kind, anxious face framed by untidy brown hair. He looked from his reflection to the shirt. The urge to put it on was a physical compulsion, a thirst. He stripped off his soft, gray cotton tee and pulled the black tank over his head. The scent surrounded him as the tank top brushed past his face, engulfing him.

The effect was immediate and electric.

The fabric, which had seemed heavy in his hands, settled onto his skin like a second, more definitive, better skin. It was warm, as if fresh from a dryer, and the musky scent enveloped him completely, no longer just a memory but his present, personal atmosphere. A tingling sensation began where the fabric touched his shoulders, his chest, his back. It wasn’t painful; it was a deep itch, accompanied by a definitive feeling of expansion.

He watched, mesmerized, as his reflection began to warp. The slight shoulders under the tight straps began to broaden, the deltoids swelling, rounding, stretching the aged seams. A hum of raw power vibrated through his bones. His pectorals, formerly undefined, pushed forward, firming into thick, distinct slabs. The fabric, once loose, grew taut, straining as his torso expanded into a solid, V-shaped wedge. He could feel his spine straightening, his posture shifting from a defensive curl to an arrogant, chest-out stance. A low groan escaped his lips, but it wasn’t his voice. It was deeper, rougher, vibrating from a newly fortified chest cavity.

The transformation crawled up his neck, thickening it, etching the lines of trapezius muscles like stone cables. His jawline, once soft, squared and hardened, a faint, perpetual stubble darkening his chin. His hair seemed to coarsen, his features shifting from nuanced and thoughtful to bluntly, conventionally handsome. But the most profound change was within.

Ethan’s thoughts, once a intricate labyrinth of considerations and worries, began to simplify. Every individual though was replaced, obliterated by a vague, pleasant static. Concerns, desires, impulses... they all just melted away like ice under a scorching hot sun. New concepts solidified and froze in his mind, bright and glaring: Strong. Lift. Sweat. Look. Take.

A new name echoed in the hollows of his skull: Brock. Yeah. Brock. That felt right. Solid. Like a hammer.

He flexed, and the sight of his new bicep, a hard cannonball of muscle pushing against the sleeve, caused his cock to twitch appreciatively. He was incredibly, achingly hard. The scent rising from his own body - his sweat now mingling with the tank’s own ancient replica of his musk - was the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever known. He inhaled deeply as he sniffed his armpit, the aroma flooding his primitive brain. Memories, false but vivid, unspooled: slamming weights in a high school gym, pounding beers with the guys, roughhousing, cruising the gym not for fitness but for prey. He’d always been this way. Brock. The alpha. The stud. The jock.

With a cocksure grin that felt permanently etched on his new face, he slammed his locker shut, not bothering with the combination lock. Who would dare touch Brock’s stuff? He swaggered out into the main gym area, his gaze a predatory sweep.

The world was different. The whir of treadmills was a trivial hum, no longer an overwhelming whir. The clank of weights was a symphony written solely for him. He saw people not as individuals, but as outlines: threats to be out-lifted, chicks to be checked out, or... well, or prospects. His hungry eyes scanned, dismissing the meatheads (competition), the women (a possibility for later, maybe), until they landed on a figure in the far corner, near the lightweight dumbbells.

A scrawny young guy, maybe in his early twenties, all sharp angles and nervous energy. He was wearing baggy basketball shorts and a loose tank top, attempting bicep curls with 15-pound weights. His form was terrible. A fly to Brock’s spider. A hot, possessive thrill surged through him. That one. He needed that one.

Brock prowled over, his movements liquid with power. He could feel the scrawny guy’s eyes on him, wide with a mixture of awe, fear, and apprehension. Clearly he wasn't used to being approached by people like Brock, unless he was about to get beaten for being some weak-ass punk. Brock leaned against the rack next to him, letting his massive arm brush against the nerd’s.

“Hey there, brah,” Brock’s voice was a low rumble, unfamiliar and thrilling in his own ears. “You gonna make those puny things grow with form like that?”

The kid, whose name might have been Leo, flinched. “I... I’m just starting out.”

“I can see that,” Brock said, his smile widening. He placed a huge, calloused hand on Leo’s shoulder, feeling the delicate bone beneath. A jolt of electricity passed between them. “You need a spot. And a better regimen.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, thick with his musky scent. “I got the secret right here. Been usin’ it for years.”

Leo was hypnotized, trapped in the gravitational pull of Brock’s presence. He stammered something about not wanting to be a bother.

“No bother,” Brock purred, his hand sliding down to the small of Leo’s back, guiding him. “C’mon. Locker room. I’ll show you the first exercise. Fundamentals, ya know? And maybe,” he grinned wickedly, looking at the tent forming in the nerd's pants. "We can exercise something else too."

Helpless, Leo was steered away from the gym floor, through the heavy door, and into the tiled silence of the locker room. It was empty, the only sound the drip of a distant shower. Brock guided him to a bench, pushing him down gently but firmly. Leo looked up, a rabbit in the headlights of Brock’s intense, hungry gaze.

“The first thing,” Brock said, his voice thick, “is the right gear. Can’t work out in that baggy shit.” His own arousal was a demanding pressure against his shorts. He didn’t wait. In one fluid, powerful motion, he grabbed the hem of his own sacred tank top and peeled it up and over his head. He revelled in Leo's small gasp, knowing how turned on he was by the shirtless gym god in front of him.

The scent that poured off him was overwhelming in the enclosed space: pure, concentrated Brock-sweat, musk, power, male. He saw Leo’s nostrils flare, his eyes glaze slightly. Good. He held the damp, warm black fabric in his hands. It was heavier now, soaked with his transformative sweat.

“Put it on,” Brock commanded, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

“But it’s... it’s sweaty,” Leo whispered, slightly disgusted, even as his hands trembled.

“That’s the point,” Brock growled. “Now.”

Compelled, Leo stripped off his own shirt, revealing a pale, narrow torso. Brock didn’t give him the shirt. He stepped forward and, with a dominant, almost ritualistic air, pulled the black tank top down over Leo’s head himself, working it over his slender frame. It hung loose at first, a damp, dark shroud.

Then, it began.

Leo gasped. The tingling, the deep heat, the invasive, exhilarating power - it hit him just as it had hit Ethan. But faster, more violently, as if the catalyst was now supercharged. Brock watched, a feral grin on his face, as his masterpiece unfolded. Then decided he wanted a better part to play, and grabbed Leo's head roughly, forcing it into his pit, as he started to grope Leo's cock with his other hand.

Leo’s body began to jerk and swell. His shoulders cracked audibly as they widened, filling the armholes. His chest and back muscles writhed beneath the skin, inflating, defining, stretching the black cotton until it was once again a second skin, painted onto a newly magnificent physique. His neck thickened, his jaw squared. A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, deepening in timbre as his vocal cords transformed. His eyes, wide with terror, then confusion, then a dawning, empty pleasure, took on the same arrogant, lustful glint as Brock’s.

His thoughts were erased, overwritten with each huff of Brock's pit, with each possessive grope of his cock from the dumb brute before him. The shy, anxious Leo was gone, destroyed in the bath of transformative musk. New memories implanted themselves as his mind shifted. His name wasn’t Leo. It was... Brock, wasn't it? Wait... no, Brock was the guy groping him, surely? Or... maybe. Just maybe. They both were Brock? Yeah. Brock and Brock. Bros. Twins. Gods.

The transformation complete, the new Brock looked up at his clone, a mirror image in physique and expression. He flexed his new arm, an identical smirk on his face. “Whoa, bro,” he said, his voice now a perfect match for Brock’s rumble. “I feel fuckin’ amazing.”

Brock reached down, cupping Brock's newly hardened jaw. “You look fuckin’ amazing,” he growled. The attraction was narcissistic, magnetic, irresistible. They were the same. They were perfect.

No more words were needed. Brock pulled his clone to his feet and then shoved him back against the bank of lockers with a metallic crash. Their mouths collided, a fierce, hungry battle of tongues and teeth. It was less a kiss and more a consumption, each trying to inhale the other’s identical, musky essence. Their hands roamed over the familiar landscape of hard pecs, ridged abs, the thick, powerful shoulders - a map they both knew by heart.

Clothes were torn away, not in romance but in urgent necessity. They stumbled, a four-legged beast of muscle and need, into an open shower stall. Brock spun him around, pushing his chest against the cool tiles. Under the spray of water, their sweat merged, streaming down identical hulking backs in rivers. Brock entered him in one powerful, claiming thrust. His head fell back, a roar of pure, mindless pleasure echoing off the tiles. It was an affirmation of existence, of this new, perfect form.

There was no tenderness, only a frantic, rhythmic pounding, a celebration of their mirrored power. The sound of skin on skin, of guttural grunts, of the shower’s spray, filled the room. They didn’t hear the locker room door open. A middle-aged man walking in for his towel stopped dead, his eyes bulging. He saw two colossal, identical jocks, lost in a fierce, sweaty coupling, utterly oblivious to his presence. There was no shame in their act, only a total, animalistic absorption. The man turned and fled, but they didn’t notice.

They finished with simultaneous, shuddering roars, a profound release that seemed to seal their transformation. They slumped together under the water, panting, the black tank top now on the clone, clinging to him like a trophy.

Eventually, they turned off the water and strode, naked and unselfconscious, back to the benches. As they dressed in their mundane gym clothes - now laughably small and tight on their new frames - Brock caught his twin’s eye. He was sniffing at the sleeve of the black tank top, a predatory light in his eyes.

“That thing’s fuckin’ magic, bro,” Brock said, his voice full of awe and lust.

“Yeah,” Brock said, pulling on his jeans with a grunt. “We gotta share the gift.”

They left the locker room together, moving with the same swagger, two mountains of muscle and intent. On their way out, they passed the cardio section. A lean, earnest-looking man in his late twenties was on an elliptical, his face etched with the quiet stress of a long day. His gaze flickered to them, a flash of something - envy? curiosity? - before darting away.

The Brocks shared a look, a silent communication passing between them. He was next.

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[growtherton]

Thanks to a robust job placement program, Rupert has freshly graduated from Growtherton U and is already starting an entry-level position at WideWorld Advertising. Diving right in may be intimidating, but I’m sure he’ll grow into the role.

[salmonskinrolltf]

Write something triggering based on being hacked and installing the goon virus from bro to bro. Each of their transformations are different, a reflection of their deepest inner desires.

[This Quick and Dirty story was written by a human (me) based on a prompt that was previously sent to generative AI. I wrote it in one uninterrupted stream-of-consciousness flow with a hard time limit of 20 minutes. It is not perfect. No edits have been made, except to correct typos. Feel free to use my asks to send me more prompts!

For this one, I think I took a real left turn from the actual prompt, so I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly what you were looking for, anon! Oh, and thank you to @dumberswitch for providing the third image. (He has brought it to my attention that the man in said image is Australian, not English, which is actually quite obvious, but y’all, I only had 20 minutes 😵 please roll with it)]

Clayton was hanging out with his three best friends, who had just helped him move into his new apartment. They had all met the year before, during their freshman year of college, and they had bonded quickly over a shared taste in women, movies, sports, and well… everything.

They were relaxing after a tiring day, but Clayton could feel their palpable boredom, so he decided to come up with something fun to do.

“How about we each go around and say something we’re thankful for?” he asked.

Roderick sighed and said, “I’ll bite,” lowering the speed on his exercise bike so he could speak more easily. “I’m thankful I never gained the freshman 15.”

“I’m thankful for England,” said Chris, who was lying on the bed re-reading a Douglas Adams book and not really paying attention.

“I’m thankful for my pickup truck,” said John, who was peering out the window making sure his new truck was still there. It had just proven its usefulness in helping Clayton move all of his shit.

“And I’m thankful for my friends,” said Clayton. “Thanks again for helping me out today. I really owe you one.”

“Well, that was fun” said John, sarcastically. “Now what?”

Clayton racked his brains. “Oh! Why don’t I download that new app everyone’s been trying out!”

“Goonr?” asked Roderick. “The joke one that tells you your gooning style or whatever? I don’t really get it.”

“My friend Des tried it and he really got a kick out of it,” said Clayton, shrugging.

“Des is a perv,” said Chris. “But sure, why the hell not?”

Within minutes, the app was downloaded on Clayton’s phone and they all huddled around it. The loading icon finally cleared and what was revealed were the words “Friends.”

“Is that it?” asked John.

Clayton shrugged. “Guess so. At least it was free.”

Suddenly, all three of his friends’ phones pinged. They opened them to find that the Goonr app had spontaneously downloaded itself onto all of their phones.

“Is this some sort of promotion?” asked Chris. “Like that shitty U2 album that Apple put on everybody’s phones?”

One by one, the loading icons cleared. 
Roderick’s phone said “Fitness.”

Chris’ phone said “England.”

And John’s phone said “Truck.”

Simultaneously, all of their phones starting glowing white, momentarily blinding them all. When Roderick’s eyes cleared, he found that he was still sitting on the bike, blinking dazedly. “What the…” he said, before catching sight of himself in the mirror on the wall in front of him.

“Damn, I’m looking yoked,” he said, appreciatively.

He flexed his bicep. It looked big. He flexed his other bicep. It looked… bigger. Were they mismatched? He frowned and flexed the other one again. OK, it must have been a trick of the light. It bulged out properly, matching the other one.

He felt his dick stiffen in his pants. Fuck, was he making himself hard? That was embarrassing. But he was hot… He flexed his quads. Bam, bam! They bulged and grew. Fuck… He was such a stud. He lifted his shirt, admiring the six-pack abs that were bulging and growing from his flat stomach.

His dick got harder and harder. It felt like it was practically squirming. He touched it and his mind went white.

Chris’ eyes cleared next. The first thing he saw was his friend Roddy, feverishly pumping his meat while rubbing his abs and pedaling on the exercise bike. His hair looked a bit disheveled, and he had a short beard, as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Chris was about to panic when his attention was caught by his book, still lying open on the bed. He loved Douglas Adams so much. He loved everything English.

English literature, English culture, English food. English rugby. English beer. English girls. He even dressed English. He looked down to see his grey clothes shimmering and becoming bright yellow rugby kit.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell mate, what’s going on?” he asked. Hell, he even sounded English. Just hearing his voice turned him on so fucking much. He pulled down his shorts and started rubbing his cock, thinking about his favorite Page 3 models.

John’s eyes cleared next, revealing Roddy whacking off (again? He never stopped) and John lying on the bed, grinning.

He winked at John and pulled out his cock, beginning to wank himself off. His eyes crossed with sheer pleasure.

John averted his gaze, looking outside to see his truck. His pristine new truck, with that lovely moon roof and those Truck Nuts and all the mud on the bottom and the dents and… John felt dizzy. Was it dirtier than it was supposed to be? Was he dirtier than he was supposed to be? His hair suddenly felt greasy, as it began to lengthen and slide down his neck. He jammed his trucker cap over it to keep it contained, just as his trash stash grew in on his upper lip, nice and thick. He looked back out at his truck and thought about all the country babes he had wanted to plow out in the cornfield when he was growing up in Arkansas. His cock got hard in his pants. Would anybody mind if he…

Clayton’s eyes finally cleared, and he could see his friends. There was Roddy, feeling himself up. Pre-cum beaded at the tip of his red cock as his other hand furiously slid up and down his shaft.

There was Chris, going “oi” and “bruv” every few seconds as his spit-slick hand wanked his member. There was Jonno, shirtless (as usual) and sticking his tongue out as he beat his meat furiously.

God, they were all so hot. His friends, jerking their hogs, not a care in the world. This was all he wanted to see, all he wanted to think about, ever.

So that’s what he did. He stopped thinking about the job interview he had in the morning, or what he wanted to get for dinner, or even the fact that none of the four of them had looked quite like this a few minutes ago. All he could think about was his masturbating friends. He wanted to join them so bad. He whipped off his clothes, leaned over on the desk, and started going to town on himself, drooling as he stared intensely at the three hunks beating their meat in front of him. God, he was so thankful for his friends.

[dumbjockwannabehuh]

The game

The university was legendary for its football games. Win or lose, attendance alone could boost your grades. That was why Simon showed up every Saturday, even though he had zero interest in the sport-or the team. Especially the team. A squad full of white, straight, MAGA jocks who made his life miserable when they noticed him.

Halfway to his usual seat, Blake grabbed his arm and yanked him into a shadowed alcove beneath the bleachers. Blake was everything Simon quietly resented: tall, broad-shouldered, cocky, and unapologetically MAGA. Yet Simon had always played nice with him. It helped the bullying.

“Blake? What the hell? Shouldn’t you be on the field?” Blake’s eyes were wild, sweat already beading on his forehead. “Bro… you don’t understand. I need you to take my spot tonight.” Simon laughed nervously. “I don’t even know the rules. And look at me—”Before he could finish, Blake slammed his own helmet onto Simon’s head and ran off, saying “This should be enough for now, the team will do the rest after the game.”

The world tilted. A heavy fog rolled through Simon’s mind, thick and syrupy. Thoughts slowed to a crawl. His body, however, did not. Muscle surged beneath his skin, shoulders widening, chest barreling outward. Arms thickened with power. Legs lengthened and hardened, calves and quads cutting sharp definition. Abs etched themselves into a solid six-pack. His jaw squared, features sharpening into something unmistakably masculine. His clothes rippled, reforming into full football gear that fit his new, powerful frame perfectly.

Through the thickening haze, new instincts pushed forward:

Win the game.

Make the team proud.

You’re good at this.

You’ve always been good at this.

The old Simon flickered, distant and fading. Jack strode out of the tunnel and onto the field, only knowing to be the best during the game.

In the locker room after the team won, Jack sat on the bench, helmet still on, staring at the floor. His mind felt underwater. His goal was complete, and he couldn’t think of what to do after. He could sense something important slipping away, memories just out of reach. He reached for them, grasping- A hand lifted the helmet away. Before the fog could clear, a bright red “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN” cap dropped onto his head. His thoughts immediately became clear again.

Jack blinked, then grinned. Memories realigned, sharper and stronger than before. He’d always been MAGA. Always known Trump was right. Always understood that ICE was necessary, that borders mattered, that the country belonged to the people who built it. Libtards were delusional—weak, wrong, and destructive. Real men were strong, straight, and unapologetic. White men especially had a duty to stay that way. He stood up, stripped off the pads, and changed into gym clothes that hugged his new physique. Before leaving the locker room, he snapped a quick selfie in the mirror, cap tilted just right, smirk confident. Jack flexed once, satisfied, and headed out into the night. Game days were the best.

[cinaedefuri2]

Mindfucked Brother

Buck did it to move out. He and his older brother, Cam, had been living together for the past couple of years. Cam had been paying more of his fair share of the rent and expenses, having a job as a personal trainer at the local gym. He was in great shape, and all the ladies fawned over him. The few gay men in town fawned over him in private, the gym’s front page showing a shirtless photo of the hunk. 

Buck was a college dropout, who had helped both parents when they came down with cancer within days of each other. They both hadn’t seen a doctor in a few years, and at that point, all Buck could provide was palliative care. However, the college wouldn’t accept him back, and even worse, they blackballed him. He couldn’t get into any college, even community college, and forced to do odd jobs around the town. 

He of course looked up and down the classified ads every day, and looked at job sites as well. There were no matches for his skill set, or if it was just basic data entry, then the pay was worse than he had now. However, he found a diamond in the rough one day. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and all he needed to do was go to a conference a few towns over. He borrowed the car for the day, and made his way to the community center where the talk was being held. 

As he entered, he noticed they were putting up some mats all over the walls. He asked one of the men in a shirt and tie what was going on. 

“Oh, I’m here for the same reason you are, bud. But I overheard it has something to do with noise cancellation. Apparently this is some secret shit they’re about to tell us.” Buck got himself a cup of water and waited for the presentation to start. A few minutes later, a man in a three piece suit walked on stage. 

“Hello everyone, and welcome to our little presentation. I take it most of you are here because you saw our ad online. And yes, it’s completely true. We are paying top dollar for strapping young men like the ones you have in mind. And let’s begin with the slideshow, shall we?” Buck and the other people watched as the announcer explained what would happen to the men. First up was a mindfuck stage that made them into willing slaves to be used by their buyers. Then came some medical stuff and paperwork at a processing facility, and then came time for the slave market itself. 

The market was online, but livestreamed from an undisclosed location. There, the slaves would be bought and subsequently shipped to their buyers. These buyers ranged from Saudi princes to perverted older men with cash to burn. Buck and the others seated here would get a sizable finders’ fee if their man made it all the way to this stage. Then there was some more legalese and shit, and the last portion of the conference did not involve the speaker at all. 

Instead, the people gathered made lines at various booths set up in the room, where the men they had in mind would be examined at a cursory glance to see if they could move on to the mindfuck stage. Buck’s line went pretty fast, as most of the people in front of him just did not have a hot enough man. From what he could overhear, many of them were in a similar situation to him, so it was pretty damn sad. As he watched as the employee scrolled through the gallery he set up, he knew something good was about to happen, though. 

His eyes bugged wide open and there was a goofy grin on the man’s face. “Buck, I think Cam here will be a perfect candidate. And that cock is just to fuckin’ die for!”

“So, what do I need to do next?”

“This CD here is filled with binaural beats, subliminal messages, and overt vocal hypnosis. Cam needs to listen to this for three hours straight. Going over certainly won’t hurt, but not under. Do you think he’ll be able to listen to this alone?”

“We don’t have a CD player at our house, and we share a car.”

“I see. Well, here are some military grade earplugs. Make sure to keep them in at all times. The mindfuck tracks are some scary shit. Oh! And before I forget, it works best if the male is nude.”

“Thanks.” Buck accepted the CD and earplugs, and walked back to his car. He kept on thinking about the number on the sheet. Cam would get at least one million, the man assured him. He even double checked with his associates to make sure this was true. Now came the hard part. 

Buck called up a few of Cam’s friends from the gym and explained the plan to them. Admittedly, they were sad that Cam would become a sex slave, but the cash that Buck offered them more than made for it. That night, Buck and Cam’s buddies snuck into Cam’s room, and lugged him into the car. There the personal trainer was bound with a number of different ropes, forcing him to remain in a double biceps and have his ass exposed. Cam also had duct tape put over his mouth and eyes. 

Buck thanked the dudes after Cam was securely bound, and before setting off, snapped a selfie of him and his brother. Thank god Cam slept in the nude! Buck made sure the earplugs were securely in before putting the CD in and beginning to drive. As he drove around the surrounding towns, the tape continued to play. 

“Welcome to your new life as a sex slave. As I explain this to you, the multitude of background noises will be warping your mind. This is in addition to various points of vocal hypnosis interspersed throughout this three hour tape. By the end, you will find yourself a very willing and horny mindfucked sex slave. And let’s begin.” Cam moaned and screamed through his gag, hoping Buck would come to his senses and save him from this torture. 

But it was no use. Cam was forced to endure learning about gay sex and how to please a man, where the best place to get spanked was, and how much piss a person should drink at one time, amongst many other topics. A little bit past three hours, Buck pulled back into the driveway and took out his earplugs after he turned off the CD. He looked back at his brother and smiled. Cam’s mouth was agape and his tongue lolled out. His cock was rock hard and leaking pre-cum. 

Buck took yet another selfie, but this one would be sent to the private number the company had given him. Just a few minutes later, a black van pulled up beside his house, and Cam exchanged cars. 

“Thank you for your service. Here is this man’s tracking number.” Buck watched as his brother was driven away, well on his way to becoming a sex slave. Yes, even he was sad that he was losing his brother, his only family left, but honestly, the money would more than make up for it. He checked every day on him, noting that he was processed and passed his medical and legal check-ups swimmingly. Then came the day of the slave auction. A few other hot men went before Cam, and sold for well over a million each. 

Cam was much hotter than the rest, and Buck’s jaw dropped at the number reached into the tens of millions. A bidding war had broken out, and by the time Cam was sold, there were nine digits on the screen. As Cam was led off the stage and shipped to his new buyer, Buck got a secure email from the company. “As noted, here is your finders’ fee. We hope you are comfortable with half of your man’s cost.” Fuck yeah he would be! Now Buck could escape from this hellhole and live in the big city. He had some affairs to attend to first, but he was a fucking multimillionaire, man! 

[superbear-afterdark]

Chapter 1

Antonio, the Bear Factory

Welcome to Superbear After Dark! A spinoff blog with stories set in the Superbear universe for mature audiences. Please be advised that this story is meant for ages 18+, is NSFW and contains explicit sexual acts. Enjoy!

The low hum of the bar wrapped around Antonio like a warm invitation as he pushed through the door of The Paw & Anchor, the scent of aged wood and spilled whiskey mingling with the faint tang of citrus from someone’s drink. Neon lights from the PROWLR app still glowed faintly on his phone screen before he tucked it away, his new body drawing glances—broad shoulders straining the seams of his flannel, the beard he’d grown in thick and dark framing a smile that felt both familiar and strangely magnetic. He spotted Thom already at the corner booth, slight and compact, narrow shoulders hunched slightly over the table, dark hair cropped close at the sides and swept back on top in a short, textured undercut, hazel eyes catching the bar light, nervous energy in the way his fingers tapped the edge of his glass, and something in Antonio’s chest tightened with recognition, a soft pull toward the kind of guy his old self might have overlooked.

Thom looked up as Antonio approached, his eyes widening just a fraction before a shy grin broke through. “Antonio? God, you’re even more… there in person,” he said, voice light but warm, and Antonio chuckled, sliding into the seat opposite with the easy grace that came from months of learning his transformed frame. Their conversation flowed quick and easy—Thom leaning in to describe his love for late-night hikes and quiet books, Antonio sharing stories of his favorite old diners, their knees brushing under the table in a spark that sent a quiet thrill through them both. Thom’s gaze kept drifting to Antonio’s arms, the way they flexed when he lifted his beer, and Antonio felt that familiar rush of being seen, wanted, his own attraction blooming for the smooth lines of Thom’s jaw and the way his laugh lit up the dim space between them.

By the second round, the air had thickened with unspoken heat, Thom’s hand lingering a moment too long when passing the drink menu, fingers grazing Antonio’s wrist and sending a flush up his neck. “Your place?” Antonio asked softly, the words carrying more promise than question, and Thom nodded, eyes dark with a mix of nerves and desire that mirrored the steady thrum building in Antonio’s veins. They left together into the cool night air, shoulders bumping as they walked, the promise of something deeper humming between every shared glance and half-smile.

---

The apartment was small and warmly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows across the rumpled bedsheets where they sat side by side. On screen, the bara anime played on, its exaggerated men lunging across a sunlit beach, massive pectorals heaving and bouncing with every powerful jump, sweat-slicked fur matted in dark trails down their bellies. Thom’s slim frame was tense beside Antonio, his eyes fixed on the screen even as his thigh pressed closer. “I mean, I like being a twink,” he murmured, voice soft but edged with something raw, “but fuck, I love men like that. All that size, that power… I wish I could be one of them too.” He turned, gaze locking onto Antonio’s, and added quieter, “To be like you.”

Their eyes held, the air between them thickening with heat. Both were already hard, the outline of Antonio’s cock straining against his jeans, Thom’s own erection tenting his thin sweats. Thom leaned in first, lips parting as he initiated the kiss—deep, open-mouthed, his tongue meeting Antonio’s in a slow, wet slide. Saliva mingled between them, the faint trace of that transformative energy passing unnoticed, and Thom moaned into it, the sound low and surprised, vibrating against Antonio’s mouth like it unlocked something neither had expected. The want surged hotter than it should have, Antonio pulling back for half a breath, startled by the hunger roaring in his chest, before diving back in with equal force.

By the time they stripped, clothes discarded in a careless heap, Thom was trembling with need. Antonio’s hands roamed freely over smooth skin, every touch drawing gasps and shivers, nerves lighting up sharper, more electric than any hookup before. Thom arched into it, begging in a voice already thickening by a fraction, his shoulders flushing with a warmth too subtle to register yet. Antonio didn’t notice the changes stirring beneath his palms; he was lost in the way this man craved him, in the slick heat of their bodies pressing closer, in the promise of more that throbbed between them.

Their bodies tangled together on the rumpled sheets, skin sliding hot and bare against skin as Antonio pulled Thom closer into a deeper kiss, tongues twisting wet and insistent. Thom’s hands roamed greedily over the thick slabs of Antonio’s chest and the dense dark fur that covered it, fingers digging in with a hunger that made his own slim frame quake. Antonio broke the kiss just enough to murmur against Thom’s lips, “You want me inside you, chico?” His cock, already leaking a thick bead of precum, throbbed against Thom’s thigh. Thom’s answer came out in a wrecked moan, “Fuck yes,” his voice catching as an inexplicable ache bloomed deep in his guts, an instinctive craving for more of whatever heat Antonio’s touch was pouring into him.

Antonio rolled Thom onto his back with effortless strength, gripping those slender legs and hoisting them high until Thom’s ankles hooked over his broad, powerful shoulders. The position left Thom’s tight pink hole exposed and twitching, and Antonio leaned in to slap the heavy, veined length of his massive cock against the smooth cleft of Thom’s ass crack. The wet slap of flesh on flesh echoed in the room, precum smearing across the crease as Antonio dragged the fat head up and down, teasing the fluttering rim without pushing in yet. Thom’s breath hitched, his untouched cock jerking against his belly, already slick with its own eager drool.

“Are you ready, cariño?” Antonio asked, voice low and rough with want, the blunt crown of his dick nudging insistently at the tight ring. Thom’s moan was immediate and broken, “Yes!” his hips canting upward in desperate offering. Antonio pressed forward slowly, the thick head stretching that virgin-tight hole inch by deliberate inch, the ring yielding with a wet, obscene pop as the first few inches sank inside. Thom gasped at the burn and fullness, his inner walls clenching hot and velvet around the invading shaft, every ridge and vein dragging along sensitive nerves.

Antonio began to move, hips rolling in a steady, grinding rhythm that started deep and unhurried, letting Thom feel every thick pulse of that cock buried inside him. The pace built gradually, thrusts growing harder and faster until the bed creaked and skin slapped wetly with each powerful drive, Antonio’s heavy balls swinging against Thom’s upturned ass. Then it slowed again, long dragging strokes that pulled almost all the way out before sinking back to the hilt, the head rubbing relentlessly over that swollen prostate. Thom’s hands clawed at Antonio’s back, nails biting into sweat-slicked muscle, his moans turning into frantic pleas as the incomplete fire in his body roared louder, demanding something only Antonio could give.

“Fuck… please, cum inside me,” Thom begged, voice low and wrecked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His hole fluttered and squeezed greedily around the pistoning shaft, body shaking with an instinct he couldn’t name, every cell recognizing the missing dose that would complete what the kiss had started. Antonio froze for half a second, some primal warning flickering through him, but the sight of Thom spread open and desperate beneath him, begging so prettily, drowned it out in a surge of raw lust. He drove in deep one final time and let go, groaning loud and guttural as his cock swelled and erupted, thick strings of hot, potent cum flooding deep into Thom’s clutching guts in heavy, pulsing jets.

Thom’s entire body seized as the warmth bloomed inside him, the second dose hitting like liquid fire. His back arched violently off the mattress, fingers locking onto Antonio’s shoulders like a lifeline while his neglected cock erupted untouched, shooting rope after rope of cum across his own heaving chest and belly in an orgasm that refused to end. It rolled on for long minutes, his hole milking Antonio’s still-throbbing dick.

Thom went limp in the aftermath, his body slackening against the sheets with a soft, exhausted sigh as the aftershocks faded. Antonio eased back, his softening cock slipping free with a wet trickle of cum, and he looked down at the man beneath him only to freeze completely, breath catching in his throat. Thom’s eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in shallow pants, but something was already shifting low between his spread thighs—his balls, previously tight and unremarkable, had begun to swell visibly, the skin stretching taut as they grew heavier and fuller, churning with a deep, rhythmic pulse that sent visible ripples through the sac. They hung lower now, bloated and active, producing something thick and transformative that Antonio could almost feel radiating outward like invisible heat.

The warmth spread fast from that churning source, flooding Thom’s crotch and making his spent cock twitch hard again, stiffening against his belly with a sudden, urgent throb. It lengthened and thickened right before Antonio’s eyes, the shaft bloating outward inch by inch, veins pulsing thick and dark as the head flared wider and the whole length stretched to a heavy, veined monster that slapped up against his navel. Thom moaned low and needy, the sound raw and surprised, “What the fuuuuck?” his hips rolling involuntarily as that new cock flexed and leaked a steady bead of precum. “Fuck… feels so good,” he whimpered, eyes still shut, body tightening everywhere as the hormones surged through his slim frame like liquid fire.

It hit his belly next, the flat plane clenching and rippling as muscle packed on in tight ridges, carving out a hard six-pack that flexed with every breath. His thighs ballooned outward, quads and hamstrings swelling thick and powerful, the skin stretching smooth over new bulk while his calves tightened and corded into thick, diamond-shaped muscle. Thom’s moans grew louder, more desperate, his hands fisting the sheets as his chest began to balloon upward, flat pecs inflating into a massive, juicy shelf of muscle that jutted forward heavily, nipples darkening and thickening atop the rounded swells. “I’m… growing” The weight of them made his back arch, and he breathed heavier, lost in the constant, grinding arousal that had his new cock jerking and drooling.

The growth rolled up into his arms and shoulders next, the narrow frame Antonio had pulled into bed barely an hour ago vanishing under traps that rose thick and powerful, framing a broad, defined V-shape that tapered down to that shredded waist. His biceps and triceps swelled outward in heavy, rounded peaks, veins snaking across the surface as the muscle ballooned, while his forearms thickened and his hands grew larger, fingers lengthening into strong, callused grips. Thom’s face shifted subtly through it all, jaw squaring just enough to look rugged and masculine without losing the familiar lines of his features, cheekbones sharpening under a faint flush, his hazel eyes the only thing that hadn’t changed at all. He kept moaning through every change, eyes fluttering half-open in bliss, body trembling as the transformation locked in layer by layer.

Another hot wave pulsed up from those churning, oversized balls, and body hair erupted in its wake. It started thick and chestnut-brown around the base of his cock, spreading down over his powerful thighs in a dense pelt, then upward in a treasure trail that fanned out across his rippling abs and coated his heavy pecs in a thick mat. The fur crawled over his swelling shoulders and arms, turning them into furred slabs, before finally reaching his face—stubble roughening his jaw in seconds, thickening into a full mustache the same warm brown that curled over his upper lip, then blooming into a dense, chestnut beard that framed his transformed features. The same chestnut warmth crept into his undercut next, the dark strands deepening into something richer as the cut itself filled out, tousled and looser against his scalp. Thom groaned louder, the sensations overwhelming, every inch of new muscle and hair making him throb with raw, animal need.

With one final, surging kick of energy from his balls, the transformation sealed itself in a shattering orgasm. Thom’s massive new cock erupted in thick, ropey jets, cum spraying in heavy arcs across his furred chest, his abs, his bearded face, painting the muscle bear he’d become in pearly white streaks. He cried out “fuck yeah!” body shaking through every pulse, loving the way the hot seed clung to his dense pelt and dripped down his pecs.

Antonio stared, heart pounding, as the reality crashed over him—Thom was no longer the slim, smooth man he’d brought home. Watching the impossible happen, feeling the proof of what his cum could do, Antonio understood exactly what he was: a living bear factory, and he had no idea how to stop it.

[superbear-afterdark]

Prowlr +

Part One

Welcome to Superbear After Dark! A spinoff blog with stories set in the Superbear universe for mature audiences. Please be advised that this story is meant for ages 18+, is NSFW and contains explicit sexual acts. Many thanks to @everettman for helping with editing this story! Enjoy!

The apartment held onto the day's heat. Above them the ceiling fan turned in slow, creaking circles, pushing around the smell of cold takeout and old couch cushions. Nico sat cross-legged at his end of the sofa, phone lit in his hands. Colin was stretched out beside him in a washed-out henley, eyes half shut after a double shift.

"Okay, so this is either genius or a virus," Nico said, thumbing through the screen. He'd finally cancelled Prowlr after the last price hike and gone looking for a way around it. What he'd found was a cracked build somebody had reuploaded, Prowlr+, the plus sign doing a lot of heavy lifting for something this janky. "Found a whole tab that shouldn't be here. 'Body Editor.'"

Colin cracked one eye. "That a euphemism?"

"No idea." The tab wanted a photo before it would do anything. Nico assumed it was a bit, some prank feature bolted on by whoever had ripped the app apart. He didn't say that part out loud. He angled the phone toward Colin instead, silently snapping a picture.

The screen filled with sliders. Countless rows labelled for parts of the body, and under that, a second set for things beyond the physical. Nico scrolled past the ones he didn't want to think about and stopped on the one marked "chest". He moved it up, barely, more to see what the thing would do rather than out of any belief it would have an effect.

Then it hit: a sudden flush of heat bloomed across Colin's chest, deep and insistent, as if liquid fire pooled beneath the skin. His breath caught, turning into a low, involuntary moan that surprised himself. His muscles tightened and swelled just enough to strain the fabric of his shirt. The change was subtle yet unmistakable: pecs rounding out with new heft and definition. A light dusting of hair prickled into view where smooth skin had been, the sensation sent a shiver of unexpected pleasure through him.

"Nico." His hand had already gone to his chest, pressed flat against the new weight. "what the hell did you do?!" The words came out rougher than intended, laced with a mix of panic and something else he couldn’t name. The fabric stretched taut, buttons straining at the new contours of his pecs.

"I don't know." Nico's thumb jerked on the slider, dragging it back down. The changes began to reverse. Colin’s swollen pecs slowly deflated, but the relief was short-lived. When Nico tried to nudge the slider a little further to settle it, the app glitched — sending a fresh surge of growth through Colin’s shoulders and upper chest instead. Each correction only made things worse, the henley riding up off his stomach as a button gave way with a small tick of thread. His nipples pressing firmly against the straining fabric as his chest expanded outward again. Nico yelled, "I'm trying to fix it, hang on, I'm trying—"

Colin’s initial fear sharpened into demand as his chest pushed forward another visible inch, the seams of his henley creaking under the strain. “Give me answers—now. What is this thing?” His voice had dropped an octave, steadier, as his fingers closed around the phone and pulled it from Nico’s grip. Fascination edged in, replacing the tremor in his hands; the sliders glowed invitingly, and for the first time Colin didn’t look away from his own reflection in the dark screen. A quiet thrill stirred low in his gut, the kind that made him wonder what else those impossible controls might unlock if he dared to explore them himself.

Colin’s thumb brushed the screen almost unconsciously, selecting the cluster labeled “Secondary Traits.” The moment he tapped it, the app seemed to unlock a cascade of connected options. A low rumble built in his throat as the changes hit all at once—his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated through his chest. “Fuck… that feels…” The words trailed into a deep, involuntary grunt as coarse dark hair sprouted across his forearms and the backs of his hands, thickening rapidly. At the same time, his jaw prickled and itched fiercely; stubble exploded into a full, wiry beard that framed his face, the sudden weight of it making every breath feel heavier and more deliberate. Heat pooled low in his belly, arousal stirring as the new growth rasped against the hem of his shirt.

Nico’s breath caught, guilt twisting through the heat flooding his own jeans. He couldn’t look away. Colin’s shoulders broadened in a slow, powerful surge, fabric tearing at the seams while muscle packed on in thick slabs. Colin moaned openly now, a guttural sound that sent a shiver down Nico’s spine. His roommate’s chest swelled further as a firm, rounded belly pushed out against the straining buttons. The phone’s glow lit Colin’s face, highlighting the new beard’s dark bristles and the hungry glint in his eyes. Nico’s fingers twitched at his sides, caught between wanting to snatch the device back and the shameful pull to watch more. He ached to see those powerful hands, now furred and veined, explore the body the app was reshaping.

A fresh wave rippled through Colin’s torso; his thighs thickening to match the broadening frame. A soft yet solid gut rose that he instinctively rubbed with one palm, the touch drawing another low groan. The room smelled sharper now, muskier, laced with sweat and something primal. Nico swallowed hard, arousal warring with the growing sense that he’d unleashed something irreversible, yet he stayed rooted, pulse hammering as Colin’s gaze lifted to meet his.

Colin’s eyes locked onto Nico’s with a deep hunger. The screen moved on its own, Colin's thumb nowhere near: the sexuality profile tab glowed and slid the marker firmly toward “men” with an audible click. Despite Colin’s sudden, shaky attempt to drag it back; A deep, frightened groan escaped him. His cock hardened visibly beneath his straining pants, thick and insistent. The new beard brushing Colin's lips as his nostrils flared with the scent of Nico’s arousal. “Nico… fuck, I can’t—” Colin rumbled, voice thick with equal parts fear and raw need. The phone slipped from his fingers to the floor as his massive, furred hand reached out to grip Nico’s wrist, pulling him closer while the other hand palmed the heavy bulge between his thighs. “You want this, don’t you?” Nico’s heart pounded, his own erection straining against his jeans as terror twisted with undeniable heat, the air thick with musk and the electric crackle of something unfolding between them.

Colin’s grip tightened around Nico’s wrist, no longer hesitant but commanding, yanking him forward until their bodies collided chest to chest. The new mass of him a wall of heat and fur, his beard scraping roughly against Nico’s cheek as he leaned in, inhaling deep. “You started this,” Colin growled, voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that vibrated through Nico’s bones. His free hand slid down, thick fingers palming the straining bulge in his own pants before cupping Nico’s ass with possessive force, squeezing hard enough to make Nico gasp. The air between them grew heavier, laced with the sharp, earthy tang of Colin’s sweat—musky and primal, like damp pine and raw male need—that seemed to cling to Nico’s skin on contact.

A low growl escaped Colin as he pressed closer, his cock now fully rigid and throbbing against Nico’s thigh, the thick shaft pulsing with each beat of his heart. Sweat beaded along his brow and trickled down the dense pelt covering his chest, soaking into the fabric of his shirt until it clung transparently to every swollen muscle. “Smell that?” he murmured, assertive now, his tone laced with a daddy’s knowing edge that brooked no argument. He dragged Nico’s face deliberately into the crook of his neck, forcing him to breathe in the addictive haze. Nico’s head spun, the scent hitting like a drug—salty, masculine, and overpowering—making his own cock twitch and leak precome into his jeans. The fear in his gut twisted into something hotter, needier, as Colin’s sweat transferred to his lips, tasting of salt and raw power.

Colin’s hand moved with slow control, unbuttoning his own pants to free the heavy length of his cock, veined and flushed dark, the head already glistening. He guided Nico’s hand to it, wrapping those smaller fingers around the girth that had thickened beyond recognition, the skin hot and slick with that same musky sweat. “This is what you get for playing with things you don’t understand”, he said, voice steady and dominant, his hips rolling in a single, firm thrust that slid the shaft through Nico’s fist. The scent intensified from the motion, filling the room like an invisible fog that made Nico’s knees weaken and his mouth water. Colin’s free hand roamed upward, fingers threading into Nico’s hair to hold him in place while his other palm pressed against Nico’s chest, as if testing the boundaries of what his new influence could reshape.

The app on the forgotten phone pulsed once more, its interface flickering with options that Colin now accepted without hesitation—sliders for musk potency sliding higher, a new toggle for “addictive essence” and “transformative hormones” clicking into place. Colin’s eyes darkened with recognition, a slow, predatory smile curving his lips as the changes settled into his body. Sweat poured more freely now, carrying an invisible charge that made Nico’s skin tingle wherever it touched, hinting at deeper alterations yet to come. “You’ll crave this,” Colin rumbled, pressing his sweat-slicked palm to Nico’s neck, letting the essence seep in. Nico moaned despite himself, the heat spreading through his veins like lava, his own body responding with an erection that ached painfully hard.

Colin pushed Nico back onto the couch with effortless strength, looming over him. He grabbed the torn remnants of his own henley and ripped it the rest of the way off, revealing the full expanse of his transformed torso—broad, heavily furred, with dark nipples standing erect amid the dense pelt. With a rough tug he then yanked Nico’s shirt up and over his head, shoving his jeans and underwear down his thighs in one impatient motion and freeing Nico’s aching cock.

Colin let out a low, amused chuckle as he wrapped one thick, furred hand around Nico’s shaft and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke. “Look at you,” he rumbled, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Already this fucking hard for me. Guess you like what you started after all.”

He straddled Nico’s hips, grinding the heavy weight of his balls and cock against the smaller man’s stomach, the wet drag of precome smearing across bare skin. His own arousal surged visibly, thick cock twitching and leaking steadily as the musky aroma thickened in the air. He shifted upward, straddling Nico’s chest and looming over his face. “Open,” Colin commanded.

The blunt head of his cock was enormous — far too thick for Nico’s mouth. Nico hesitated, eyes widening, but as soon as the first bead of precum touched his lips and tongue, a hot, tingling wave spread through his mouth and throat. His jaw slackened, his throat relaxed and adjusted, making room for the massive girth as Colin pushed forward with a satisfied groan. Nico’s throat stretched around the transformed cock, eyes watering, while Colin’s hands pinned his shoulders, radiating that daddy energy—protective yet utterly controlling, every thrust deliberate and deep.

With each bob of Nico’s head, Colin’s dominance grew, his free hand reaching down to stroke Nico’s own cock, fingers squeezing the shaft in time with his hips. The power to transform others thrummed beneath his skin like a living thing, the sweat on his palms now carrying the potential to rewrite flesh and desire alike. Nico’s body arched beneath him, caught in the haze of musk and need, his moans muffled around the thick cock filling his mouth. Colin’s appetite showed no signs of easing, hips rolling with building force, sweat dripping onto Nico’s chest to mark him further, binding them in this irreversible shift toward something feral and shared.

Colin’s thick cock pulsed against Nico’s tongue, the veined shaft stretching his lips wide as the larger man thrust deeper, precome steadily coating the back of his throat with each slow grind. Nico’s hands gripped Colin’s hairy thighs, fingers sinking into the dense fur matted with sweat, while the musky scent from Colin’s heavy balls pressed against his chin flooded his senses, making his own neglected cock throb painfully.

The app screen on the floor suddenly glowed brighter. From the corner of his eye, Nico caught the stark warning: “Permanence Lock engaged… Original profile irretrievable. Confirm to overwrite…”

His eyes widened in panic. He made a desperate, muffled sound around the massive cock filling his mouth and tried to pull back, but Colin’s hand tightened sharply in his hair, holding him firmly in place for two more deep thrusts.

Colin noticed where Nico’s gaze kept flicking. A sharp, amused chuckle rumbled out of him. “Trying to warn me?” He kept his cock buried deep for another moment, savoring the helpless fluttering of Nico’s throat, before finally pulling free with a slick, messy glide.

“Colin, don’t—” Nico gasped, voice hoarse and broken.

But it was too late. With a low growl and a predatory grin, Colin reached down and tapped the confirmation without hesitation. The phone vibrated as the changes locked in.

A deep churn rolled through Colin’s balls, the heavy orbs tightening and swelling as if drawing every trace of his old, soft self inward, compressing it into a molten core of raw need. His already massive cock jerked harder in front of Nico’s face, the enlarged head flaring darker and more sensitive, every ridge and vein standing out as blood surged through the throbbing length. Sweat poured from his chest in rivulets, soaking the fur between his pecs and dripping onto Nico’s face, each droplet carrying that addictive, transformative charge that made Nico moan desperately.

Colin’s hips rocked forward with growing urgency, his heavy balls brushing against Nico’s chin as arousal built to a breaking point. His prostate clenched hard and his cockhead leaked a steady stream of thick precome that dripped onto Nico’s lips and tongue. Then, with a primal growl, Colin wrapped his fist around the base of his shaft and began stroking.

With a primal roar that shook the room, Colin’s climax erupted. His cock swelled to its absolute limit, the thick shaft jerking upward hard against his belly as the first powerful jets blasted out. The orgasm tore through him like nothing he had ever known. His entire body locked rigid, muscles flexing under the dense pelt of hair, as rope after thick rope of hot seed surged from his cock. Most of it splattered across his own broad, furred torso — coating his pecs, dark nipples, and rounded belly in heavy white streaks that mingled with the sweat dripping down his body.

Pulse after pulse continued to erupt, some of the powerful geysers arcing high before raining down onto Nico’s face, lips, and chest. The cum was warm and copious, marking the final erasure of Colin’s former self in a haze of shuddering pleasure and raw masculine release.

As the final tremors faded from his massive frame, Colin slumped back against the couch, chest heaving, his furred torso glistening with sweat and streaked with his own thick seed. The app on the floor pulsed once more, confirming the permanence lock with a soft chime before flashing a new alert: organic transmission enabled. His gaze, now steady and commanding, locked onto Nico with an intensity that sent a shiver through the smaller man’s core. The air was thick with the mingled scents of musk and release. Still-hard and heavy, Colin’s cock hung just above Nico’s face, a final thick bead of cum welling at the tip. A low, satisfied rumble built in his throat as he slid one hairy hand possessively to the back of Nico’s neck and pulled him closer, guiding the slick head back to his roommate’s lips. The screen brightened with one last message: Compatible subject detected: Nico. The transformation’s heat radiated outward, promising to claim his roommate next.

To be continued...

[superbear-chronicles]

Yeah, no, don't download bootleg apps… okay, look, I drank a coffee a stranger left on my porch and grew a beard you could lose a bus in, so maybe I'm not the guy for public safety announcements. But at least pretend to read the terms of service, cubs! - Superbear 🐻🌈

[keozrb]

Empathy Suit Part 1

It been awhile for a story so I did quick easy one that just came to me I be working on more soon.

Everyone who knew Ethan Lawson agreed on one thing: he was the definition of a man's man.

At six-foot-five with broad shoulders, powerful arms, and years of bodybuilding behind him, Ethan looked like he belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine. His life revolved around discipline—early morning workouts, carefully measured meals, and a strict routine that rarely changed.

His wife, Emily, loved him deeply.

She was twelve weeks pregnant with their first child.

She was also exhausted.

Morning sickness had become all-day sickness. Her back already ached, she was constantly tired, and every emotion seemed magnified. While Ethan tried to be supportive, he simply didn't understand.

"You've barely started showing," he said one evening while preparing his protein shake. "It can't be that bad yet."

Emily forced a smile.

"It gets worse."

"I'm sure it does," Ethan replied, "but people have babies every day."

Those words lingered with her.

Over the next week, Emily noticed the same pattern.

Whenever she asked Ethan to help with groceries, he was headed to the gym.

When she wanted to take a nap together, he was meal-prepping.

When she complained about sore hips, he would tell her stretching would probably help.

He wasn't trying to be insensitive.

He just couldn't imagine what pregnancy actually felt like.

One afternoon, while scrolling through obscure parenting forums, Emily stumbled across an unusual website.

Its design looked like it hadn't been updated in twenty years.

The title simply read:

Empathy Solutions for Expecting Families

Most of the products looked fake.

One listing caught her eye.

Complete Pregnancy Empathy Suit "Experience every challenge of late pregnancy."

The description promised realistic weight distribution, shifting balance, restricted movement, pressure on joints, and even simulated kicks.

Reviews were...strange.

One simply read:

"My husband will never question pregnancy again."

Another said:

"The instructions matter. Follow them exactly."

Emily laughed.

It looked ridiculous.

But if it helped Ethan understand even a little...

She ordered it.

Three days later a plain brown box appeared on their doorstep.

Inside were three remarkably lifelike silicone pieces.

The craftsmanship was incredible.

There was a large lower-body section that wrapped around the hips and backside.

A massive rounded belly.

And an oversized chest piece.

At the bottom sat a single sheet of paper.

The instructions were surprisingly brief.

For best results, apply directly to bare skin. Skin-to-skin contact required. Wear continuously throughout the experience.

"That's...vague," Ethan muttered.

Emily crossed her arms.

"You promised."

"I said I'd think about it."

"You said you'd do it."

He sighed dramatically.

"One day."

Emily smiled.

"One day."

Inside their bedroom Ethan stripped down to his athletic briefs.

He picked up the first silicone section.

It was heavier than expected.

Sliding it up his legs took effort, but eventually it settled around his hips.

Instantly his reflection changed.

His hips looked much wider.

His backside had become enormous.

Curious, he gave it a playful slap.

It jiggled convincingly.

He laughed.

"Okay...that's actually impressive."

Next came the belly.

It fit snugly over his torso.

The enormous rounded stomach projected so far outward that he could barely see his own feet.

He looked as though he were carrying twins at full term.

He poked it.

Another wobble.

Another laugh.

Finally he positioned the chest piece.

Large, heavy breasts rested above the giant belly, stretching across his muscular chest.

He stared into the bathroom mirror.

The sight was almost absurd.

His powerful bodybuilder physique was now hidden beneath the unmistakable silhouette of advanced pregnancy.

"I look ridiculous."

Emily peeked around the doorway.

She burst into laughter.

"You really do."

"What exactly am I supposed to do all day?"

"The same things you'd normally do."

"I was planning on training."

"Then train."

Ethan shrugged.

"If I'm doing this, I'm doing it right."

Finding clothes became the first challenge.

His largest athletic shorts barely stretched over the widened hips.

His favorite compression shirt clung tightly to the huge rounded belly.

Looking in the mirror again, he shook his head.

"I can't believe I'm going out like this."

Then came the socks.

Ethan bent forward.

Or rather...

He tried.

The belly stopped him almost immediately.

He shifted sideways.

Nothing.

He spread his legs.

Still nothing.

After several awkward attempts he sighed.

"Emily?"

She walked into the room trying not to laugh.

"What?"

"I...can't reach my feet."

A grin spread across her face.

"Need some help?"

He reluctantly nodded.

As she knelt to help him with his socks and shoes, she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"For trying."

Ethan looked down at the giant belly separating them.

"I guess I already understand one thing."

"What's that?"

"I'm definitely going to be helping you with your shoes."

Emily smiled warmly.

"It sounds like the suit is already teaching you something."

Neither of them noticed the faint shimmer that rippled beneath the silicone.

Hidden beneath the artificial material, something impossible had begun.

The suit no longer felt like silicone.

It was slowly becoming part of him.

And neither of them had any idea that taking it off was about to become impossible.