MuscleMeatheads

I’m a Mexican roid pig that like’s Muscle Meatheads.

[superheavyftms]

Superheavy Shots: A Father's Gift

Author's Note: A very rare bisexual story on my part (making straight stuff is just out of my comfort zone). It's not really much, the straight portions are very brief before it deep dives into the usual hardcore gay territory, and there's no actual straight sex, but still...Don't expect me to do this often (LOL).

~~~~~~~~~~

The silence in the house was heavy, a suffocating blanket of dust and unwashed laundry. It had been six weeks since the accident—six weeks since Astrid, only barely nineteen and full of a life that felt like it was just beginning, had been snatched away in a tangle of metal and ice on a snowy, slippery road. Her family, once anchored by their Norwegian heritage and their shared ambition, had drifted apart in the wake of her death. Harald, her father, a man who had built his life on the foundation of physical perfection and unyielding strength, was the most broken of them all.

He sat on the dark leather sofa, his giant frame sinking deep into the cushions. To any observer, he was a mountain of a man, a professional bodybuilder whose proportions defied the limits of human biology. His shoulders were like boulders, his chest a thick slab of muscle that strained against the air itself, and his arms were larger than the heads of most grown men. But inside, he was hollow. He stared at the television, the blue light flickering across his bearded face, but he wasn't watching anything. He was just waiting for the world to stop turning.

Astrid was there, though she didn't know how. For weeks, she was there beside him, a specter clinging to his side. She was a shimmer in the air, a lingering echo of a girl who couldn't let go of the man who had been her hero. She saw the way his thick fingers trembled, the way his breath came in shallow, ragged hitches.

She couldn't stand watching him in pain for so long anymore. She decided it was time to reach out. She wanted to touch his cheek, to tell him that she was still here, that he didn't have to be so sad.

"Pappa," she whispered, her voice a ghost of a sound.

As she leaned in, her translucent form overlapping with his solid, heavy chest, something snapped. It was like a vacuum seal breaking. She didn't just touch him; she felt herself being pulled, sucked into the dense, warm gravity of his mass.

She panicked. "No, wait! Stop! Pappa!"

Astrid screamed as the vacuum of his grief-stricken soul pulled her in. She felt herself being stretched all over a tank of solid meat, her consciousness compressed until it fit the tremendous architecture of Harald’s frame. Then came the sound—a wet, thunderous thud that shook her entire being. It was the sound of her own heartbeat, but it wasn't her tiny, rapid rhythm. It was a slow, thunderous boom that vibrated through a cavity far larger than her own chest.

She gasped, and the air that entered her lungs felt like a gale.

"What... what is this?" she tried to say, but the voice that came out was a tectonic rumble, a deep, gravelly bass that vibrated in her very bones.

She tried to move, and the weight was staggering. Every twitch of a finger felt like moving a lead pipe. She looked down, and her vision was different—higher up, broader. She saw two massive pillars of muscle—her dad’s colossal thighs, clad in camouflage leggings, stretching the fabric to its absolute limit.

She saw hands that were the size of dinner plates, calloused and thick-veined. She tried to move them, and the sheer effort required to shift that much muscle shocked her. Her arms felt like a log of solid oak. 

"Oh my god," she gasped, but the sound that came out was a deep, rumbling baritone that vibrated in her very bones. "Oh my god, what did I do? Pappa? Pappa, are you there?!"

There was no answer, only the steady, rhythmic breathing of a body that felt like a living machine. She panicked, trying to leap out of the body, but she only succeeded in tumbling off the sofa. The impact with the floor was seismic. She felt the density of her dad’s body, the sheer hardness of the muscle protecting the skeleton. She scrambled to her feet, her balance off. She felt an unfamiliar, heavy sway of something between her extremely beefy thighs—a solid low-hanging weight that swung with a mind of it’s own. It was a foreign anatomy that felt both intrusive and intoxicatingly powerful.

"Get out, get out, get out!" she shouted, her father's voice echoing off the walls. She ran around the house and found a mirror in the kitchen, her gait heavy and rhythmic.

When she saw the reflection, she froze. The man in the mirror was Harald, her dad, but the eyes were wide with a teenage girl's terror. She stared at the bald head, the dense, dark beard, and the tribal tattoos that flowed across the monolithic swell of his pectoral muscles and boulder-like shoulders. She reached up, feeling the scratchy texture of the beard with fingers that felt like clubs.

"I’m stuck," she whimpered, the sound lost in the thick hair of his beard. "I’m stuck in his body. I’m stuck inside my dad."

She spent the first few hours in a state of hysterical paralysis. She lay there, feeling the weight of him. Everything was different. The air felt colder against the rough, veiny skin of his arms. The scent of him—musky, metallic from the gym, and faintly like sandalwood—was everywhere. And then there was the large heft between his legs. As a teenage girl, she had never considered the sheer physical presence of having a penis. It felt heavy, a constant, low-hanging pressure that shifted whenever she moved her legs. It was terrifying and, in a strange, burgeoning way, fascinating.

"Holy crap," she muttered, a small, masculine smirk forming on Harald's face. "The power in this... it's like driving a tank."

~~~~~~~~~~

By the second day, the panic began to subside into a surreal curiosity. She stood before the mirror in the hallway, staring at the stranger in the glass. She raised a hand—a hand that could crush a grapefruit without trying—and traced the lines of the tribal tattoos that flowed like ink-black rivers over his chest and shoulder.

"This body is amazing," she whispered to herself. She flexed, just a little, and watched as the large bicep peaked into a hard, rounded mountain of meat. The power was intoxicating. When she walked, the floorboards groaned. When she breathed, she felt the incredible expansion of a ribcage built to house massive lungs.

One afternoon, she decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. She wore a tight stringer tank top that barely contained the explosion of muscle that was her dad's torso. As she stepped out onto the driveway, the sun hit the stone pavers. She stood there for a moment, looking at her dad’s black car parked there. She felt like a giant in a world made for ants.

"God, I'm so huge," she said to herself, looking down at the way the leggings strained against her father's calves. "Everyone is looking. I can feel them."

And they were. A neighbor next door stopped mowing his lawn just to stare. Two teenage boys on bikes nearly crashed as they gawked at the sheer scale of the man standing in the driveway. A group of college girls nearby whispered to each other, their eyes tracking the architectural density of his frame—the movement of his shoulders like heavy machinery offset by the slight, girlish rhythm of the swing of his arms. One of them actually blushed when Astrid—in her dad’s deep voice—nodded a silent "hello."

"They're looking at me," Astrid thought, a thrill running through her. "They're actually intimidated by me. I’ve never felt this strong in my life. I’m like a god in this body."

Outside, the world felt like it belonged to her. She walked down the street, and the effect was immediate. For the first time in her life Astrid felt dominant. She felt like she owned the air she breathed. Women didn't just look; they flirted. She chatted with and flexed her titanic body for them. The large shaft in her leggings hardening, forming a very obvious bulge, as they touched and teased her father’s overly-trained muscles.

She noticed the way men reacted, too. Some were awed and couldn't stop asking her about training tips. Some were openly hostile, their egos bruised by her sheer scale, but others—especially some of the guys she suspected were gay—looked at her with a raw, unmistakable lust. She felt her father's body react to all the attention. It was a strange, animalistic pride that resided in the muscle itself.

Back at the house, her brother Svein was a constant presence. Just shy of twenty-one, he’s already built like a beefy college jock. He’d been desperately trying to bulk up to follow in their dad's footsteps for years. He looked like a Greek god to most people, but compared to the gigantic beast Astrid was currently "riding," Svein looked like a child.

Svein walked into the kitchen one afternoon while Astrid was standing by the fridge in nothing but a pair of her father’s favorite tiny yellow posing briefs—a habit Harald had always had, being comfortable in his own skin. Astrid had found she enjoyed the freedom of it, the way the cool air hit the massive sweep of her solid quads and the curve of her thick glutes.

"Hey, Dad," Svein said, stopping short. He looked Harald up and down, a look of genuine relief on his face. "You... you look good today. Better than you have in weeks."

Astrid turned, and the sheer width of her back seemed to block out the kitchen light. Her lats spread like wings, creating a dramatic V-taper that made her waist look impossibly small by comparison, the muscles rippling like a disturbed pond as she shifted her weight. She looked at her brother, seeing the worship in his eyes. He didn't just love his father; he wanted to be like him.

"I'm feeling a bit better, Svein," she said, her voice deep and steady. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, it’s sheer size nearly covering the entirety of his deltoid. The weight of it made Svein buckle slightly, but he didn't mind. "We’re going to be okay. I promise."

Svein smiled, a genuine, relieved look. "I'm glad. I was worried you were going to let all that hard work go to waste. You've even got your color back." He looked his father up and down, his eyes filled with the hero-worship he’d always had. "You’re looking thick, Pappa. Really thick."

Astrid felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sensation of her brother’s respect. It was a masculine bond she had never understood as a girl—the way men communicated through presence and shared strength.

~~~~~~~~~~

That night, the heat in the house felt oppressive. Astrid had spent an hour in the garage gym, pushing her father's body through a brutal shoulder workout. She didn't know the science of it, but she knew the feeling—the burning, tearing sensation of the muscle fibers expanding, the "pump" that made her feel like her skin was going to burst.

She went into the master bathroom, the air thick with steam. She caught her reflection in the mirror—sweaty, pumped, and impossibly wide. She stripped off the damp gym clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over the rugged landscape of her father’s body.

As she dried off with a blue towel, standing nude in the center of the bathroom, she found herself staring down. She had been avoiding this, the most intimate part of the possession. But the testosterone in Harald’s system was a literal drug, and it was demanding an outlet.

"Okay," she whispered, her heart—her dad’s heart—hammering in her throat. "I have to know. Let's see what the fuss is about."

She looked at her anatomy, at her dad’s prized possession. It looked massive, even at rest. She reached down and wrapped a hand around it, and gasped at the scale of it. It felt hot, heavy, thick, and surprisingly soft. But just holding it made it surge with blood, quickly hardening until it finally grew into a formidable pillar of meat.

"Oh my god, Pappa, how big is this thing?" she gasped, her voice cracking before settling into a low, predatory growl that felt like it belonged to the body more than her soul.

Marveling at the true size of her dad’s fat babymaker, she guessed it was about twelve inches long and, at nearly three inches wide, as thick as a soda can. Harald’s cock was so large that it felt like an independent entity.

As she started to jack off, her huge, calloused hand moving rhythmically over the velvet skin, a wave of sensation hit her that was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It wasn't just physical; it was a flood of memories.

"Oh shit… oh my god," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

Images flashed behind her eyelids. She saw her mother, years ago, laughing as she, as her dad, lifted her into the air. She felt the ghost of her mother’s hands on this skin, the heat of their bodies together. She saw other women, too—faces from the years after the divorce. She heard their sighs, felt their breath on her neck.

"You were a bad boy, Pappa," she whispered, her hand moving faster. "Unnghhh… so many women. They loved you, didn't they? They loved this strong, sexy body."

She started talking to herself, her voice a low, dirty growl in the empty bathroom. "Ugh… ugh… yeah, look at those tits… those pussies... they were so tight, weren’t they? You really gave it to them, didn't you, you big animal? Unnghh…. fuck…"

She was lost in the fantasy, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the python in her hand grew rock hard, straining against her grip.

But then, the memories suddenly shifted.

The images of women faded, replaced by something else. She saw her dad’s gym partner Rashad—a huge man with broad shoulders and a kind smile—standing close to her at the gym, staring with obvious lust as she trained her massive biceps. She felt the surge of adrenaline and lust her dad had felt, the way his heart had raced not with fear, but with desire. She saw more men—friends, partners, competitive rivals, strangers on the street—and felt the secret, quiet lust her father had buried deep inside.

Astrid froze, her hand stilling for a second. "Pappa?" she gasped, her hand stuttering. "You... you liked men too?"

The realization hit her like a physical blow. Her mother, a woman who had been so strictly religious, so old-fashioned and traditional... she hadn't left because she didn't love him. She had left because she found out the truth.

Her mother must have seen the way her dad looked at his peers. She must have realized it back then, that her dad was bisexual, and clearly preferred men. Harald had spent decades layering slab after slab of muscle onto his body, building a hyper-masculine fortress not just for strength, but to entomb a part of himself he feared the world—and his wife—could never accept.

"You poor man," she whispered. "You've been so alone."

But the discovery didn't turn her off. If anything, it added a new layer of intensity to the experience.

"Let's see what you really want, Pappa," she groaned.

She pushed the thought of her mother and the other women away and leaned into the images of the men her dad had lusted after. She saw the muscular, sweaty bodies of his fellow bodybuilders at the gym. She thought of the strength, the rough touch, the musky scent of a man's man. She imagined what it would be like to feel another man’s strength against this one, to be the one who dominated or was dominated by a force as great as her own.

“Oh gawd they’re so hot…. unnghh…. unghhh… wanna kiss them so bad… wanna feel those muscles… ungghh… pound that ass… unnghhh… fuuck…” she moaned. The pressure was a volcano. She jacked off even harder, faster, her thumb swiping over the slick head. The images collided—men, muscles, strength, submission, her dad’s secret hunger and her own desperate, borrowed need. It was too much.

The climax built like a storm. Her whole body—all three hundred and ten pounds of it—began to shake. The muscles of her legs and glutes locking up. She gripped the sink with one hand, her knuckles white, as she pumped the heavy shaft with the other. The coil in her groin finally snapped.

"Unnghh… unnghh… ugh… yes! Fuuuck, yeeeessss!" she roared, the words torn from a throat that felt like it was venting steam, her deep growling voice echoing off the tiles. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck….unghh… it's coming… it’s coming… it’s… UUUUUNNNNGGGHHHHHHH!!!"

The explosion was unlike anything she had ever felt as a girl. It wasn't an internal glow; it was a violent, rhythmic expulsion. She arched her back, her muscles locking into a rigid, trembling pose as thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip, splattering against the tiled wall, the mirror, and across the vast, tattooed expanse of her own chest. She shouted filth she’d only heard in porn movies, her voice breaking with the sheer force of the release, until the last of the pressure was drained from her dad’s huge balls.

She slumped back against the wall, her broad chest heaving and gasping for air. She stared at her dad’s ripped, veiny bodybuilder’s body on the bathroom mirror, now covered with sweat and cum. "Wow," she breathed, a wide, dazed smile spreading across her rugged bearded face. "That was... definitely not the last time I’m doing that."

~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later, the routine had become her life. She was Harald. She ate his meals, she lifted his weights, and she enjoyed his status. Astrid decided it was time to step into her dad's world more fully. It was time to return to his actual gym—the place where the professionals trained. 

She decided to use her dad’s car to get there. Driving as her dad was a vastly different experience. Harald’s body was so enormous, it barely fit in the driver’s seat. She had to move the seat all the way back just to have enough space to move around. Even navigating the steering wheel, with her dad’s large mitts that he called hands, needed a few moments to get used to.

It took about thirty minutes, but she finally arrived at the gym. She walked in, the smell of iron and chalk filling her nostrils. She felt the eyes on her immediately. Her dad was a legend here, but even by Harald’s standards, she looked "on." 

Eventually she found Rashad. Rashad was a mountain of a man himself—a black bodybuilder with a bald head, a thick, dark goatee, and a body that was a tapestry of dense, hairy muscle. He was wearing nothing but dark blue gym shorts today, his beefy pecs glistening with sweat.

"Hey, Rashad," Astrid rumbled, her voice steady.

"Harald! Where you been, man?" Rashad boomed, walking over and giving her a firm handshake that turned into a brief, intense hug. “I haven’t seen you since your daughter… well, you know. Are you okay?”

Astrid felt the heat of him, the way his hairy chest pressed against her own. She noticed the way Rashad’s eyes lingered on her. He wasn't just being a friend. He was looking at her the way a man looks at something he wants to devour.

"I've been dealing with things, Rashad," she said, keeping her voice low. "But I'm fine now."

"Good. I missed my favorite training partner." Rashad’s gaze drifted down to her waist and then back up. He seemed to be vibrating with an energy he was trying to suppress.

As they began a back-and-forth workout, Astrid became hyper-aware of him. She constantly felt Rashad's presence like a heat source, noticing the way he looked at her. When she was doing heavy cable rows, she could feel his eyes tracing into the full expanse of her broad, beefy back, down to the sizable, Christmas-tree-shaped muscles of her lower lats, and the thick, rounded peaks of her ass. She saw the way his breath caught when she bent over to pick up a weight, her glutes stretching the fabric of her leggings. He was always there to spot her, his hands lingering just a second too long on her pecs, or shoulders. 

"You're looking incredible, Harald," Rashad said, his voice dropping an octave. He was standing close, the scent of his sweat—musky and sweet—filling Astrid's senses. "I mean... seriously. I missed having you around."

Astrid kept looking at him. She saw the longing in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated when she flexed. For days, she had ignored her own growing lust for men out of respect for her father's darkest secret. But here, in this temple of muscle, with a man who clearly worshipped the ground she walked on, she decided she was done hiding.

She finished a set of deadlifts, her lats spreading like wings. She pulled out her dad's phone and took a quick selfie for the occasion, then turned to Rashad, who was still staring, transfixed.

"You're staring again, Rashad," she said, dropping a pair of hundred-pound dumbbells with a crash.

Rashad blinked, his face flushing. "I... sorry, man. Just admiring the progress. You look even bigger than usual."

Astrid walked over to him, closing the distance until their pecs were almost touching. She was quite taller than him in this body, and she used that height to loom over him.

The air between them crackled, charged with a new, aggressive intent. Astrid saw Rashad swallow hard, his eyes dropping to her lips. She didn't give him a chance to retreat. "I think we should get out of here," she whispered, her voice a deep, suggestive rumble. "I think we should go to your place. I have some... things I want to discuss. Privately. If you catch my drift?"

Rashad’s jaw dropped, practically hitting the floor. "What?! Harald, you... you told me years ago you were straight. You said you didn't roll that way."

Astrid leaned in, her beard brushing against his ear. "People change, Rashad. And right now, I’m feeling very, very different,' she rumbled. She reached out and buried her hand in the thick muscle of his neck, her fingers sinking into his traps with a possessive strength that left no room for doubt. “Now, are we going or not?"

Rashad didn't need to be told twice.

Before they left, Astrid went to the locker room for quick wardrobe change. She caught her reflection in the mirror—the pump from the workout making her look absolutely monstrous. She snapped another selfie, flexing her colossal bicep until it looked like it might burst through the skin, looking like curled cannonballs. She flexed hard, admiring the way the veins mapped out across the peaks of her arms. She looked at the photo and felt a surge of pride.

"You're a beast, Pappa," she thought. "And tonight, we're going to act like one."

They drove to Rashad's apartment in silence, the air in the car thick with anticipation. As soon as the door closed behind them, the pretense of being "gym bros" evaporated.

Rashad turned to her, his eyes wild. "Are you serious about this? Because if you're fucking with me, Harald..."

Astrid didn't answer with words. She grabbed the front of his gym shorts and pulled him toward her, crashing her lips against his. The kiss was rough, desperate, and tasted of salt and coffee. She felt Rashad’s hands roam over her body, his palms sliding over the vast curves of her beefy shoulders and down to the small of her vast wide back.

"Oh god, you're so big," Rashad groaned against her mouth. "I've wanted this for so long."

They stripped each other with a frantic energy, clothes falling to the floor like discarded skins. Nude, they were a sight that would have silenced an entire stadium. Two hundreds-of-pounds of prime, Grade-A beef, standing firmly in the dim light of the bedroom. They looked like two ancient titans. Astrid marveled at Rashad’s body—the way the hair on his pecs felt against her own, the sheer density of his chocolate-colored muscles. He looked so damn sexy.

The sex was a marathon of hardcore muscle worship. They spent a long time just kissing and ravaging each other’s mouths, flexing and feeling each other’s muscles, and just appreciating the fruits of their hard-earned labors at the gym. It was a collision of giants. The scratch of their beards, the taste of sweat and iron, the sheer pressure of their colossal bodies grinding together. Astrid found herself fascinated and overwhelmed by all of it.

Then Astrid took charge, her father’s body knowing exactly what to do even as her mind marveled at the sensations. She pushed Rashad onto his knees, letting him worship the huge, heavy cock he had clearly dreamed about for years. She felt the warmth of his mouth, the suction, the way his goatee tickled her beefy thighs.

"Unggh… unghhh… yeah, you like that, don't you, you fucking slut?” she mumbled, the vibration of her voice deep in her throat. She pistoned in and out of Rashid’s mouth like a jackhammer. “You’ve been dreaming about this cock for years…. unggh …unghh… fuck yeah…"

Later, they moved into a 69 position, their huge bodies a tangle of sweating, straining muscle. Astrid felt the strange, incredible sensation of being both the giver and the receiver. She sucked on Rashad’s cock while he did the same to her, the rhythm of their breathing filling the room.

"Huh… huh.. gawd… Harald, please," Rashad gasped, pulling away and rolling onto his stomach. "I want you. All of you."

Astrid didn't hesitate. She climbed over him, her thick thighs framing his hips. She felt the weight of her own massive body, the power in her lower back as she positioned herself.

"Hold on, Rashad," she growled.

She pushed into him, a slow, steady pressure into his bubble ass that made Rashad scream into the pillow. The sensation was overwhelming—a connection that felt like it was happening on a cellular level. She began to move, her hips driving with a power that only a body like Harald’s could possess. 

"Fuck, you're so damn thick!" Rashad yelled, his voice strained with pleasure. "Drive it in, Harald! Fuck me with that big daddy dick!"

Astrid did. She took him with a ferocity that surprised them both, her father's powerful legs driving her forward, her hands gripping Rashad's thick traps as she pounded into him. It was a symphony of heavy breathing, the slap of skin on skin, and the guttural roars of two titans reaching the peak of their existence.

She lost herself in the rhythm, her mind a blur of sensation and emotion. She wasn't just a girl in her dad’s body anymore; she was a force of nature. She felt every ripple of Rashad’s muscles, every gasp of his breath.

"UNGH… UNGGHH…. UNGHHHHHH… I've got you," she roared, her voice raw. "I've got you, you sexy bastard… UNGHHH … UNGGHHHHH …UNGGGGHHHHHHH… OH GAWD… OH GAWD… IT’S COMING… OH GAAAAAWWWDDDDD… FUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!"

They climaxed together, a primal explosion of sound and sweat. Astrid pulled out as thick seed spurted out from her cock all over the bed and onto Rashid’s large back. It took several minutes before her bull balls were emptied of her dad’s copious amount of cum. There were just so much.

She then collapsed onto Rashad’s back, her heart racing, her skin glowing in the dark. It was all over now, and they lay there in a heap of sweaty, exhausted muscle.

After a few minutes, she pulled herself up. "I... I need to go to the bathroom," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

She walked into the small, tiled room and shut the door. She leaned against the sink and looked at herself in the mirror—at her dad’s handsome, testosterone-laden face, now flushed with the afterglow of sex with a man. Suddenly, the gravity of what she had done hit her. She had taken her father’s body—his sacred, disciplined vessel—and used it for her own pleasure. She had outed his secret, even if only to one person.

Tears began to well in her eyes. They tracked down her rugged, manly cheeks and disappeared into her beard.

"What have I done?" she whispered. "I stole his body. I'm using his life like a toy. He’s gone, and I’m here... and I’m enjoying it. I’m enjoying being a man. I’m enjoying him."

She felt a wave of crushing guilt. She thought of her dad’s grief, of the way he had been sitting on that sofa, waiting to die. And here she was, having the time of her life.

"I'm sorry, Pappa," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have done this you."

Suddenly, the air in her mind changed. It was like a door opening in a dark room.

“Astrid.”

She froze. The voice didn't come from the room. It came from inside her head. It was her dad’s voice—Harald’s voice—but it wasn't the deep rumble she produced when she spoke. It was clear, calm, and filled with a strange, quiet warmth.

“Astrid, don’t cry.”

"Pappa?" she gasped, looking around the empty bathroom. "Where are you?"

“I’m here, little bird. I’ve been here the whole time.”

Astrid’s heart nearly stopped. "You've been... you've seen everything?"

“Everything,” Harald said, and she could hear the smile in his mental tone. “And it was amazing. You have no idea what it felt like for me—to see you take control, to see you live again. You made this body do things I was too afraid to do. You made me feel things I’ve spent forever trying to forget.”

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "I didn't mean to take it. I just wanted to touch you, and then I was inside..."

“I know,” Harald said gently. “And I can push you out at any time, little bird. I’m much stronger than you. I could have taken back control the second it happened. But I didn’t want to.”

"Why?"

“Because I was so happy you were back. I was so tired of being alone in our big, empty house, in this big, empty body. I tried so hard to be strong for your brother. I love him so much too, but just the two of us wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stand life without you. Watching you ride my body... it’s been the greatest gift I’ve ever received. You gave me a reason to watch the world again. And that man out there... the things you did with my gym buddy... thank you, Astrid. Thank you for showing me what that felt like.”

"But the sex... with Rashad... I didn't mean to—"

“It was incredible,” Harald interrupted. “Don’t ever feel sorry for what you just did, little bird. I’ve wanted to do it myself for a long time. Who knew it took being possessed by my own daughter to finally force myself to have my dick up that sexy man’s ass?”

Astrid wiped her eyes with the back of her massive hand. "Really, Pappa? You're not mad?"

“Mad? Astrid, I’m alive again because of you. We’re both alive. I’ve decided... I’ve decided that you deserve this. You died too young. You should get to see what the world is like from the top of the mountain. My mountain. I want you to see the world through my eyes. I want you to feel what it's like to be this big, this fucking strong. And I’ll be right here with you, experiencing every second of it.”

Astrid stood up straight, a new sense of purpose flowing through her. She looked at herself in the mirror—at their reflection. She flexed her huge biceps, and she could feel her dad’s mental presence flexing with her, a dual surge of power that made her feel invincible.

"We're a team then?" she asked, a mischievous glint appearing in their shared eyes.

“Always,” Harald replied. “Now, go back out there. I think our buddy’s waited long enough. And go destroy his ass again for me will you? It felt damn awesome.”

Astrid laughed, the sound deep and resonant. "As you wish, Pappa."

She smiled, a wicked, masculine grin, wiping the last of the tears away and stepped back into the bedroom. Rashad was sitting up, looking at her with a mix of awe and uncertainty.

"Everything okay, Harald?" he asked.

Astrid walked over to the bed, her muscles rippling with every step. She felt her dad’s excitement bubbling up inside her, a shared anticipation for what was to come.

"Everything is perfect, Rashad," she said, her voice dropping into that deep, commandingly sexy baritone. "I was just talking to myself, and I’ve decided. I’m going to find a lot more men like us to have some fun with, and you’re coming along with me."

Harald’s voice echoed in her mind: “Fuck yeah, I can’t wait!”

Astrid leaned down and grabbed Rashad by the shoulders, pulling him back toward the pillows. "But first," she whispered, her eyes dark with a hunger that belonged to both of them, "Time for round two."

The room was filled once again with the sounds of their shared life—the strain of muscle, the heat of breath, and the joy of a father and daughter finally finding a way to be whole again, one heavy, powerful heartbeat at a time.

The two of them, the ghost and the giant, moved as one. They weren't just surviving; they were conquering. And as the night stretched on, the world outside felt smaller and smaller, eclipsed by the sheer, undeniable reality of the colossal man they had become.

"Get ready, Rashad," Astrid growled, her hand moving down to grip him. "This time, I’m really going all out."

In the silence of her mind, her dad laughed—a sound of pure, unadulterated freedom. Together, they were a legacy that wouldn't be broken, a story written in the very fibers of the flesh they shared. And as they lost themselves in the physical ecstasy of the moment, the tragedy of the past finally, mercifully, began to fade away.

[superheavyftms]

Superheavy Shots: A Father's Gift

Author's Note: A very rare bisexual story on my part (making straight stuff is just out of my comfort zone). It's not really much, the straight portions are very brief before it deep dives into the usual hardcore gay territory, and there's no actual straight sex, but still...Don't expect me to do this often (LOL).

~~~~~~~~~~

The silence in the house was heavy, a suffocating blanket of dust and unwashed laundry. It had been six weeks since the accident—six weeks since Astrid, only barely nineteen and full of a life that felt like it was just beginning, had been snatched away in a tangle of metal and ice on a snowy, slippery road. Her family, once anchored by their Norwegian heritage and their shared ambition, had drifted apart in the wake of her death. Harald, her father, a man who had built his life on the foundation of physical perfection and unyielding strength, was the most broken of them all.

He sat on the dark leather sofa, his giant frame sinking deep into the cushions. To any observer, he was a mountain of a man, a professional bodybuilder whose proportions defied the limits of human biology. His shoulders were like boulders, his chest a thick slab of muscle that strained against the air itself, and his arms were larger than the heads of most grown men. But inside, he was hollow. He stared at the television, the blue light flickering across his bearded face, but he wasn't watching anything. He was just waiting for the world to stop turning.

Astrid was there, though she didn't know how. For weeks, she was there beside him, a specter clinging to his side. She was a shimmer in the air, a lingering echo of a girl who couldn't let go of the man who had been her hero. She saw the way his thick fingers trembled, the way his breath came in shallow, ragged hitches.

She couldn't stand watching him in pain for so long anymore. She decided it was time to reach out. She wanted to touch his cheek, to tell him that she was still here, that he didn't have to be so sad.

"Pappa," she whispered, her voice a ghost of a sound.

As she leaned in, her translucent form overlapping with his solid, heavy chest, something snapped. It was like a vacuum seal breaking. She didn't just touch him; she felt herself being pulled, sucked into the dense, warm gravity of his mass.

She panicked. "No, wait! Stop! Pappa!"

Astrid screamed as the vacuum of his grief-stricken soul pulled her in. She felt herself being stretched all over a tank of solid meat, her consciousness compressed until it fit the tremendous architecture of Harald’s frame. Then came the sound—a wet, thunderous thud that shook her entire being. It was the sound of her own heartbeat, but it wasn't her tiny, rapid rhythm. It was a slow, thunderous boom that vibrated through a cavity far larger than her own chest.

She gasped, and the air that entered her lungs felt like a gale.

"What... what is this?" she tried to say, but the voice that came out was a tectonic rumble, a deep, gravelly bass that vibrated in her very bones.

She tried to move, and the weight was staggering. Every twitch of a finger felt like moving a lead pipe. She looked down, and her vision was different—higher up, broader. She saw two massive pillars of muscle—her dad’s colossal thighs, clad in camouflage leggings, stretching the fabric to its absolute limit.

She saw hands that were the size of dinner plates, calloused and thick-veined. She tried to move them, and the sheer effort required to shift that much muscle shocked her. Her arms felt like a log of solid oak. 

"Oh my god," she gasped, but the sound that came out was a deep, rumbling baritone that vibrated in her very bones. "Oh my god, what did I do? Pappa? Pappa, are you there?!"

There was no answer, only the steady, rhythmic breathing of a body that felt like a living machine. She panicked, trying to leap out of the body, but she only succeeded in tumbling off the sofa. The impact with the floor was seismic. She felt the density of her dad’s body, the sheer hardness of the muscle protecting the skeleton. She scrambled to her feet, her balance off. She felt an unfamiliar, heavy sway of something between her extremely beefy thighs—a solid low-hanging weight that swung with a mind of it’s own. It was a foreign anatomy that felt both intrusive and intoxicatingly powerful.

"Get out, get out, get out!" she shouted, her father's voice echoing off the walls. She ran around the house and found a mirror in the kitchen, her gait heavy and rhythmic.

When she saw the reflection, she froze. The man in the mirror was Harald, her dad, but the eyes were wide with a teenage girl's terror. She stared at the bald head, the dense, dark beard, and the tribal tattoos that flowed across the monolithic swell of his pectoral muscles and boulder-like shoulders. She reached up, feeling the scratchy texture of the beard with fingers that felt like clubs.

"I’m stuck," she whimpered, the sound lost in the thick hair of his beard. "I’m stuck in his body. I’m stuck inside my dad."

She spent the first few hours in a state of hysterical paralysis. She lay there, feeling the weight of him. Everything was different. The air felt colder against the rough, veiny skin of his arms. The scent of him—musky, metallic from the gym, and faintly like sandalwood—was everywhere. And then there was the large heft between his legs. As a teenage girl, she had never considered the sheer physical presence of having a penis. It felt heavy, a constant, low-hanging pressure that shifted whenever she moved her legs. It was terrifying and, in a strange, burgeoning way, fascinating.

"Holy crap," she muttered, a small, masculine smirk forming on Harald's face. "The power in this... it's like driving a tank."

~~~~~~~~~~

By the second day, the panic began to subside into a surreal curiosity. She stood before the mirror in the hallway, staring at the stranger in the glass. She raised a hand—a hand that could crush a grapefruit without trying—and traced the lines of the tribal tattoos that flowed like ink-black rivers over his chest and shoulder.

"This body is amazing," she whispered to herself. She flexed, just a little, and watched as the large bicep peaked into a hard, rounded mountain of meat. The power was intoxicating. When she walked, the floorboards groaned. When she breathed, she felt the incredible expansion of a ribcage built to house massive lungs.

One afternoon, she decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. She wore a tight stringer tank top that barely contained the explosion of muscle that was her dad's torso. As she stepped out onto the driveway, the sun hit the stone pavers. She stood there for a moment, looking at her dad’s black car parked there. She felt like a giant in a world made for ants.

"God, I'm so huge," she said to herself, looking down at the way the leggings strained against her father's calves. "Everyone is looking. I can feel them."

And they were. A neighbor next door stopped mowing his lawn just to stare. Two teenage boys on bikes nearly crashed as they gawked at the sheer scale of the man standing in the driveway. A group of college girls nearby whispered to each other, their eyes tracking the architectural density of his frame—the movement of his shoulders like heavy machinery offset by the slight, girlish rhythm of the swing of his arms. One of them actually blushed when Astrid—in her dad’s deep voice—nodded a silent "hello."

"They're looking at me," Astrid thought, a thrill running through her. "They're actually intimidated by me. I’ve never felt this strong in my life. I’m like a god in this body."

Outside, the world felt like it belonged to her. She walked down the street, and the effect was immediate. For the first time in her life Astrid felt dominant. She felt like she owned the air she breathed. Women didn't just look; they flirted. She chatted with and flexed her titanic body for them. The large shaft in her leggings hardening, forming a very obvious bulge, as they touched and teased her father’s overly-trained muscles.

She noticed the way men reacted, too. Some were awed and couldn't stop asking her about training tips. Some were openly hostile, their egos bruised by her sheer scale, but others—especially some of the guys she suspected were gay—looked at her with a raw, unmistakable lust. She felt her father's body react to all the attention. It was a strange, animalistic pride that resided in the muscle itself.

Back at the house, her brother Svein was a constant presence. Just shy of twenty-one, he’s already built like a beefy college jock. He’d been desperately trying to bulk up to follow in their dad's footsteps for years. He looked like a Greek god to most people, but compared to the gigantic beast Astrid was currently "riding," Svein looked like a child.

Svein walked into the kitchen one afternoon while Astrid was standing by the fridge in nothing but a pair of her father’s favorite tiny yellow posing briefs—a habit Harald had always had, being comfortable in his own skin. Astrid had found she enjoyed the freedom of it, the way the cool air hit the massive sweep of her solid quads and the curve of her thick glutes.

"Hey, Dad," Svein said, stopping short. He looked Harald up and down, a look of genuine relief on his face. "You... you look good today. Better than you have in weeks."

Astrid turned, and the sheer width of her back seemed to block out the kitchen light. Her lats spread like wings, creating a dramatic V-taper that made her waist look impossibly small by comparison, the muscles rippling like a disturbed pond as she shifted her weight. She looked at her brother, seeing the worship in his eyes. He didn't just love his father; he wanted to be like him.

"I'm feeling a bit better, Svein," she said, her voice deep and steady. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, it’s sheer size nearly covering the entirety of his deltoid. The weight of it made Svein buckle slightly, but he didn't mind. "We’re going to be okay. I promise."

Svein smiled, a genuine, relieved look. "I'm glad. I was worried you were going to let all that hard work go to waste. You've even got your color back." He looked his father up and down, his eyes filled with the hero-worship he’d always had. "You’re looking thick, Pappa. Really thick."

Astrid felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sensation of her brother’s respect. It was a masculine bond she had never understood as a girl—the way men communicated through presence and shared strength.

~~~~~~~~~~

That night, the heat in the house felt oppressive. Astrid had spent an hour in the garage gym, pushing her father's body through a brutal shoulder workout. She didn't know the science of it, but she knew the feeling—the burning, tearing sensation of the muscle fibers expanding, the "pump" that made her feel like her skin was going to burst.

She went into the master bathroom, the air thick with steam. She caught her reflection in the mirror—sweaty, pumped, and impossibly wide. She stripped off the damp gym clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over the rugged landscape of her father’s body.

As she dried off with a blue towel, standing nude in the center of the bathroom, she found herself staring down. She had been avoiding this, the most intimate part of the possession. But the testosterone in Harald’s system was a literal drug, and it was demanding an outlet.

"Okay," she whispered, her heart—her dad’s heart—hammering in her throat. "I have to know. Let's see what the fuss is about."

She looked at her anatomy, at her dad’s prized possession. It looked massive, even at rest. She reached down and wrapped a hand around it, and gasped at the scale of it. It felt hot, heavy, thick, and surprisingly soft. But just holding it made it surge with blood, quickly hardening until it finally grew into a formidable pillar of meat.

"Oh my god, Pappa, how big is this thing?" she gasped, her voice cracking before settling into a low, predatory growl that felt like it belonged to the body more than her soul.

Marveling at the true size of her dad’s fat babymaker, she guessed it was about twelve inches long and, at nearly three inches wide, as thick as a soda can. Harald’s cock was so large that it felt like an independent entity.

As she started to jack off, her huge, calloused hand moving rhythmically over the velvet skin, a wave of sensation hit her that was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It wasn't just physical; it was a flood of memories.

"Oh shit… oh my god," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

Images flashed behind her eyelids. She saw her mother, years ago, laughing as she, as her dad, lifted her into the air. She felt the ghost of her mother’s hands on this skin, the heat of their bodies together. She saw other women, too—faces from the years after the divorce. She heard their sighs, felt their breath on her neck.

"You were a bad boy, Pappa," she whispered, her hand moving faster. "Unnghhh… so many women. They loved you, didn't they? They loved this strong, sexy body."

She started talking to herself, her voice a low, dirty growl in the empty bathroom. "Ugh… ugh… yeah, look at those tits… those pussies... they were so tight, weren’t they? You really gave it to them, didn't you, you big animal? Unnghh…. fuck…"

She was lost in the fantasy, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the python in her hand grew rock hard, straining against her grip.

But then, the memories suddenly shifted.

The images of women faded, replaced by something else. She saw her dad’s gym partner Rashad—a huge man with broad shoulders and a kind smile—standing close to her at the gym, staring with obvious lust as she trained her massive biceps. She felt the surge of adrenaline and lust her dad had felt, the way his heart had raced not with fear, but with desire. She saw more men—friends, partners, competitive rivals, strangers on the street—and felt the secret, quiet lust her father had buried deep inside.

Astrid froze, her hand stilling for a second. "Pappa?" she gasped, her hand stuttering. "You... you liked men too?"

The realization hit her like a physical blow. Her mother, a woman who had been so strictly religious, so old-fashioned and traditional... she hadn't left because she didn't love him. She had left because she found out the truth.

Her mother must have seen the way her dad looked at his peers. She must have realized it back then, that her dad was bisexual, and clearly preferred men. Harald had spent decades layering slab after slab of muscle onto his body, building a hyper-masculine fortress not just for strength, but to entomb a part of himself he feared the world—and his wife—could never accept.

"You poor man," she whispered. "You've been so alone."

But the discovery didn't turn her off. If anything, it added a new layer of intensity to the experience.

"Let's see what you really want, Pappa," she groaned.

She pushed the thought of her mother and the other women away and leaned into the images of the men her dad had lusted after. She saw the muscular, sweaty bodies of his fellow bodybuilders at the gym. She thought of the strength, the rough touch, the musky scent of a man's man. She imagined what it would be like to feel another man’s strength against this one, to be the one who dominated or was dominated by a force as great as her own.

“Oh gawd they’re so hot…. unnghh…. unghhh… wanna kiss them so bad… wanna feel those muscles… ungghh… pound that ass… unnghhh… fuuck…” she moaned. The pressure was a volcano. She jacked off even harder, faster, her thumb swiping over the slick head. The images collided—men, muscles, strength, submission, her dad’s secret hunger and her own desperate, borrowed need. It was too much.

The climax built like a storm. Her whole body—all three hundred and ten pounds of it—began to shake. The muscles of her legs and glutes locking up. She gripped the sink with one hand, her knuckles white, as she pumped the heavy shaft with the other. The coil in her groin finally snapped.

"Unnghh… unnghh… ugh… yes! Fuuuck, yeeeessss!" she roared, the words torn from a throat that felt like it was venting steam, her deep growling voice echoing off the tiles. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck….unghh… it's coming… it’s coming… it’s… UUUUUNNNNGGGHHHHHHH!!!"

The explosion was unlike anything she had ever felt as a girl. It wasn't an internal glow; it was a violent, rhythmic expulsion. She arched her back, her muscles locking into a rigid, trembling pose as thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip, splattering against the tiled wall, the mirror, and across the vast, tattooed expanse of her own chest. She shouted filth she’d only heard in porn movies, her voice breaking with the sheer force of the release, until the last of the pressure was drained from her dad’s huge balls.

She slumped back against the wall, her broad chest heaving and gasping for air. She stared at her dad’s ripped, veiny bodybuilder’s body on the bathroom mirror, now covered with sweat and cum. "Wow," she breathed, a wide, dazed smile spreading across her rugged bearded face. "That was... definitely not the last time I’m doing that."

~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later, the routine had become her life. She was Harald. She ate his meals, she lifted his weights, and she enjoyed his status. Astrid decided it was time to step into her dad's world more fully. It was time to return to his actual gym—the place where the professionals trained. 

She decided to use her dad’s car to get there. Driving as her dad was a vastly different experience. Harald’s body was so enormous, it barely fit in the driver’s seat. She had to move the seat all the way back just to have enough space to move around. Even navigating the steering wheel, with her dad’s large mitts that he called hands, needed a few moments to get used to.

It took about thirty minutes, but she finally arrived at the gym. She walked in, the smell of iron and chalk filling her nostrils. She felt the eyes on her immediately. Her dad was a legend here, but even by Harald’s standards, she looked "on." 

Eventually she found Rashad. Rashad was a mountain of a man himself—a black bodybuilder with a bald head, a thick, dark goatee, and a body that was a tapestry of dense, hairy muscle. He was wearing nothing but dark blue gym shorts today, his beefy pecs glistening with sweat.

"Hey, Rashad," Astrid rumbled, her voice steady.

"Harald! Where you been, man?" Rashad boomed, walking over and giving her a firm handshake that turned into a brief, intense hug. “I haven’t seen you since your daughter… well, you know. Are you okay?”

Astrid felt the heat of him, the way his hairy chest pressed against her own. She noticed the way Rashad’s eyes lingered on her. He wasn't just being a friend. He was looking at her the way a man looks at something he wants to devour.

"I've been dealing with things, Rashad," she said, keeping her voice low. "But I'm fine now."

"Good. I missed my favorite training partner." Rashad’s gaze drifted down to her waist and then back up. He seemed to be vibrating with an energy he was trying to suppress.

As they began a back-and-forth workout, Astrid became hyper-aware of him. She constantly felt Rashad's presence like a heat source, noticing the way he looked at her. When she was doing heavy cable rows, she could feel his eyes tracing into the full expanse of her broad, beefy back, down to the sizable, Christmas-tree-shaped muscles of her lower lats, and the thick, rounded peaks of her ass. She saw the way his breath caught when she bent over to pick up a weight, her glutes stretching the fabric of her leggings. He was always there to spot her, his hands lingering just a second too long on her pecs, or shoulders. 

"You're looking incredible, Harald," Rashad said, his voice dropping an octave. He was standing close, the scent of his sweat—musky and sweet—filling Astrid's senses. "I mean... seriously. I missed having you around."

Astrid kept looking at him. She saw the longing in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated when she flexed. For days, she had ignored her own growing lust for men out of respect for her father's darkest secret. But here, in this temple of muscle, with a man who clearly worshipped the ground she walked on, she decided she was done hiding.

She finished a set of deadlifts, her lats spreading like wings. She pulled out her dad's phone and took a quick selfie for the occasion, then turned to Rashad, who was still staring, transfixed.

"You're staring again, Rashad," she said, dropping a pair of hundred-pound dumbbells with a crash.

Rashad blinked, his face flushing. "I... sorry, man. Just admiring the progress. You look even bigger than usual."

Astrid walked over to him, closing the distance until their pecs were almost touching. She was quite taller than him in this body, and she used that height to loom over him.

The air between them crackled, charged with a new, aggressive intent. Astrid saw Rashad swallow hard, his eyes dropping to her lips. She didn't give him a chance to retreat. "I think we should get out of here," she whispered, her voice a deep, suggestive rumble. "I think we should go to your place. I have some... things I want to discuss. Privately. If you catch my drift?"

Rashad’s jaw dropped, practically hitting the floor. "What?! Harald, you... you told me years ago you were straight. You said you didn't roll that way."

Astrid leaned in, her beard brushing against his ear. "People change, Rashad. And right now, I’m feeling very, very different,' she rumbled. She reached out and buried her hand in the thick muscle of his neck, her fingers sinking into his traps with a possessive strength that left no room for doubt. “Now, are we going or not?"

Rashad didn't need to be told twice.

Before they left, Astrid went to the locker room for quick wardrobe change. She caught her reflection in the mirror—the pump from the workout making her look absolutely monstrous. She snapped another selfie, flexing her colossal bicep until it looked like it might burst through the skin, looking like curled cannonballs. She flexed hard, admiring the way the veins mapped out across the peaks of her arms. She looked at the photo and felt a surge of pride.

"You're a beast, Pappa," she thought. "And tonight, we're going to act like one."

They drove to Rashad's apartment in silence, the air in the car thick with anticipation. As soon as the door closed behind them, the pretense of being "gym bros" evaporated.

Rashad turned to her, his eyes wild. "Are you serious about this? Because if you're fucking with me, Harald..."

Astrid didn't answer with words. She grabbed the front of his gym shorts and pulled him toward her, crashing her lips against his. The kiss was rough, desperate, and tasted of salt and coffee. She felt Rashad’s hands roam over her body, his palms sliding over the vast curves of her beefy shoulders and down to the small of her vast wide back.

"Oh god, you're so big," Rashad groaned against her mouth. "I've wanted this for so long."

They stripped each other with a frantic energy, clothes falling to the floor like discarded skins. Nude, they were a sight that would have silenced an entire stadium. Two hundreds-of-pounds of prime, Grade-A beef, standing firmly in the dim light of the bedroom. They looked like two ancient titans. Astrid marveled at Rashad’s body—the way the hair on his pecs felt against her own, the sheer density of his chocolate-colored muscles. He looked so damn sexy.

The sex was a marathon of hardcore muscle worship. They spent a long time just kissing and ravaging each other’s mouths, flexing and feeling each other’s muscles, and just appreciating the fruits of their hard-earned labors at the gym. It was a collision of giants. The scratch of their beards, the taste of sweat and iron, the sheer pressure of their colossal bodies grinding together. Astrid found herself fascinated and overwhelmed by all of it.

Then Astrid took charge, her father’s body knowing exactly what to do even as her mind marveled at the sensations. She pushed Rashad onto his knees, letting him worship the huge, heavy cock he had clearly dreamed about for years. She felt the warmth of his mouth, the suction, the way his goatee tickled her beefy thighs.

"Unggh… unghhh… yeah, you like that, don't you, you fucking slut?” she mumbled, the vibration of her voice deep in her throat. She pistoned in and out of Rashid’s mouth like a jackhammer. “You’ve been dreaming about this cock for years…. unggh …unghh… fuck yeah…"

Later, they moved into a 69 position, their huge bodies a tangle of sweating, straining muscle. Astrid felt the strange, incredible sensation of being both the giver and the receiver. She sucked on Rashad’s cock while he did the same to her, the rhythm of their breathing filling the room.

"Huh… huh.. gawd… Harald, please," Rashad gasped, pulling away and rolling onto his stomach. "I want you. All of you."

Astrid didn't hesitate. She climbed over him, her thick thighs framing his hips. She felt the weight of her own massive body, the power in her lower back as she positioned herself.

"Hold on, Rashad," she growled.

She pushed into him, a slow, steady pressure into his bubble ass that made Rashad scream into the pillow. The sensation was overwhelming—a connection that felt like it was happening on a cellular level. She began to move, her hips driving with a power that only a body like Harald’s could possess. 

"Fuck, you're so damn thick!" Rashad yelled, his voice strained with pleasure. "Drive it in, Harald! Fuck me with that big daddy dick!"

Astrid did. She took him with a ferocity that surprised them both, her father's powerful legs driving her forward, her hands gripping Rashad's thick traps as she pounded into him. It was a symphony of heavy breathing, the slap of skin on skin, and the guttural roars of two titans reaching the peak of their existence.

She lost herself in the rhythm, her mind a blur of sensation and emotion. She wasn't just a girl in her dad’s body anymore; she was a force of nature. She felt every ripple of Rashad’s muscles, every gasp of his breath.

"UNGH… UNGGHH…. UNGHHHHHH… I've got you," she roared, her voice raw. "I've got you, you sexy bastard… UNGHHH … UNGGHHHHH …UNGGGGHHHHHHH… OH GAWD… OH GAWD… IT’S COMING… OH GAAAAAWWWDDDDD… FUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!"

They climaxed together, a primal explosion of sound and sweat. Astrid pulled out as thick seed spurted out from her cock all over the bed and onto Rashid’s large back. It took several minutes before her bull balls were emptied of her dad’s copious amount of cum. There were just so much.

She then collapsed onto Rashad’s back, her heart racing, her skin glowing in the dark. It was all over now, and they lay there in a heap of sweaty, exhausted muscle.

After a few minutes, she pulled herself up. "I... I need to go to the bathroom," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

She walked into the small, tiled room and shut the door. She leaned against the sink and looked at herself in the mirror—at her dad’s handsome, testosterone-laden face, now flushed with the afterglow of sex with a man. Suddenly, the gravity of what she had done hit her. She had taken her father’s body—his sacred, disciplined vessel—and used it for her own pleasure. She had outed his secret, even if only to one person.

Tears began to well in her eyes. They tracked down her rugged, manly cheeks and disappeared into her beard.

"What have I done?" she whispered. "I stole his body. I'm using his life like a toy. He’s gone, and I’m here... and I’m enjoying it. I’m enjoying being a man. I’m enjoying him."

She felt a wave of crushing guilt. She thought of her dad’s grief, of the way he had been sitting on that sofa, waiting to die. And here she was, having the time of her life.

"I'm sorry, Pappa," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have done this you."

Suddenly, the air in her mind changed. It was like a door opening in a dark room.

“Astrid.”

She froze. The voice didn't come from the room. It came from inside her head. It was her dad’s voice—Harald’s voice—but it wasn't the deep rumble she produced when she spoke. It was clear, calm, and filled with a strange, quiet warmth.

“Astrid, don’t cry.”

"Pappa?" she gasped, looking around the empty bathroom. "Where are you?"

“I’m here, little bird. I’ve been here the whole time.”

Astrid’s heart nearly stopped. "You've been... you've seen everything?"

“Everything,” Harald said, and she could hear the smile in his mental tone. “And it was amazing. You have no idea what it felt like for me—to see you take control, to see you live again. You made this body do things I was too afraid to do. You made me feel things I’ve spent forever trying to forget.”

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "I didn't mean to take it. I just wanted to touch you, and then I was inside..."

“I know,” Harald said gently. “And I can push you out at any time, little bird. I’m much stronger than you. I could have taken back control the second it happened. But I didn’t want to.”

"Why?"

“Because I was so happy you were back. I was so tired of being alone in our big, empty house, in this big, empty body. I tried so hard to be strong for your brother. I love him so much too, but just the two of us wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stand life without you. Watching you ride my body... it’s been the greatest gift I’ve ever received. You gave me a reason to watch the world again. And that man out there... the things you did with my gym buddy... thank you, Astrid. Thank you for showing me what that felt like.”

"But the sex... with Rashad... I didn't mean to—"

“It was incredible,” Harald interrupted. “Don’t ever feel sorry for what you just did, little bird. I’ve wanted to do it myself for a long time. Who knew it took being possessed by my own daughter to finally force myself to have my dick up that sexy man’s ass?”

Astrid wiped her eyes with the back of her massive hand. "Really, Pappa? You're not mad?"

“Mad? Astrid, I’m alive again because of you. We’re both alive. I’ve decided... I’ve decided that you deserve this. You died too young. You should get to see what the world is like from the top of the mountain. My mountain. I want you to see the world through my eyes. I want you to feel what it's like to be this big, this fucking strong. And I’ll be right here with you, experiencing every second of it.”

Astrid stood up straight, a new sense of purpose flowing through her. She looked at herself in the mirror—at their reflection. She flexed her huge biceps, and she could feel her dad’s mental presence flexing with her, a dual surge of power that made her feel invincible.

"We're a team then?" she asked, a mischievous glint appearing in their shared eyes.

“Always,” Harald replied. “Now, go back out there. I think our buddy’s waited long enough. And go destroy his ass again for me will you? It felt damn awesome.”

Astrid laughed, the sound deep and resonant. "As you wish, Pappa."

She smiled, a wicked, masculine grin, wiping the last of the tears away and stepped back into the bedroom. Rashad was sitting up, looking at her with a mix of awe and uncertainty.

"Everything okay, Harald?" he asked.

Astrid walked over to the bed, her muscles rippling with every step. She felt her dad’s excitement bubbling up inside her, a shared anticipation for what was to come.

"Everything is perfect, Rashad," she said, her voice dropping into that deep, commandingly sexy baritone. "I was just talking to myself, and I’ve decided. I’m going to find a lot more men like us to have some fun with, and you’re coming along with me."

Harald’s voice echoed in her mind: “Fuck yeah, I can’t wait!”

Astrid leaned down and grabbed Rashad by the shoulders, pulling him back toward the pillows. "But first," she whispered, her eyes dark with a hunger that belonged to both of them, "Time for round two."

The room was filled once again with the sounds of their shared life—the strain of muscle, the heat of breath, and the joy of a father and daughter finally finding a way to be whole again, one heavy, powerful heartbeat at a time.

The two of them, the ghost and the giant, moved as one. They weren't just surviving; they were conquering. And as the night stretched on, the world outside felt smaller and smaller, eclipsed by the sheer, undeniable reality of the colossal man they had become.

"Get ready, Rashad," Astrid growled, her hand moving down to grip him. "This time, I’m really going all out."

In the silence of her mind, her dad laughed—a sound of pure, unadulterated freedom. Together, they were a legacy that wouldn't be broken, a story written in the very fibers of the flesh they shared. And as they lost themselves in the physical ecstasy of the moment, the tragedy of the past finally, mercifully, began to fade away.

[superheavyftms]

Superheavy Shots: The Bear Resort

Author's Note: This story was heavily inspired by both The Bear Pill story branch on CYOC and Stereotype Special by @jockbender. The former involves using a pill to transform, and the latter involves the "closeted married men" stereotype. Both stories are about people losing themselves into becoming massive bears at a resort/cruise. In any case they are some my favorite stories and I recommend reading them as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Vanessa stood in the clinical beige bathroom of her private suite, her breath hitching in a throat that suddenly felt three times wider than it had ten minutes ago. She looked down at the scale. The digital numbers flickered, struggling to settle as her massive weight shifted. 285 pounds. 290. Finally, it beeped: 312 lbs.

She wasn't Vanessa anymore—at least, the reflection wasn't. Gone was the soft, quiet housewife who had arrived at the gates of The Bear Resort just an hour ago. In her place stood a mountain of a man, a hyper-masculine titan with skin the color of toasted mahogany and a coat of thick, dark hair that covered every inch of his sprawling frame. She looked down at her thighs—they were no longer the slender legs of a woman in her forties, but massive pillars of fur-covered muscle, so thick they rubbed together at the top.

Her hands, now huge and calloused with thick, blunt fingers, gripped the edges of the sink. She leaned forward, staring into the mirror at a face that was ruggedly handsome, framed by a dense, coarse black beard and a short-cropped fade. Her chest was a literal shelf of muscle, a broad, hairy expanse that felt heavy and powerful.

"Oh my god," she whispered, but the voice that came out wasn't hers. It was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated in her very sternum. It was a rumble, a growl, a sound of pure, unadulterated testosterone.

Her mind flashed back to how she’d ended up here. Life as a housewife in the suburbs had become a crushing cycle of carpools, PTA meetings, and a husband who, lately, had only looked at her with more habit than hunger. She needed an escape. Her friend, Janice, had leaned in close one night over martinis and whispered about "The Bear Resort."

"It’s life-changing, Vanessa. Truly. You go there to lose yourself. Literally. Don't ask questions, just book the 'Deep Immersion' package."

Vanessa had expected a luxury spa. Instead, when the private shuttle dropped her off at a secluded, heavily guarded compound in the mountains, she was greeted not by waifish aestheticians, but by a wall of muscle. Everywhere she looked, there were men—huge, hairy, beefy men. Some were lounging by a pool, their massive bellies and hairy chests glistening in the sun; others were carrying heavy gym bags, their biceps the size of her head.

The "check-in" process was more like a medical briefing. A giant, bearded man with arms like bridge cables had sat her down in a plush office. His hairy pecs straining the material of the tight grey shirt.

"The Bear Resort isn't a vacation from your life, Vanessa," he had said, his voice a deep soothing bass. "It’s a vacation from your self. We use a proprietary neuro-tropic compound. Once you take the Bear pill, your DNA begins a rapid, temporary recalibration. You will physically become one of our 'Bear Blueprints.' But more importantly, the mental dampeners will shift. You won't just look like him; you will think like him. You will have his memories, his desires, and his history. For the next seven days, Vanessa ceases to exist. You will be him."

She had been terrified, but the burnout was stronger than the fear. She swallowed the large, brown pill.

Back in the bathroom, her memories of being Vanessa were beginning to feel like a movie she’d seen a long time ago. The edges were blurring, turning sepia and distant.

Who is Vanessa? a voice in her head asked. Some quiet lady with a flower garden? Forget her.

A new set of memories was rushing in like a flood tide, cold and heavy and real. He remembered the smell of diesel and old coffee in the cab of his Peterbilt. He remembered the long, lonely stretches of I-95. He remembered the ache in his heart for the touch of a man—an ache he kept buried under a layer of "good father" and "hardworking husband" for his wife and kids back home in Ohio. He remembered his name.

"I’m Gauge," he growled, the name feeling right on his tongue.

He looked down at his white Tommy Hilfiger briefs, which were now strained to the breaking point. Beneath the cotton, something was stirring—something massive and heavy that he hadn't possessed ten minutes ago. His cock, a thick, beefy slab of meat, was beginning to twitch, reacting to the sheer rush of testosterone coursing through his new veins.

He reached down, his huge hand easily engulfing his member through the fabric. The sensation was electric. It wasn't just physical; it was a psychological hunger. He felt a wave of lust so potent it made his vision swim. He wasn't just a man; he was a gay man, a bear who had been starved for this kind of skin-to-skin contact for years.

"God, I'm a sexy beast," Gauge muttered, his eyes locked on his own reflection.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and slid them down, letting his massive, hairy quads breathe. He looked at his cock—it was a heavy, dark-veined rod, framed by a thick forest of pubic hair. It pulsed with every beat of his heart.

He began to stroke himself, his rough, calloused palm sliding over the sensitive head. A low, guttural moan escaped his throat. It sounded like a lion purring. "Yeah... that's it. Look at you, Gauge. You're fucking huge. You're a mountain."

He watched himself in the mirror as he jerked off, his muscles rippling under the hairy skin of his chest and arms. He imagined the other bears he’d seen outside. He imagined those big, hairy bastards pinning him down, or him taking charge, burying his face in a thick, sweaty thicket of chest hair.

"I'm gonna fuck everything in this place," he grunted, his pace quickening. "I'm gonna take every inch, and I'm gonna give it back twice as hard. You're home, Gauge. You're finally home."

As he neared his peak, he let out a loud, barking groan, his giant body tensing as he coated the sink and his own hairy stomach in a thick, hot release. He stood there, panting, smelling the musk of his own arousal, and for the first time in his life, he felt completely, utterly right. Vanessa was gone. There was only Gauge.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days were a blur of primal satisfaction and self-discovery.

Gauge spent the first morning in his suite, unable to stop looking at himself. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein trunks, hitting poses he’d only ever seen in magazines. He flexed his bicep, watching the peak rise like a mountain, the veins popping out against the hair. He hit a double lat spread, his massive back eclipsing the light from the window. He felt invincible. He felt like a king.

One afternoon, Gauge spent time in the common area with the resort's mascot, a small, fluffy white dog. It was a hilarious contrast. He lay on the bed, his vast, hairy torso taking up nearly the entire mattress, while the little dog sat perched on his hip. He looked at the creature with a gentle, masculine warmth. Even a titan like Gauge had a soft spot. The long-haul trucker found himself talking to the dog in that deep rumble, telling it about his life on the road, about his lovely wife and kids back home, the dog wagging its tail as if it understood the weight of a man's secrets.

The gym was Gauge’s sanctuary. He pushed weights that would have crushed his old self. He loved the feeling of the iron in his hands, the way the sweat matted the hair on his chest and back. Afterward, in the locker room, he took a selfie. He stood there, towel tucked low, his muscles pumped and glistening, his beard damp. He looked at the photo—a raw, honest portrait of a man who had finally found his power. He posted it to the resort’s internal network, "The Den," and watched the likes from other bears roll in instantly.

The pool was where the social hierarchy was established. Gauge sat on the edge, his beefy legs dangling in the cool water, wearing nothing but tight blue swim briefs and reflective shades. He watched the other bears—the daddies, the cubs, the muscle-bears. He wasn't shy. He flirted with a gravelly laugh and a confident wink. He felt the eyes of every man there on his hairy shoulders and thick waist. He was the alpha here, and he knew it.

In the evenings, he would sit at the desk in his room, shirtless, sipping a tiny cup of espresso that looked ridiculous in his hand. He’d log onto "The Den," sharing videos of himself flexing or just talking to the camera about his day. He felt a sense of community he’d never known. These men were his brothers. They were his lovers. They were his people.

But the real "life-changing" part was the sex.

Gauge lost count of the men he encountered. There was the silver-fox bear from Germany who had tasted like expensive cigars and sweat; there was the young, thick cub from Texas who had trembled under Gauge’s weight. Gauge became a beast in the bedroom. He used his size to dominate, pinning men twice his age against the walls, his huge thick hands gripping their hips as he drove into them with the relentless rhythm of a long-haul engine.

He fucked mouths until they were sore; he pounded asses until the men beneath him were sobbing with pleasure. He loved the sound of skin slapping against skin, the smell of musk and lube, the feel of another man’s beard scratching against his neck. He was a vacuum of pleasure, taking everything and giving back even more.

The climax of the week was the Grand Orgy on the final night. In a darkened, plush ballroom, fifty of the world’s most massive, hairy men gathered. It was a sea of flesh, a forest of hair, a symphony of groans and wet slaps. Gauge was in the center of it, a focal point for the chaos. At one point, he had three men on him—one buried between his legs, another's face pressed into his hairy chest, while Gauge himself was buried deep in a giant, bearded man from Scandinavia. It was a total loss of ego, a complete immersion into the physical. He wasn't a truck driver, he wasn't a husband, he wasn't even Gauge anymore—il was just Male. Just Muscle. Just Hunger.

As the sun began to rise on the final day, the sensations started to shift. The heavy ache in his muscles began to lighten. The deep rumble in his chest started to thin out.

Gauge was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the light hit the mountains, when a familiar thought flickered back. Charlie needs new shoes for soccer.

He shook his head, trying to hold onto his memories, but they were retreating like a tide. He felt his skin tightening, the coarse hair softening and disappearing. His massive hands shrank, his fingers becoming slender and smooth again. The weight on the bed shifted as his 300-pound frame deflated back into the 130-pound body of a woman.

Vanessa sat there, naked and shivering slightly as the air hit her smooth skin. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to her old perspective. She looked at her hands. They were small. Delicate.

She took a deep breath. Her voice was her own again—light, feminine, melodic. "Wow," she whispered.

She didn't feel sad. She didn't feel a loss. Instead, she felt an incredible, profound sense of peace. Experiencing life as Gauge hadn't been an escape from her life; it had been a pressure valve. She had touched the sun. She had lived a life of raw, unapologetic power and desire. She had been the beast.

She thought of her husband and her kids. She loved them dearly. She was ready to go back to being Mom and Wife. But she was going back with a secret. She knew what it felt like to be a 300-pound god of the road. She knew the taste of another man's sweat and the power of a primal flex.

"Janice was right," she said, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Life-changing."

~~~~~~~~~~

Six months later, Vanessa stood on the observation deck of the resort’s newest mountain lookout. The air was crisp, and the view of the valley below was breathtaking.

She wasn't alone this time. Beside her stood Madison, her best friend and fellow "exhausted mom." Both women had arrived that morning, and had already taken the Bear pill hours ago.

Gauge looked at his hands, his huge, hairy paws. He felt the familiar weight of the muscle, the scratch of the beard, the heavy thrum of testosterone.

"You okay, Ben?" Gauge asked, his voice a deep, resonant growl.

He turned to the man beside him. Madison was gone. In her place stood Ben, a rugged, bald contractor with a trimmed beard and big, beefy arms that looked like they were carved from oak. Ben was wearing a tight short-sleeved shirt that showed off a chest every bit as massive as Gauge’s.

Ben looked at Gauge and grinned, a hungry, knowing look in his eyes. "I'm better than okay, Gauge. I’ve been thinking about this since the last time we met at that truck stop in Kentucky."

In their "real" lives, Vanessa and Madison were best friends who talked about recipes and school boards. But in the reality of The Bear Resort, they were Gauge and Ben—lovers who had a well-kept history away from their families, a secret romance born of the road and the job site.

They only remembered the heat between them.

Gauge stepped closer, his enormous shoulder brushing against Ben’s. He felt a surge of possessive lust. "We’ve got seven days, Ben. Seven days of the best moments of our lives. No wives. No kids. Just us."

Ben leaned in, his beard brushing against Gauge’s ear. "I'm gonna hold you to that, you big hairy bastard. Now, let’s go find that pool. I heard there’s a couple of new cubs in town who need to be shown how the pros do it."

Gauge laughed—a deep, booming sound that echoed off the mountain walls. He put a massive arm around Ben’s shoulders, and together, the two titans walked back, ready to lose themselves in the glorious, heavy, hairy world of The Bear Resort.

[superheavyftms]

Superheavy Shots: On Top of Mt. Olympus

The first sensation was one of profound disorientation, a suffocating weight that pressed down from within, not without. Olivia tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt thick, unfamiliar, as if they belonged to someone else. A dull throb pulsed behind them, a hangover she didn't recall earning. Slowly, the world began to coalesce, but it was a world utterly alien to her.

Sunlight, a brilliant, almost aggressive stream, sliced through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a space that was unequivocally not her cramped studio apartment. This was vast, minimalist, drenched in expensive chrome and dark wood. A penthouse. The thought barely registered before a far more alarming realization crashed down upon her.

She was naked.

And the nakedness was all wrong.

Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through her as she tentatively reached down. Her fingers brushed against a coarse forest of hair, a taut, muscular thigh, and then—oh god—something undeniably, aggressively male. A gasp tore from her throat, but it wasn’t her gasp. It was a deep, resonant rumble, a sound that vibrated through the very bones of this colossal frame.

"What… what in the hell?" she rasped, the words thick and guttural, utterly foreign on her tongue. It was Brandon Hunter’s voice. The deep, commanding baritone that could silence a room with a single syllable, the voice that, in meetings, often made her feel like a mouse scurrying for cover.

She scrambled upright, or rather, this new, massive body scrambled upright with an alarming ease. The bed, she now saw, was a sprawling king-sized slab, covered in luxurious, heavy silk sheets. Her own petite frame would have been lost in its expanse. This body, however, filled it, dwarfed it.

She stood, or rather, he stood. Olivia stared down at herself, or rather, at him. Brandon Hunter. The CEO of Olympus Fitness, the man whose face adorned billboards and magazine covers, a former pro bodybuilder whose physique was legendary even in his semi-retirement.

His chest was a fortress of muscle, rippling slabs of pectorals that stretched wide and thick. His shoulders were like cannonballs, deltoids that seemed to defy natural anatomy. And his arms—oh god, his arms were tree trunks, etched with a complex tapestry of dark, aggressive tattoos. She traced the snarling, demonic face on his left bicep with a trembling finger, the skin strangely warm and alien beneath her touch.

"No, no, no, no," she whispered, her new voice a low growl that shook her own eardrums. She felt a phantom ache in her own, forgotten chest, a desperate longing for the familiar, small curves of her own body.

She walked towards a massive, full-length mirror, her gait heavy and powerful, each step thudding with an unfamiliar weight. The man in the mirror was a titan. Broad shoulders, a narrow, carved waist, and legs that looked like sculpted marble. The "soul of the man" tattoo spread across his lower abdomen, just above the startling, almost intimidating presence of his penis.

Olivia stared at it, her mind reeling. She, Olivia, a woman who had spent her entire life in a female form, now possessed this… this monument to masculinity. The sheer size of it, the weight of it, the way it just… hung there, an undeniable declaration of its owner’s sex.

A strange, morbid curiosity began to override her initial panic. She reached out, her hand hesitant, and closed her fingers around the thick shaft. It was heavy, warm, and disconcertingly soft against her huge palm. A jolt, not entirely unpleasant, shot through her. It was alien, yet undeniably hers now.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "This is insane," she murmured. "This is absolutely, clinically insane."

She began to explore, touching every curve and plane of this magnificent body. The thick, veiny forearms, the dense, unyielding muscle of the biceps, the surprising tenderness of her nipples beneath her fingertips. She ran her hands down her broad back, feeling the intricate landscape of her lats and traps. Every inch of him was a testament to dedication, to power, to a relentless pursuit of physical perfection.

And then her gaze fell back to it. The undeniable, magnificent, utterly masculine proof of her new reality. A perverse thought, a spark of pure, unadulterated primal curiosity, ignited in her mind. She, Olivia, had never been particularly adventurous sexually. A few fumbled college experiences, a couple of unremarkable boyfriends. But this… this was different. This was a whole new instrument, a whole new set of sensations.

She closed her eyes, her new, thick fingers still wrapped around her penis. Slowly, tentatively, she began to stroke it. It was shockingly sensitive, a strange tingle spreading through her new groin. The more she stroked, the harder it became, swelling to an impressive, almost intimidating size. A gasp escaped her, part shock, part something else entirely.

She lay back on the silk sheets, her legs spreading wide with an instinctual ease that unnerved her. She continued to stroke, her new body responding with an eagerness that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The head of her cock, engorged and glistening, brushed against her new stomach, a visual confirmation of its immense length.

A groan rumbled in her chest as she picked up the pace, her body arching involuntarily. The sensations were overwhelming, completely unlike anything she had ever experienced. The intense pressure, the deep-seated thrumming, the pure, unadulterated masculinity of it all. It was too much, yet not enough.

"Oh god," she whispered, her voice a ragged breath. She closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythmic friction, the building tension. Her new muscles tensed, a powerful tremor running through her core.

And then, with a convulsive shudder, she exploded.

A scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, "FUCK!" The word echoed in the vast penthouse, thick with the aftermath of her unprecedented climax. She lay there, panting, her powerful chest heaving, her body awash in a strange mix of pleasure and profound existential dread.

"I… I just orgasmed… as Brandon Hunter," she mumbled, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in her throat. The sheer absurdity of it all was almost too much to bear.

Slowly, she recovered, the initial shock beginning to give way to a dawning realization: she was stuck. For now, she was Brandon Hunter. The CEO, the bodybuilder, the dominant male. She had to figure out how to be him.

She found a walk-in closet the size of her entire apartment, filled with racks of custom-tailored suits, designer jeans, and an array of athletic wear. She pulled on a tight, black, short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of dark, expensive-looking trousers. The clothes stretched taut across the vast broad expanse of her chest and shoulders, emphasizing the colossal musculature.

Back at the mirror, she looked at herself. Or rather, himself. Olivia, in this male body, was a vision of power. The black t-shirt clung to his chest, emphasizing the deep valleys and peaks of his pectorals, the intricate road map of veins that snaked across his forearms. His face, rugged and bearded, with intense, piercing eyes, stared back at him.

A strange, almost intoxicating sense of power began to bloom within him. This wasn't Olivia's small, overlooked office self. This was Brandon Hunter. The man who commanded attention, who exuded authority, who moved through the world with an effortless, undeniable gravitas.

"Okay, Olivia," he muttered to the formidable reflection. "You're Brandon Hunter now. Act like it."

He found a pristine espresso machine and, after a moment of fumbling, managed to brew a cup of strong, black coffee. As he sipped it, the bitterness doing little to cut through the surreal fog in his brain, he heard the distinct chime of the penthouse elevator.

"Oh, god," he gasped, nearly spilling the hot liquid. Who would be here so early?

The doors hissed open, revealing a man standing hesitantly in the foyer. He was well-built, with a neatly trimmed beard and dark, intense eyes. Blake. The guy in the background of some of Brandon’s photos, Olivia recalled. A low-ranking manager, ambitious and always eager to please.

"Brandon?" Blake asked, his voice a little unsure. "Sorry, I know it's early, but you asked for those Q3 projections first thing…"

Olivia, now embodying Brandon, straightened his shoulders, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him. "Blake," he rumbled, the name rolling off his new tongue with an unsettling ease. His voice, Brandon's voice, was like velvet-covered steel. "Come in. Coffee?"

Blake nodded, looking a little awestruck, as he often did around the intimidating CEO. He walked in, taking a seat on a sleek leather couch. Brandon found himself pacing, the powerful legs moving with a restless energy he hadn’t known he possessed.

"Projections, yes," he said, trying to sound authoritative, trying to channel the Brandon he knew. "Set them on the table. We’ll go over them."

Blake did so, his movements precise. He wore a fitted suit that did little to hide his own athletic physique, the broad shoulders and narrow waist of a man who clearly spent time in the gym. As he sat, his eyes kept flickering up to him, a mix of admiration and deference in their depths.

Brandon found his gaze lingering on Blake's strong forearms, the way his suit jacket pulled taut across his back. A strange, insistent warmth began to pool in his new groin. It was the residual heat from his earlier masturbation, he told himself, but a darker, more potent urge was stirring. The urge to dominate. The urge to possess.

"Blake," he said, his voice dropping to a low purr that surprised even himself. "Something isn't quite right with these numbers."

Blake's brow furrowed. "Sir? I checked them twice. They're accurate."

"Are they?" Brandon challenged, moving closer. He stood directly over Blake, his shadow enveloping him. The scent of Blake's cologne, clean and masculine, filled his new nostrils. He could feel the power radiating from his own body, a physical presence that seemed to press down on the smaller man.

Blake looked up, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes, but also something else, something Brandon couldn't quite decipher. "Yes, Brandon, sir, I assure you."

"Perhaps," Brandon drawled, his voice a low rumble. "Perhaps you need a… closer look."

He reached out, his massive hand wrapping around the back of Blake's neck. Blake stiffened, his eyes wide. Brandon felt a thrill, cold and sharp, at his instant reaction. This power, this ability to simply command with a touch, with a look, was intoxicating.

He leaned down, his face close to Blake's, the scent of his skin now almost overpowering. "Blake," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Do you understand what I'm asking?"

Blake swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on Brandon. He seemed to be trembling slightly. "I… I think so, sir."

A predatory smile stretched across Brandon's lips. "Good boy."

Without another word, he pulled him up, his grip firm, and led Blake towards the plush carpeted floor. Blake followed, a silent, almost eager obedience in his steps. He pushed him gently to his knees, his eyes never leaving his.

"Open your mouth," Brandon commanded, his voice thick with a new kind of authority.

Blake hesitated for only a second before his lips parted. Brandon reached down, freeing the now-hardened bulk of his new equipment from his trousers. It sprang free, thick and throbbing, and he guided it to Blake's waiting mouth.

Blake took Brandon's cock into his mouth, his lips closing around the tip, a soft moan escaping Brandon. Brandon gasped, a wave of heat washing over him. The sensation was electrifying, the warm, wet suction, the implicit submission. It was a power Olivia had never known, a thrill that bordered on terrifying.

Blake began to work, his head bobbing rhythmically. Brandon closed his eyes, his powerful hands tangling in his hair, pulling Blake closer, deeper. The sounds Blake made, muffled and eager, fueled a primal hunger within Olivia. He was Brandon Hunter, and this was his subordinate, kneeling before him, servicing him. The sheer audacity of it, the raw, unapologetic dominance, was an intoxicating rush.

He pushed Blake harder, deeper, his hips thrusting forward with an instinctive rhythm. Blake's throat worked, his eyes squeezed shut. The pleasure was intense, building rapidly, a firestorm in Olivia's new, male groin. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that resonated through the penthouse.

"Good boy, Blake," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. "So good."

A few more thrusts, a few more desperate suckling sounds from Blake, and then Brandon bucked, convulsing violently. A primal roar tore from his throat as he flooded Blake's mouth, the taste of his own, new cum, strange and exhilarating.

He collapsed back onto the couch, breathing heavily, his body still trembling. Blake, his face flushed and glistening, slowly pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at Brandon, a strange mix of shame, awe, and fervent devotion in his eyes.

"Brandon," he said, his voice husky. "Anything else, sir?"

Brandon stared at him, the remnants of his climax still throbbing through his. "Later, Blake," he managed, his voice still a little hoarse. "For now, the projections can wait."

Blake nodded, standing slowly, adjusting his suit. He gave Brandon one last, lingering look before turning and heading for the elevator. As the doors closed, Brandon was left alone once more, the echoing silence amplifying the enormity of what had just transpired.

~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks bled into months. Olivia, now fully inhabiting the persona of Brandon Hunter, had seamlessly integrated himself into his life. The initial shock had given way to a strange, almost comfortable acceptance. He learned to navigate the corporate world with Brandon's innate authority, to speak with his commanding voice, to move with his powerful stride. He discovered the immense privilege that came with being a man like Brandon Hunter—the deference, the unquestioning obedience, the sheer ease of getting what you wanted.

Blake had, as predicted, become his devoted "boytoy." Their early morning meetings often devolved into intimate encounters in the penthouse, Blake eager to please, Brandon reveling in the intoxicating power of his new body and the control he exerted over him. He found himself increasingly drawn to the raw, visceral pleasure of male-on-male sex, something he never would have imagined in his former life. The deep penetration, the sheer physicality of it, was a constant source of thrilling sensation.

But it was in the gym where Olivia truly understood the depths of Brandon Hunter's dedication, and the sheer, magnificent power of his physique. He spent hours there, lifting weights that would have crushed his old body, pushing himself through brutal workouts that left him drenched in sweat, but also exhilarated, alive in a way he had never been before.

One particularly intense afternoon, deep into a bicep and tricep session, Brandon was in his element. The gym was less crowded than usual, the heavy clanking of iron echoing off the industrial walls. He stood before a weighted barbell, his powerful hands gripping the knurled steel. His face was a mask of intense concentration, the muscles in his neck and jaw straining as he initiated a heavy barbell curl. His eyes were squeezed shut, teeth gritted, every fiber of his colossal arm contracting with agonizing force. The veins in his forearms bulged like thick ropes, a roadmap of raw power coursing beneath his skin. A grunt, deep and guttural, escaped his lips as he fought gravity, bringing the bar up to his chest, pausing for a moment of supreme contraction before slowly lowering it. The intensity, the struggle, the sheer effort—it was a high unlike any other. Blake, ever-present, spotted him, his eyes fixed on Brandon's form, ready to assist if needed, but mostly just watching, admiring.

After a few more sets of the grueling curls, his biceps screaming with a glorious pump, Brandon moved to the cable machine for tricep pushdowns. He attached a thick rope, his powerful hands gripping it, his body leaning into the resistance. His head was bowed, the sweat from his brow dripping onto the gym floor as he focused on isolating the vast tricep muscles. The demon tattoo on his bicep seemed to snarl and writhe with the flexing of his arm. He locked out the weight, feeling the immense contraction in the back of his arms, the hard, horseshoe-like shape of his triceps flaring out. Blake murmured encouragement, a soft, almost worshipful tone in his voice.

Brandon finished the set, letting the rope fall. He looked at his left arm, the bicep swollen and veiny, a testament to the brutal workout. A playful, almost childlike grin spread across his rugged face, and he stuck out his tongue, a brief moment of Olivia's old, girlish self peeking through the dominant facade, as he admired the incredible pump. "Look at that, Blake," he rumbled, his voice thick with exertion, yet laced with a new kind of pride. "Feel that." Blake reached out, his fingers reverently tracing the hardened curve of Brandon's bicep.

"Incredible, sir," Blake breathed, his touch sending a strange shiver down Brandon's spine. "Always incredible."

A satisfied sigh escaped Brandon. The physical exertion, the raw power, the admiration from Blake—it all fed into a growing sense of self-actualization, a dangerous, intoxicating belief that this was who he was meant to be. Olivia, the meek office worker, was long gone, replaced by the formidable force of Brandon Hunter.

After a quick, cold shower that made his muscles sing, Brandon emerged, feeling invigorated. He walked into the vast, mirror-lined posing room, a space usually reserved for private practice sessions—back when the original Brandon went pro. Blake followed, carrying Brandon's gym bag.

Brandon stood before the mirrors, his body still glistening slightly from the shower. The cool air of the room kissed his skin, raising goosebumps on his massive frame. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, and then, with a practiced grace, hit a front lat spread pose. His immense lats flared out, creating an impossibly wide silhouette. His thighs, sculpted and veiny, displayed deep separations in the quads. The "soul of the man" tattoo stretched across his lower abdomen as he flexed, showcasing his incredibly narrow waist. He was a living sculpture, a monument to human strength and dedication. The man in the mirror was a god.

Blake stood a few feet behind Brandon, a soft, appreciative smile on his lips. His own physique, while impressive, seemed almost delicate in comparison to the sheer mass before him. He was wearing his black stringer top and sweatpants, his usual gym attire.

"Looking phenomenal, sir," Blake said, his voice sincere. "The conditioning is insane."

Brandon held the pose for another moment, feeling the burn, reveling in the sheer power that surged through him. Then he relaxed, his muscles rippling as he lowered his arms. He turned to face Blake, a predatory glint in his eyes.

"That was a hell of a workout, Blake," he rumbled, his voice deep and husky. "Left me feeling… energized." He stepped closer to Blake, his imposing presence seeming to dwarf the smaller man further. "And a little… horny."

Blake's eyes widened slightly, a flush rising on his cheeks. He knew what that meant. He knew the routine.

"Come on," Brandon said, his massive hand reaching out and grasping Blake's arm, pulling him towards the exit. "Let's go back to the penthouse. This workout has made me crave something else now. I want to pound your ass until you can’t walk."

Blake didn't resist. He simply nodded, a silent, eager assent in his eyes, as he followed him, the towering figure of Brandon Hunter, out of the posing room and towards the waiting elevator. The immense power, the raw desire, the absolute control—Olivia had not only accepted her new life, she had embraced it, becoming the dominant, ultra-masculine force she now inhabited, a man who took what he wanted, when he wanted it. And in that moment, as he led Blake away, there was no trace left of the low-ranking office woman he once was. There was only the god on top.

Brandon Hunter, CEO of Olympus Fitness.

[superheavyftms]

Superheavy Shots: A Father's Gift

Author's Note: A very rare bisexual story on my part (making straight stuff is just out of my comfort zone). It's not really much, the straight portions are very brief before it deep dives into the usual hardcore gay territory, and there's no actual straight sex, but still...Don't expect me to do this often (LOL).

~~~~~~~~~~

The silence in the house was heavy, a suffocating blanket of dust and unwashed laundry. It had been six weeks since the accident—six weeks since Astrid, only barely nineteen and full of a life that felt like it was just beginning, had been snatched away in a tangle of metal and ice on a snowy, slippery road. Her family, once anchored by their Norwegian heritage and their shared ambition, had drifted apart in the wake of her death. Harald, her father, a man who had built his life on the foundation of physical perfection and unyielding strength, was the most broken of them all.

He sat on the dark leather sofa, his giant frame sinking deep into the cushions. To any observer, he was a mountain of a man, a professional bodybuilder whose proportions defied the limits of human biology. His shoulders were like boulders, his chest a thick slab of muscle that strained against the air itself, and his arms were larger than the heads of most grown men. But inside, he was hollow. He stared at the television, the blue light flickering across his bearded face, but he wasn't watching anything. He was just waiting for the world to stop turning.

Astrid was there, though she didn't know how. For weeks, she was there beside him, a specter clinging to his side. She was a shimmer in the air, a lingering echo of a girl who couldn't let go of the man who had been her hero. She saw the way his thick fingers trembled, the way his breath came in shallow, ragged hitches.

She couldn't stand watching him in pain for so long anymore. She decided it was time to reach out. She wanted to touch his cheek, to tell him that she was still here, that he didn't have to be so sad.

"Pappa," she whispered, her voice a ghost of a sound.

As she leaned in, her translucent form overlapping with his solid, heavy chest, something snapped. It was like a vacuum seal breaking. She didn't just touch him; she felt herself being pulled, sucked into the dense, warm gravity of his mass.

She panicked. "No, wait! Stop! Pappa!"

Astrid screamed as the vacuum of his grief-stricken soul pulled her in. She felt herself being stretched all over a tank of solid meat, her consciousness compressed until it fit the tremendous architecture of Harald’s frame. Then came the sound—a wet, thunderous thud that shook her entire being. It was the sound of her own heartbeat, but it wasn't her tiny, rapid rhythm. It was a slow, thunderous boom that vibrated through a cavity far larger than her own chest.

She gasped, and the air that entered her lungs felt like a gale.

"What... what is this?" she tried to say, but the voice that came out was a tectonic rumble, a deep, gravelly bass that vibrated in her very bones.

She tried to move, and the weight was staggering. Every twitch of a finger felt like moving a lead pipe. She looked down, and her vision was different—higher up, broader. She saw two massive pillars of muscle—her dad’s colossal thighs, clad in camouflage leggings, stretching the fabric to its absolute limit.

She saw hands that were the size of dinner plates, calloused and thick-veined. She tried to move them, and the sheer effort required to shift that much muscle shocked her. Her arms felt like a log of solid oak. 

"Oh my god," she gasped, but the sound that came out was a deep, rumbling baritone that vibrated in her very bones. "Oh my god, what did I do? Pappa? Pappa, are you there?!"

There was no answer, only the steady, rhythmic breathing of a body that felt like a living machine. She panicked, trying to leap out of the body, but she only succeeded in tumbling off the sofa. The impact with the floor was seismic. She felt the density of her dad’s body, the sheer hardness of the muscle protecting the skeleton. She scrambled to her feet, her balance off. She felt an unfamiliar, heavy sway of something between her extremely beefy thighs—a solid low-hanging weight that swung with a mind of it’s own. It was a foreign anatomy that felt both intrusive and intoxicatingly powerful.

"Get out, get out, get out!" she shouted, her father's voice echoing off the walls. She ran around the house and found a mirror in the kitchen, her gait heavy and rhythmic.

When she saw the reflection, she froze. The man in the mirror was Harald, her dad, but the eyes were wide with a teenage girl's terror. She stared at the bald head, the dense, dark beard, and the tribal tattoos that flowed across the monolithic swell of his pectoral muscles and boulder-like shoulders. She reached up, feeling the scratchy texture of the beard with fingers that felt like clubs.

"I’m stuck," she whimpered, the sound lost in the thick hair of his beard. "I’m stuck in his body. I’m stuck inside my dad."

She spent the first few hours in a state of hysterical paralysis. She lay there, feeling the weight of him. Everything was different. The air felt colder against the rough, veiny skin of his arms. The scent of him—musky, metallic from the gym, and faintly like sandalwood—was everywhere. And then there was the large heft between his legs. As a teenage girl, she had never considered the sheer physical presence of having a penis. It felt heavy, a constant, low-hanging pressure that shifted whenever she moved her legs. It was terrifying and, in a strange, burgeoning way, fascinating.

"Holy crap," she muttered, a small, masculine smirk forming on Harald's face. "The power in this... it's like driving a tank."

~~~~~~~~~~

By the second day, the panic began to subside into a surreal curiosity. She stood before the mirror in the hallway, staring at the stranger in the glass. She raised a hand—a hand that could crush a grapefruit without trying—and traced the lines of the tribal tattoos that flowed like ink-black rivers over his chest and shoulder.

"This body is amazing," she whispered to herself. She flexed, just a little, and watched as the large bicep peaked into a hard, rounded mountain of meat. The power was intoxicating. When she walked, the floorboards groaned. When she breathed, she felt the incredible expansion of a ribcage built to house massive lungs.

One afternoon, she decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. She wore a tight stringer tank top that barely contained the explosion of muscle that was her dad's torso. As she stepped out onto the driveway, the sun hit the stone pavers. She stood there for a moment, looking at her dad’s black car parked there. She felt like a giant in a world made for ants.

"God, I'm so huge," she said to herself, looking down at the way the leggings strained against her father's calves. "Everyone is looking. I can feel them."

And they were. A neighbor next door stopped mowing his lawn just to stare. Two teenage boys on bikes nearly crashed as they gawked at the sheer scale of the man standing in the driveway. A group of college girls nearby whispered to each other, their eyes tracking the architectural density of his frame—the movement of his shoulders like heavy machinery offset by the slight, girlish rhythm of the swing of his arms. One of them actually blushed when Astrid—in her dad’s deep voice—nodded a silent "hello."

"They're looking at me," Astrid thought, a thrill running through her. "They're actually intimidated by me. I’ve never felt this strong in my life. I’m like a god in this body."

Outside, the world felt like it belonged to her. She walked down the street, and the effect was immediate. For the first time in her life Astrid felt dominant. She felt like she owned the air she breathed. Women didn't just look; they flirted. She chatted with and flexed her titanic body for them. The large shaft in her leggings hardening, forming a very obvious bulge, as they touched and teased her father’s overly-trained muscles.

She noticed the way men reacted, too. Some were awed and couldn't stop asking her about training tips. Some were openly hostile, their egos bruised by her sheer scale, but others—especially some of the guys she suspected were gay—looked at her with a raw, unmistakable lust. She felt her father's body react to all the attention. It was a strange, animalistic pride that resided in the muscle itself.

Back at the house, her brother Svein was a constant presence. Just shy of twenty-one, he’s already built like a beefy college jock. He’d been desperately trying to bulk up to follow in their dad's footsteps for years. He looked like a Greek god to most people, but compared to the gigantic beast Astrid was currently "riding," Svein looked like a child.

Svein walked into the kitchen one afternoon while Astrid was standing by the fridge in nothing but a pair of her father’s favorite tiny yellow posing briefs—a habit Harald had always had, being comfortable in his own skin. Astrid had found she enjoyed the freedom of it, the way the cool air hit the massive sweep of her solid quads and the curve of her thick glutes.

"Hey, Dad," Svein said, stopping short. He looked Harald up and down, a look of genuine relief on his face. "You... you look good today. Better than you have in weeks."

Astrid turned, and the sheer width of her back seemed to block out the kitchen light. Her lats spread like wings, creating a dramatic V-taper that made her waist look impossibly small by comparison, the muscles rippling like a disturbed pond as she shifted her weight. She looked at her brother, seeing the worship in his eyes. He didn't just love his father; he wanted to be like him.

"I'm feeling a bit better, Svein," she said, her voice deep and steady. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, it’s sheer size nearly covering the entirety of his deltoid. The weight of it made Svein buckle slightly, but he didn't mind. "We’re going to be okay. I promise."

Svein smiled, a genuine, relieved look. "I'm glad. I was worried you were going to let all that hard work go to waste. You've even got your color back." He looked his father up and down, his eyes filled with the hero-worship he’d always had. "You’re looking thick, Pappa. Really thick."

Astrid felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sensation of her brother’s respect. It was a masculine bond she had never understood as a girl—the way men communicated through presence and shared strength.

~~~~~~~~~~

That night, the heat in the house felt oppressive. Astrid had spent an hour in the garage gym, pushing her father's body through a brutal shoulder workout. She didn't know the science of it, but she knew the feeling—the burning, tearing sensation of the muscle fibers expanding, the "pump" that made her feel like her skin was going to burst.

She went into the master bathroom, the air thick with steam. She caught her reflection in the mirror—sweaty, pumped, and impossibly wide. She stripped off the damp gym clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over the rugged landscape of her father’s body.

As she dried off with a blue towel, standing nude in the center of the bathroom, she found herself staring down. She had been avoiding this, the most intimate part of the possession. But the testosterone in Harald’s system was a literal drug, and it was demanding an outlet.

"Okay," she whispered, her heart—her dad’s heart—hammering in her throat. "I have to know. Let's see what the fuss is about."

She looked at her anatomy, at her dad’s prized possession. It looked massive, even at rest. She reached down and wrapped a hand around it, and gasped at the scale of it. It felt hot, heavy, thick, and surprisingly soft. But just holding it made it surge with blood, quickly hardening until it finally grew into a formidable pillar of meat.

"Oh my god, Pappa, how big is this thing?" she gasped, her voice cracking before settling into a low, predatory growl that felt like it belonged to the body more than her soul.

Marveling at the true size of her dad’s fat babymaker, she guessed it was about twelve inches long and, at nearly three inches wide, as thick as a soda can. Harald’s cock was so large that it felt like an independent entity.

As she started to jack off, her huge, calloused hand moving rhythmically over the velvet skin, a wave of sensation hit her that was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It wasn't just physical; it was a flood of memories.

"Oh shit… oh my god," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

Images flashed behind her eyelids. She saw her mother, years ago, laughing as she, as her dad, lifted her into the air. She felt the ghost of her mother’s hands on this skin, the heat of their bodies together. She saw other women, too—faces from the years after the divorce. She heard their sighs, felt their breath on her neck.

"You were a bad boy, Pappa," she whispered, her hand moving faster. "Unnghhh… so many women. They loved you, didn't they? They loved this strong, sexy body."

She started talking to herself, her voice a low, dirty growl in the empty bathroom. "Ugh… ugh… yeah, look at those tits… those pussies... they were so tight, weren’t they? You really gave it to them, didn't you, you big animal? Unnghh…. fuck…"

She was lost in the fantasy, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the python in her hand grew rock hard, straining against her grip.

But then, the memories suddenly shifted.

The images of women faded, replaced by something else. She saw her dad’s gym partner Rashad—a huge man with broad shoulders and a kind smile—standing close to her at the gym, staring with obvious lust as she trained her massive biceps. She felt the surge of adrenaline and lust her dad had felt, the way his heart had raced not with fear, but with desire. She saw more men—friends, partners, competitive rivals, strangers on the street—and felt the secret, quiet lust her father had buried deep inside.

Astrid froze, her hand stilling for a second. "Pappa?" she gasped, her hand stuttering. "You... you liked men too?"

The realization hit her like a physical blow. Her mother, a woman who had been so strictly religious, so old-fashioned and traditional... she hadn't left because she didn't love him. She had left because she found out the truth.

Her mother must have seen the way her dad looked at his peers. She must have realized it back then, that her dad was bisexual, and clearly preferred men. Harald had spent decades layering slab after slab of muscle onto his body, building a hyper-masculine fortress not just for strength, but to entomb a part of himself he feared the world—and his wife—could never accept.

"You poor man," she whispered. "You've been so alone."

But the discovery didn't turn her off. If anything, it added a new layer of intensity to the experience.

"Let's see what you really want, Pappa," she groaned.

She pushed the thought of her mother and the other women away and leaned into the images of the men her dad had lusted after. She saw the muscular, sweaty bodies of his fellow bodybuilders at the gym. She thought of the strength, the rough touch, the musky scent of a man's man. She imagined what it would be like to feel another man’s strength against this one, to be the one who dominated or was dominated by a force as great as her own.

“Oh gawd they’re so hot…. unnghh…. unghhh… wanna kiss them so bad… wanna feel those muscles… ungghh… pound that ass… unnghhh… fuuck…” she moaned. The pressure was a volcano. She jacked off even harder, faster, her thumb swiping over the slick head. The images collided—men, muscles, strength, submission, her dad’s secret hunger and her own desperate, borrowed need. It was too much.

The climax built like a storm. Her whole body—all three hundred and ten pounds of it—began to shake. The muscles of her legs and glutes locking up. She gripped the sink with one hand, her knuckles white, as she pumped the heavy shaft with the other. The coil in her groin finally snapped.

"Unnghh… unnghh… ugh… yes! Fuuuck, yeeeessss!" she roared, the words torn from a throat that felt like it was venting steam, her deep growling voice echoing off the tiles. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck….unghh… it's coming… it’s coming… it’s… UUUUUNNNNGGGHHHHHHH!!!"

The explosion was unlike anything she had ever felt as a girl. It wasn't an internal glow; it was a violent, rhythmic expulsion. She arched her back, her muscles locking into a rigid, trembling pose as thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip, splattering against the tiled wall, the mirror, and across the vast, tattooed expanse of her own chest. She shouted filth she’d only heard in porn movies, her voice breaking with the sheer force of the release, until the last of the pressure was drained from her dad’s huge balls.

She slumped back against the wall, her broad chest heaving and gasping for air. She stared at her dad’s ripped, veiny bodybuilder’s body on the bathroom mirror, now covered with sweat and cum. "Wow," she breathed, a wide, dazed smile spreading across her rugged bearded face. "That was... definitely not the last time I’m doing that."

~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later, the routine had become her life. She was Harald. She ate his meals, she lifted his weights, and she enjoyed his status. Astrid decided it was time to step into her dad's world more fully. It was time to return to his actual gym—the place where the professionals trained. 

She decided to use her dad’s car to get there. Driving as her dad was a vastly different experience. Harald’s body was so enormous, it barely fit in the driver’s seat. She had to move the seat all the way back just to have enough space to move around. Even navigating the steering wheel, with her dad’s large mitts that he called hands, needed a few moments to get used to.

It took about thirty minutes, but she finally arrived at the gym. She walked in, the smell of iron and chalk filling her nostrils. She felt the eyes on her immediately. Her dad was a legend here, but even by Harald’s standards, she looked "on." 

Eventually she found Rashad. Rashad was a mountain of a man himself—a black bodybuilder with a bald head, a thick, dark goatee, and a body that was a tapestry of dense, hairy muscle. He was wearing nothing but dark blue gym shorts today, his beefy pecs glistening with sweat.

"Hey, Rashad," Astrid rumbled, her voice steady.

"Harald! Where you been, man?" Rashad boomed, walking over and giving her a firm handshake that turned into a brief, intense hug. “I haven’t seen you since your daughter… well, you know. Are you okay?”

Astrid felt the heat of him, the way his hairy chest pressed against her own. She noticed the way Rashad’s eyes lingered on her. He wasn't just being a friend. He was looking at her the way a man looks at something he wants to devour.

"I've been dealing with things, Rashad," she said, keeping her voice low. "But I'm fine now."

"Good. I missed my favorite training partner." Rashad’s gaze drifted down to her waist and then back up. He seemed to be vibrating with an energy he was trying to suppress.

As they began a back-and-forth workout, Astrid became hyper-aware of him. She constantly felt Rashad's presence like a heat source, noticing the way he looked at her. When she was doing heavy cable rows, she could feel his eyes tracing into the full expanse of her broad, beefy back, down to the sizable, Christmas-tree-shaped muscles of her lower lats, and the thick, rounded peaks of her ass. She saw the way his breath caught when she bent over to pick up a weight, her glutes stretching the fabric of her leggings. He was always there to spot her, his hands lingering just a second too long on her pecs, or shoulders. 

"You're looking incredible, Harald," Rashad said, his voice dropping an octave. He was standing close, the scent of his sweat—musky and sweet—filling Astrid's senses. "I mean... seriously. I missed having you around."

Astrid kept looking at him. She saw the longing in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated when she flexed. For days, she had ignored her own growing lust for men out of respect for her father's darkest secret. But here, in this temple of muscle, with a man who clearly worshipped the ground she walked on, she decided she was done hiding.

She finished a set of deadlifts, her lats spreading like wings. She pulled out her dad's phone and took a quick selfie for the occasion, then turned to Rashad, who was still staring, transfixed.

"You're staring again, Rashad," she said, dropping a pair of hundred-pound dumbbells with a crash.

Rashad blinked, his face flushing. "I... sorry, man. Just admiring the progress. You look even bigger than usual."

Astrid walked over to him, closing the distance until their pecs were almost touching. She was quite taller than him in this body, and she used that height to loom over him.

The air between them crackled, charged with a new, aggressive intent. Astrid saw Rashad swallow hard, his eyes dropping to her lips. She didn't give him a chance to retreat. "I think we should get out of here," she whispered, her voice a deep, suggestive rumble. "I think we should go to your place. I have some... things I want to discuss. Privately. If you catch my drift?"

Rashad’s jaw dropped, practically hitting the floor. "What?! Harald, you... you told me years ago you were straight. You said you didn't roll that way."

Astrid leaned in, her beard brushing against his ear. "People change, Rashad. And right now, I’m feeling very, very different,' she rumbled. She reached out and buried her hand in the thick muscle of his neck, her fingers sinking into his traps with a possessive strength that left no room for doubt. “Now, are we going or not?"

Rashad didn't need to be told twice.

Before they left, Astrid went to the locker room for quick wardrobe change. She caught her reflection in the mirror—the pump from the workout making her look absolutely monstrous. She snapped another selfie, flexing her colossal bicep until it looked like it might burst through the skin, looking like curled cannonballs. She flexed hard, admiring the way the veins mapped out across the peaks of her arms. She looked at the photo and felt a surge of pride.

"You're a beast, Pappa," she thought. "And tonight, we're going to act like one."

They drove to Rashad's apartment in silence, the air in the car thick with anticipation. As soon as the door closed behind them, the pretense of being "gym bros" evaporated.

Rashad turned to her, his eyes wild. "Are you serious about this? Because if you're fucking with me, Harald..."

Astrid didn't answer with words. She grabbed the front of his gym shorts and pulled him toward her, crashing her lips against his. The kiss was rough, desperate, and tasted of salt and coffee. She felt Rashad’s hands roam over her body, his palms sliding over the vast curves of her beefy shoulders and down to the small of her vast wide back.

"Oh god, you're so big," Rashad groaned against her mouth. "I've wanted this for so long."

They stripped each other with a frantic energy, clothes falling to the floor like discarded skins. Nude, they were a sight that would have silenced an entire stadium. Two hundreds-of-pounds of prime, Grade-A beef, standing firmly in the dim light of the bedroom. They looked like two ancient titans. Astrid marveled at Rashad’s body—the way the hair on his pecs felt against her own, the sheer density of his chocolate-colored muscles. He looked so damn sexy.

The sex was a marathon of hardcore muscle worship. They spent a long time just kissing and ravaging each other’s mouths, flexing and feeling each other’s muscles, and just appreciating the fruits of their hard-earned labors at the gym. It was a collision of giants. The scratch of their beards, the taste of sweat and iron, the sheer pressure of their colossal bodies grinding together. Astrid found herself fascinated and overwhelmed by all of it.

Then Astrid took charge, her father’s body knowing exactly what to do even as her mind marveled at the sensations. She pushed Rashad onto his knees, letting him worship the huge, heavy cock he had clearly dreamed about for years. She felt the warmth of his mouth, the suction, the way his goatee tickled her beefy thighs.

"Unggh… unghhh… yeah, you like that, don't you, you fucking slut?” she mumbled, the vibration of her voice deep in her throat. She pistoned in and out of Rashid’s mouth like a jackhammer. “You’ve been dreaming about this cock for years…. unggh …unghh… fuck yeah…"

Later, they moved into a 69 position, their huge bodies a tangle of sweating, straining muscle. Astrid felt the strange, incredible sensation of being both the giver and the receiver. She sucked on Rashad’s cock while he did the same to her, the rhythm of their breathing filling the room.

"Huh… huh.. gawd… Harald, please," Rashad gasped, pulling away and rolling onto his stomach. "I want you. All of you."

Astrid didn't hesitate. She climbed over him, her thick thighs framing his hips. She felt the weight of her own massive body, the power in her lower back as she positioned herself.

"Hold on, Rashad," she growled.

She pushed into him, a slow, steady pressure into his bubble ass that made Rashad scream into the pillow. The sensation was overwhelming—a connection that felt like it was happening on a cellular level. She began to move, her hips driving with a power that only a body like Harald’s could possess. 

"Fuck, you're so damn thick!" Rashad yelled, his voice strained with pleasure. "Drive it in, Harald! Fuck me with that big daddy dick!"

Astrid did. She took him with a ferocity that surprised them both, her father's powerful legs driving her forward, her hands gripping Rashad's thick traps as she pounded into him. It was a symphony of heavy breathing, the slap of skin on skin, and the guttural roars of two titans reaching the peak of their existence.

She lost herself in the rhythm, her mind a blur of sensation and emotion. She wasn't just a girl in her dad’s body anymore; she was a force of nature. She felt every ripple of Rashad’s muscles, every gasp of his breath.

"UNGH… UNGGHH…. UNGHHHHHH… I've got you," she roared, her voice raw. "I've got you, you sexy bastard… UNGHHH … UNGGHHHHH …UNGGGGHHHHHHH… OH GAWD… OH GAWD… IT’S COMING… OH GAAAAAWWWDDDDD… FUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!"

They climaxed together, a primal explosion of sound and sweat. Astrid pulled out as thick seed spurted out from her cock all over the bed and onto Rashid’s large back. It took several minutes before her bull balls were emptied of her dad’s copious amount of cum. There were just so much.

She then collapsed onto Rashad’s back, her heart racing, her skin glowing in the dark. It was all over now, and they lay there in a heap of sweaty, exhausted muscle.

After a few minutes, she pulled herself up. "I... I need to go to the bathroom," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

She walked into the small, tiled room and shut the door. She leaned against the sink and looked at herself in the mirror—at her dad’s handsome, testosterone-laden face, now flushed with the afterglow of sex with a man. Suddenly, the gravity of what she had done hit her. She had taken her father’s body—his sacred, disciplined vessel—and used it for her own pleasure. She had outed his secret, even if only to one person.

Tears began to well in her eyes. They tracked down her rugged, manly cheeks and disappeared into her beard.

"What have I done?" she whispered. "I stole his body. I'm using his life like a toy. He’s gone, and I’m here... and I’m enjoying it. I’m enjoying being a man. I’m enjoying him."

She felt a wave of crushing guilt. She thought of her dad’s grief, of the way he had been sitting on that sofa, waiting to die. And here she was, having the time of her life.

"I'm sorry, Pappa," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have done this you."

Suddenly, the air in her mind changed. It was like a door opening in a dark room.

“Astrid.”

She froze. The voice didn't come from the room. It came from inside her head. It was her dad’s voice—Harald’s voice—but it wasn't the deep rumble she produced when she spoke. It was clear, calm, and filled with a strange, quiet warmth.

“Astrid, don’t cry.”

"Pappa?" she gasped, looking around the empty bathroom. "Where are you?"

“I’m here, little bird. I’ve been here the whole time.”

Astrid’s heart nearly stopped. "You've been... you've seen everything?"

“Everything,” Harald said, and she could hear the smile in his mental tone. “And it was amazing. You have no idea what it felt like for me—to see you take control, to see you live again. You made this body do things I was too afraid to do. You made me feel things I’ve spent forever trying to forget.”

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "I didn't mean to take it. I just wanted to touch you, and then I was inside..."

“I know,” Harald said gently. “And I can push you out at any time, little bird. I’m much stronger than you. I could have taken back control the second it happened. But I didn’t want to.”

"Why?"

“Because I was so happy you were back. I was so tired of being alone in our big, empty house, in this big, empty body. I tried so hard to be strong for your brother. I love him so much too, but just the two of us wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stand life without you. Watching you ride my body... it’s been the greatest gift I’ve ever received. You gave me a reason to watch the world again. And that man out there... the things you did with my gym buddy... thank you, Astrid. Thank you for showing me what that felt like.”

"But the sex... with Rashad... I didn't mean to—"

“It was incredible,” Harald interrupted. “Don’t ever feel sorry for what you just did, little bird. I’ve wanted to do it myself for a long time. Who knew it took being possessed by my own daughter to finally force myself to have my dick up that sexy man’s ass?”

Astrid wiped her eyes with the back of her massive hand. "Really, Pappa? You're not mad?"

“Mad? Astrid, I’m alive again because of you. We’re both alive. I’ve decided... I’ve decided that you deserve this. You died too young. You should get to see what the world is like from the top of the mountain. My mountain. I want you to see the world through my eyes. I want you to feel what it's like to be this big, this fucking strong. And I’ll be right here with you, experiencing every second of it.”

Astrid stood up straight, a new sense of purpose flowing through her. She looked at herself in the mirror—at their reflection. She flexed her huge biceps, and she could feel her dad’s mental presence flexing with her, a dual surge of power that made her feel invincible.

"We're a team then?" she asked, a mischievous glint appearing in their shared eyes.

“Always,” Harald replied. “Now, go back out there. I think our buddy’s waited long enough. And go destroy his ass again for me will you? It felt damn awesome.”

Astrid laughed, the sound deep and resonant. "As you wish, Pappa."

She smiled, a wicked, masculine grin, wiping the last of the tears away and stepped back into the bedroom. Rashad was sitting up, looking at her with a mix of awe and uncertainty.

"Everything okay, Harald?" he asked.

Astrid walked over to the bed, her muscles rippling with every step. She felt her dad’s excitement bubbling up inside her, a shared anticipation for what was to come.

"Everything is perfect, Rashad," she said, her voice dropping into that deep, commandingly sexy baritone. "I was just talking to myself, and I’ve decided. I’m going to find a lot more men like us to have some fun with, and you’re coming along with me."

Harald’s voice echoed in her mind: “Fuck yeah, I can’t wait!”

Astrid leaned down and grabbed Rashad by the shoulders, pulling him back toward the pillows. "But first," she whispered, her eyes dark with a hunger that belonged to both of them, "Time for round two."

The room was filled once again with the sounds of their shared life—the strain of muscle, the heat of breath, and the joy of a father and daughter finally finding a way to be whole again, one heavy, powerful heartbeat at a time.

The two of them, the ghost and the giant, moved as one. They weren't just surviving; they were conquering. And as the night stretched on, the world outside felt smaller and smaller, eclipsed by the sheer, undeniable reality of the colossal man they had become.

"Get ready, Rashad," Astrid growled, her hand moving down to grip him. "This time, I’m really going all out."

In the silence of her mind, her dad laughed—a sound of pure, unadulterated freedom. Together, they were a legacy that wouldn't be broken, a story written in the very fibers of the flesh they shared. And as they lost themselves in the physical ecstasy of the moment, the tragedy of the past finally, mercifully, began to fade away.

[muscletitanlover]

Radek Lonc, Czechia IG: radek.lonc

[gotwide]

Wesley Durden

[gotwide]

Muscle couple

[15takumi]

[15takumi]

[hrycwbyphx]

[greyswap]

A NEW YEAR'S WISH

I used to think confidence was inherited. Like hairlines. Or jawlines. Or the way my father could walk into a room full of men twice his age and have them straighten their backs without even knowing why.

Senator Whitmore didn’t ask for respect. He expected it.

I, on the other hand, was twenty-one, going to Harvard because it was “the next logical step,” wearing the same navy blazer as every other boy who thought pedigree counted as purpose. I had opinions I’d memorized, not lived. Beliefs I’d borrowed. Convictions that cracked the second someone pushed back.

I wanted to be finished. Finished becoming. Finished doubting. I wanted to be the kind of man other men clocked immediately—the kind who didn’t ask permission to exist.

New Year’s Eve, I stood alone in my dorm room while my roommate pre-gamed across the hall, bass thumping through the walls. I stared at my reflection: soft, narrow, careful. The kind of body that apologized before it entered a room.

I remember saying it out loud. “I just want to be a real man.”

Midnight came. Champagne popped somewhere down the hall. And the world… blinked.

I woke up heavy.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not groggy—weighted. My chest broad and solid against the mattress. My hands rough, scarred, confident in their size. When I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, tight black underwear clung to thighs that had never skipped leg day in their life.

The mirror stopped me cold.

Beard. Thick mustache. Weathered face. A body that took up space without asking.

I stood there for a long moment before the mirror, just… taking inventory.

This face stared back at me like it had never doubted a single choice it had made. I lifted a hand—bigger than it had any right to be—and dragged my fingers slowly through that thick mustache. It was coarse. Real. The kind of facial hair you didn’t style so much as maintain. My jaw underneath was solid, unbothered by angles or softness.

I barely recognized myself when I smiled.

My gaze dropped.

Jesus.

Hair everywhere. Chest, stomach, forearms—dark and unapologetic. Muscle sat heavy on my frame, not sculpted for show but built from use. I turned slightly, watching how my shoulders filled the mirror, how my arms hung relaxed and powerful at my sides.

I reached up then—hesitant for half a second—and slid my palm over my scalp.

Smooth. Bald. Intentional.

The kind of head you shaved because you didn’t need anything hiding you.

The sensation sent a jolt straight through me. Not embarrassment. Not shame.

Heat.

I straightened, squared my shoulders, watched how naturally the movement claimed space. I could feel it now—how this body carried itself, how it expected the world to adjust around it.

I got dressed slowly. Deliberately.

Jeans first—tight in all the right ways. The weight of a chain settling against my hip as I clipped on the wallet felt absurdly right, like punctuation at the end of a sentence I’d been trying to finish my whole life. Rings slid onto my fingers, cool metal against warm skin, each one making my hands look even more capable.

Then the leather jacket.

The second it settled onto my shoulders, something in me locked into place. The weight. The smell. The way it framed my chest like it had been waiting for me.

I looked at myself again.

And this time, I didn’t flinch.

I liked what I saw. No—I wanted what I saw.

The realization made my breath hitch, my pulse thrum low and steady. I wasn’t just confident in this body—I was turned on by it. By the certainty of it. By the fact that this man didn’t ask if he was enough.

He knew.

I leaned closer to the mirror, eyes dark, mouth just barely curved.

“So this is what it feels like,” I murmured.

Not approval.

Ownership.

Then my phone lit up.

Notifications. Grindr. Texts. Names I didn’t recognize. Men—confident, direct, unapologetic—messaging me like I was the prize.

And that’s when it hit me.

The attraction wasn’t theoretical. It wasn’t distant or academic or something to sneer at.

It was mine.

I was gay.

Not confused-gay. Not curious-gay. But settled, grounded, certain.

The kind of certain my father always preached about—just never like this.

I laughed. Out loud. A deep, easy sound that felt good in my chest.

All those years of rolling my eyes at my roommate’s “phase.” All those jokes. All that certainty about what a “real man” was supposed to want.

And now?

I wanted him.

Not him exactly—but the version of me I used to be. Slim. Nervous. Still trying to prove something. The kind of guy who’d look at this body and forget how to breathe.

The Harley was parked outside like it had always been mine.

Leather jacket on. Engine roaring. The city lit up ahead of me—bars, music, possibility. I knew exactly which place my old roommate liked. Knew exactly how this body would be read when I walked in.

Respected. Desired. Unquestioned.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t wondering who I was supposed to be.

I was already there.

Now I just had to decide what to do with it.

[onelinerbust]

The "one-liners" are back once more. Theme for the compilation is "fake daddies"

Caption #1: Smiling Ear-to-Ear

Yeah, those asshole are on their limits. They used to make fun of me, guess they don't have time to tease weaker guy when their own PT aka me slammed them with insane demand of certain sets and reps I know for a fact they cannot manage. Let's see how far they'll push through before they start passing out one by one

Caption #2: Timely

"Damn.....that was close, he almost whooped my ass! Thank God that spell finally worked, fuck yeah!"

Caption #3: Cornered and Desperate

"If you are smart enough, you will never appear in all the regular places you visit, let alone MY house! Yeah, I saw you through the street camera, stalking me like the creepy fat pig freak you are. News flash, piggy, you'll never be this once again, it's all mine now and the sooner you let go, the smarter. If I ever see you again or hear you open that stupid mouth, I'll beat you till you turned into a bloody blob,"

Caption #4: Smug About It

I'll be smug too if I look this fucking hot when I'm pushing 50, heheh. What can I say, I really worked hard to maintain this physique after all

Caption #5: Chickened Out

"C'mon, don't tell me you chickened out at the last minute. No blood or pain or anything, the magic took care of it all,"

"Guess he's satisfied settling as our little twink then, that's what I guess from that gaping mouth and glazed stare, Fred,"

"Ohhh, when you put it like that, you are probably right. Just look at that tent in his short, he wanted us even more now that we're fucking DILF,"

"Well, just one thing to prove our hypotheses. Crawl over here and worship us, boy. Don't act like you're more than a greedy little twink that willingly forgo the chance to assume this new heights of manhood for a chance to get dicked down by two daddies at once,"

Caption #6: The Saying is True

Guess the saying is true, black really don't crack, because what do you mean that despite getting older by 20 years and my masculinity enhanced to the max, I look not even a day older

Caption #7: Surprise

"What's the matter, son? You never seen your own stepdad all shirtless, perked up, and wearing shorts so short, it barely covers your disgusting incestuous imagination? Yeah, come worship these pecs boy, while I'm still the one in control,"

Jeffrey's pants never dropped quicker than that

Caption #8: Mile High Club

"Yeah boy, hopefully this learning experience shows you why you should never be rude to your passenger when you are merely the attendant,"

Cas dick never went harder with the way the flight attendant played him to the tee. This real-life role swap with him getting inside this young and slender flight attendant and watching his own body uttering all sort of rude and dismissive words meant to stir up someone's dick with humiliation kink was mere fantasy before this flight. But now it becomes real, that his wildest fantasy played out in real time with himself getting high to his own socks smell, will definitely rank as his best flying experience out of all the airline he ever used before.

Caption #9: Is It Wrong?

Do you think it's wrong that I use my own dad's body to get close to his hot clientele and give them more than the typical regular massage? Because if it's wrong, why do these dudes enjoy it? I'm doing something very right then based on the simple logic of my client enjoying my service, am I correct?

[next-gen-men]

Love your stories bro! Could you turn me into a big muscular daddy?

As you opened the last of your gifts, you were surprised to see one final box tucked in the back behind the tree. You didn’t remember getting a gift from anyone else, and when you looked over the strange box, there was no sender's name on the tag. It seemed innocuous enough, and it was a holiday gift addressed to you. It would be a waste not to open it!

Ripping through the wrapping paper, you found an ornate, wooden box. It looked expensive and old, something that definitely stood out among the other gifts you received. Carefully opening up the box, you were surprised to see a fancy lamp tucked inside. The lamp looked used, but the wear and tear on it did not detract from the elaborate and decorated designs on the side of the golden container. There were blood rubies along the handle that could likely gleam in the light if you spent some time cleaning off the sand and dirt. It looked like something that belonged in a museum, and for a moment, you wondered if this was really something you should own.

However, when you picked up the lamp, you were startled by an outpouring of blue and gold smoke. The fog billowed out from the spout of the lamp, filling up the room with far more of those acrid fumes than the lamp could have contained. Coughing roughly from the gas, you waved your hands around in an attempt to clear out the space so you could see clearly. As the smoke began to dissipate, you focused on the imposing figure hovering before your very eyes. Before you could even register what was happening, the smoky figure began to speak to you, introducing itself as a genie.

“You have freed me from my prison, Master,” the genie rumbled lowly. The voice was low and gravelly, an archaic voice that stroked the back of your mind as the spirit spoke. It was an auditory experience, making the hairs on the back of your hand stand up as you listened to the genie. The deep, vibrating tone made your knees tremble to the point where you had to cling to the countertop to support yourself. The spirit was large, overwhelming to the point where if the genie had a physical, tangible body, it could easily overpower you with a flick of its hand.

“Allow me to show you my gratitude for freeing me. Whatever you wish, Master, I shall grant within my powers,” the genie murmured. The spirit bowed, showing reverence and respect. There was a moment where you caught a glimpse of a light twinkle in the other’s eyes, although you did not give it much weight. It must have been a trick of the light, though, as you rationalized it for yourself. The whole experience was far beyond what you could have even imagined when you touched the antique lamp. Someone of mythical renown possessing powerful, magical abilities? Someone willing to do as you wish, without asking any questions? You couldn’t help but grin at the implications, your mind racing with all the possibilities.

The genie, waiting patiently for your instruction, slowly raised its head to look at you with curious eyes. “Forgive this servant for speaking out of turn, Master. But it seems you have many wishes. Perhaps, if you would allow me, I shall enable three of your deepest desires,” the genie mused.

With a slow nod of your head, the genie hummed with delight at the granted freedom. The spirit’s eyes began to glow a golden hue, a soft chant spilling from their lips as a warm light began to envelop your body.

“My Master is strong. Big. Larger than every man in the room,” the spirit rumbled as the ancient magic began to seep into your body. “No one is bigger than him, no one has more power than him.”

A soft groan spilled from your lips before you even realized what was happening. There was a burning sensation that ran through your body, as if every bone and muscle was worked over again and again. You felt like you had run a marathon, done five workouts, and played in every possible sports tournament all at once. Doubling over from the flashes of pain, you pant heavily as you cry out from the feeling. But just as quickly as the magic overtook your body with pain, you also felt a flush of pleasure shooting through you. It started from your crotch, but quickly spread, until your toes were curling in on themselves and your fingertips tingled with a newfound sensitivity. 

Gasping as you heard a low, ripping sound, you managed to glance down to see your body explode with muscle. Whatever clothes you had on before were stretched to their limits, and the tears and rips in the fabric told you that it could not hold your body back. With each breath you took, it felt like your body swelled up more and more. “W-Wai–” you groaned as you eyed your thickening biceps. There was a sense of power that felt novel to you, as if you could easily crush someone’s head between your forearms with just a single flex. You pant heavily, saliva dripping from your lips as you greedily feast on the growing changes. It was as if someone had attached a hose to your body, inflating you up like a balloon full of air. But a single, simple poke with your thickening fingers confirmed that it was just hard, thick muscle.

Another moan spilled out as you continued groping and squeezing at your body. Your hands blew up to the size of baseball mitts, gloves large enough to palm someone’s face and hold them at bay if you wished. Your fingers fattened up from slim, slender digits into thick, meaty sausages. You smirk at the sight, already chuckling at the idea of your finger slipping into a tight hole and making someone else mewl with need. Dragging your hands over your swelling body, you find yourself naturally cupping your jiggling bosom, only chuckling lowly at the heavy weight that came with squeezing your fat, muscular tits.

Your thumb flicked over your puffy nipples, and you didn’t hold your moans back as your fingertips tweaked at the sensitive areolas. Shuddering with need, you eagerly feasted your eyes on the other changes happening over your body. Barely able to see past the thick, juicy mounds of your pecs, you push down on your bouncing breast to witness the fiery burning sensation on your stomach. And before your very eyes, you saw six distinct, carved bumps form on your stomach. They bubbled up to the surface, pulling your skin taut over the curves and ridges that came from your new abs. One hand dropped down to trace over the ridges carefully, your cock twitching at the smooth bumps beneath your fingertips. It had always been a dream of yours to have a six-pack this defined, and now it had happened in just a mere second. Between the light, glancing touches, you watched as a firm V-line began to carve itself into your skin. It offered up clear, distinct lines pointing down towards your crotch, the envy of any man if they pulled their pants down low enough.

Following the growing changes, your other hand slipped down to wrap a firm grip around your cock. With your juicy chest obstructing your view, you resolved to touch yourself as you rode out the waves of magical pleasure. Even if you were not able to witness it, you could feel the changes beginning to cause your cock to swell. Despite already being rock hard from the muscular changes you saw before, your cock continued to lengthen and swell up, as though it was only half-chubbed. You shuddered from the delightful feeling, your eyes rolling back as the girth of your member thickens significantly. What was easily dwarfed in just one of your meaty paws quickly grew to a sizeable weapon, packed between your thighs. You let both of your hands fall to grope and stroke at the lengthening pipe, needing both to help support the weight of your fat dick. Moaning as your fingertips teased along the underside of your cock, you grunt as you feel your flared cockhead burp out a few droplets of precum. The slick, sticky feeling coated your fingertips, providing additional lubrication to the otherwise warm friction between your hands and the girthy pipe. 

You heard the wet splurts of precum dripping down onto the floor and along the insides of your thighs. And while you figured you would have a messy cleanup afterwards, you weren’t bothered in the slightest. The cummy mess was all worth it if the genie was granting your deepest desires to become big and muscular, and hot. As if confirming your true desires, your legs began to thicken and swell up in turn. Your thighs felt fuller than you remembered, and when you felt the inner thighs rub against each other, you could already see your future of waddling around like the big, beefy man you were always meant to be. Lines of muscle became more defined beneath your skin, with massive quads and diamond-hard calves that screamed of all the power contained in your lower half. When your feet burst out from your socks, you could only groan with relief at the unrestricted feeling. You wiggled your freed toes, enjoying the feeling of upgrading your shoe size as you positioned yourself into a firm and steady stance to maintain your balance. When you shifted your weight around, you felt heavy and dense, like years of muscle and growth were packed into your compact frame.

As if hearing this slight concern of yours, the genie’s eyes glimmered, and it snapped its fingers once more. All of a sudden, your spine began to crack and lengthen, stretching you out until you gained several more inches. The new vantage point was dizzying, and your muscular arms shot out to steady yourself with the countertop as you towered over the smoky entity. Staring down at the genie, you realized you had a better view of your muscular frame, and the added inches certainly helped add to the intimidating, overpowering aura you had always hoped for.

“My Master’s second wish shall proceed as such. He shall have all the power and masculinity that is befitting for someone of his size, and he will show this through a thick fur coat and a pelt damp with his sweat and musk,” the spirit continued as it gazed back up at you with a glimmer of satisfaction in its eyes. 

Before you had the chance to stop the genie or ask him what was going on, another wave of magic pulsed straight through your body. This time, it seemed primarily centered on your balls, and you could only grunt in surprise as you felt the swinging sack between your elephant-like thighs begin to swell and drop even lower. Taking on a wider stance so you would not crush your own sack, you growled as you felt pure, unfiltered testosterone flood through your body. What was once painful and pleasurable soon became a feeling of discomfort, and you scratched idly at your skin as you waited. And as if on cue, curls of hair began to spring forth all over your body.

It was like watching the breeze blow through a field of grass, with a shimmering wave that caused fresh hair to grow all over your body. It was a light but generous dusting everywhere, although the magic seemed to focus primarily on your face, your pits, your chest, and your privates. Rubbing at your jawline and cheeks, you could feel the beginnings of a beard and moustache beginning to thicken into something fuller and richer. From what you could tell, it felt like something that you had been growing your entire life. You glanced down as your cock and swollen balls were covered in a dense forest of hair, and the itchiness between your ass cheeks confirmed the same thing around your hole.

As you raised your thick biceps to flex, you caught a whiff of your musk from your pits. What used to be smoother and shaved curves of your skin was quickly overtaken by a thick mat of hair. It grew and spiraled out from the skin, trapping up any bits of sweat to make a nice mat for you to force someone’s face into. You shuddered at the thought, your swinging cock already leaking out some more at the idea of having someone buried up in there, worshipping your growing body in its fullest.

“My Master is in control and in charge of things. He is dominant. He is overpowering and unstoppable. When he desires something, he shall have it.”

As if speaking it into existence, you groaned as you felt an influx of thoughts spilling into your otherwise temperamental personality. You had been agreeable and easy to talk to. But like an earworm wriggling its way into the depths of your mind, you felt those thoughts shift into something more demanding and controlling. Why did you have to accommodate others? Why shouldn’t people listen to you instead? Things were far easier when you called the shots, when you were in control, and when people submitted to you. A cocky grin found itself forming on your lips as you eyed the spirit with a confident gaze that almost viewed it as something lesser than you.

In an instant, with your newfound strength and speed, you darted forward to grip the genie’s throat. While you had expected your fingers to pass through air, you were pleasantly surprised to find that there was something minuscule and barely tangible for you to hold onto. Not one to let the moment pass by, you kept a firm grip on the core of the spirit and brought it close to your changed body.

“I don’t remember having desires like that. Have you been changing me how you saw fit? These are your desires for me, not what I wished for myself,” you growled as you saw through the genie’s tricks. The spirit’s glowing eyes widened in surprise at being caught, and if it was an actual person, you were sure that you would have seen the flicker of fear in those golden eyes. But instead of reprimanding the genie, you only brought your arms up in a firm flex. You grunted as you watched the peaks of your biceps harden once more, showing off the dense, packed muscle that could easily crush the spirit, whether it had a physical form or not.

“More,” you growled as you pressed the genie’s half-tangible face up against your sweaty pecs. You smirked at the sight of the spirit moaning and panting over your body, over something that it made in the first place. “Grant me more wishes. Turn me into the thing that you desire most, you little slut,” you hissed as you watched the genie struggle to pull away from your firm grip. Even in its smoky form, there was enough for you to grip and hold in place, and you weren’t planning on letting go anytime soon. “It’s the least you can do for doing whatever the fuck you wanted. Who would have guessed I released such a whorish genie?”

For a while, all you could hear was the wet, sloppy pants as the genie struggled between those two, delicious mounds of fat and muscle. While there was no saliva to coat your hairy chest, you were certain that the spirit would have eagerly slobbered over your tits if it could. Still, the genie managed to pry its head away from worshiping your musky muscles, only staring up at you with a dazed expression.

“I wish… for my Master to become the beefiest, Arab daddy there ever was. Someone to be my lover and care for me and use me as he pleases…” the genie whispered.

There was the familiar outpouring of magic that rushed through your larger frame, although this time, it was accompanied by a feeling of reverent awe. You smirked as you leaned your head back, letting the magic overtake you and change you once more as you relished in the fact that the genie had learned its proper place in your dynamic now.

Years began to form on your face, changing your young, youthful visage into something more mature and experienced. What dominant, cocky feelings you had swelling in your chest before slowly molded into something far more stoic and calm. You didn’t have to prove your strength and power anymore; you’ve had years to do so. Instead, you approached your lovers with a steadfast assurance in yourself. Your words were like commands; they carried the weight of both your experience and your resolute determination. All the years you had missed began piling into your mind, filling in the gaps of a life you never had. You were a powerful, commanding daddy, with both the financial expertise and the knowledge to get what you wanted whenever you wanted.

The hair coating your body began to thicken and darken, until it became a nice, black mat of fur that contrasted against your sun-kissed skin. Years of tanning and working out shirtless under the sunlight darkened your skin into a healthy, vibrant tan. It was something that you were particularly proud of, and memories of yourself roaming around on your back porch butt-naked filled your stuffed head. You recalled the lewd whistles and cat calls from others as they savored the sight of your sweaty, tanned body, and you eagerly ate up every last compliment.

In the meantime, your past began to mold and shift into something more akin to a different country you called home. You had moved here at a young age, hoping to make a name for yourself, and your mind was flooded with experiences of life as an immigrant. Whatever hardships and struggles you triumphed over in the past paved the way to the successful, Arab businessman you are now. You groaned with the influx of information being dumped into your head, and as you let the implanted memories solidify into your truth, you could feel the tongue in your mouth grow thicker and fuller. Whatever thoughts you had were slowly translated into the Arabic language, until you spoke and thought primarily in your mother tongue. English was just a second language that you learned as a means of advancing your career, but it was one of many languages that you could speak fluently now. Even as you addressed the mythical genie, there was a thick accent that coated your words.

“So this is what you wanted,” you growled as you yanked the genie’s head back, only guiding it over so you could stuff it up against your sweaty pits instead. The spirit moaned once more, its intangible body seeming to solidify into something more firm and heavy for you to grip onto. “A hot, beefy Arab daddy for you to worship and slobber all over. For you to be a lover for.” The genie couldn’t say much in response, only mumbling out something with its lips pressed against the curves of your armpits. What you managed to make out was something about a ‘fat ass.’

As if it were some final act of rebellion, you groaned as you felt your backside begin to plump up and fatten in a way that jutted your hips forward. Low, heavy moans spilled out as you could feel your previously flat bottom bloom with both a healthy portion of fat and muscle. It was something that would strain your suit pants, a struggle you faced every morning before heading to the office for work. And as the jiggling cheeks continued to plump up to the point where you were sure people would fixate their sights on either your fat ass or heaving pecs, you growled once more as you pulled the genie away to glare at the magical creature.

“No more changes. You don’t deserve this. To get to savor a body that you sculpted to suit your own needs,” you growled. The genie could only whimper apologetically, in an attempt to soothe your flaring annoyance at its disobedience. “Seems I’ll have to show you where you properly stand in this relationship. Now, you'd better make yourself a body that I can drive this thick cock into. Something with lots of stamina and plenty of room to dump all this hot, thick seed inside of. Or I’ll be sure to stuff you back into that lamp and send you far away from here.”

The spirit shuddered as it quickly formed something more corporeal, the rest of the smoke dissipating in a whirlwind as the lamp sucked up the rest of the ethereal essence. Stalking after your slutty lover’s juicy body towards the bedroom, you couldn’t help but pause to look at yourself in the hallway mirror. You smirked as you savored the changes to your new life; while this wasn’t what you had expected, you certainly couldn’t complain about getting something truly delightful. And with a magical, hungry lover by your side and a body that could get you anyone that you wanted, what more could you ask for?

Now, if only you could get yourself to stop squeezing and rubbing at your own pecs, you could have the whole world at your fingertips...

[swapery]

Glory Hole Swap 2

Original Story Here

It's been a couple of years since I got tricked into swapping bodies with this twink and honestly, I've been enjoying it. I didn't realize it at the time, but this body is that of an OnlyFans creator. So, after the initial freakout of losing my life and muscles, and the confusion about how the fuck a glory hole can swap bodies, I actually found myself getting acquainted with my new life. Still, after a while, I found myself getting bored and curious to see if that glory hole actually worked, as the guy who stole my life said.

So, earlier this week I got up the courage to go to the gym and find the spot of the glory hole. I set up my bank accounts and other information to transfer to someone else, just in case I wound up in a body that was, well, less than ideal. I wanted another random swap, just like mine, because I found it so fucking sexy. This gym has some of the hottest guys in town, so surely luck was on my side.

I set up my Grindr profile and let everyone know I was open for business. I sat there in the dark for what seemed like an hour, until I finally heard the stall door open and the sound footsteps leading up to the hole.

"It's showtime!" I thought to myself, as the guy on the other side dropped his shorts and shoved what has to be a 9" cock through the hole. I gasped at how long and girthy it was. "How the fuck am I supposed to suck that?" i thought. It's bigger than my mouth!

Regardless, I tried my best licking the tip and jerking it off but I just couldn't get into it. I could tell the guy was losing interest to I quickly decided to go to plan b. I stood up, bent around and aligned his cock with my hole. "Fuck me" i moaned, letting him decide. I squeezed my cheeks around his cock to entice him and he took the bait. I felt my walls expand as the anonymous hunk drilled into my perky bubble butt. Fuck, it felt so good! "I'm gonna miss this hole" i thought to myself. I never really bottomed in my former body, but damn this body loved it. The guy kept going and going and eventually, I felt that familiar warm feeling, coupled with the world fading to black. The last thing I felt was the anonymous hunk shooting his load into my ass as I blacked out. He wouldn't be anonymous for much longer...

When I woke up, I found myself in the bathroom on the other side of the glory hole. It worked! I quickly got my bearings and stood up. I looked down quick to see what I was working with and was thoroughly impressed! Not as hairy as my original body, but I can work it it.

I put my briefs back on, tucking away this monster cock, and headed back out to the locker room. I found the locker I told him to use, full of his stuff, tossed on some sweats, and booked it out the door. No chance I want to confront my former twink body.

As I headed to my car, I sent the guy a message on Grindr, a similar message to the one I originally received.

“Sorry man, I used that glory hole a while ago and I can’t take it anymore. Idk what’s up with it. But I used to be this buff, tall, manly guy and then I literally came into the body you have now. I’m sorry I stole your life, but I wanted a body similar to mine. Being a cute twink that wants to be fucked 24/7 is only fun for so long. Anyway, if you want a different body, just use the glory hole again, I think. good luck. and if you want someone to fuck that ass, hit me up."

It's good to know that the glory hole is still there. Maybe I'll have to use it again one day.

[nonotnolan]

Cuerpo Inc: Water Cooler Talk

“What are you guys looking at?” I asked, seeing my fellow interns grouped around Ian’s cell phone.  It was a bit strange, seeing a bunch of middle-aged men acting like overgrown teenagers, but… well, that’s what we were.  All of us save Ian, at any rate.  There were a lot of upsides to getting an elusive internship at one of the largest bodyswapping companies in the country, but having to spend the summer in the body of someone 20+ years older was definitely a weird experience.

“I was scrolling through Tinder on my lunch break, and I think I might have found some of your bodies,” Ian said.  “Your original bodies, I mean.  Granted, I don’t know what any of you all really look like, but… I can’t imagine anyone your age buying a membership to the Eagle Crest Country Club.  Just a bunch of old rich dudes playing golf.  Oh, hang on, let me pull it back up,” he said, as I walked over to look over his shoulder.

“What were you doing on Tinder looking at men?” I asked, as I absent-mindedly scratched at my t-shirt.  Corey’s body was both really tall, and really hairy.  I still hadn’t really gotten used to having all this hair under my clothes.  “I mean… sorry, that was an asshole question,” I added, realizing what I had just said to him.  “I just didn’t expect you to be interested in other men.”

“No offense taken,” Ian said, shrugging his shoulders.  “I’m Bi, so I don’t always register on people’s gaydar.  Anyway, here’s the profile.  Does that look like anyone you know?”

“Oh geez,” I said, feeling my stomach drop out.  “I think I remember the guy in the purple shirt from pre-swap orientation on the first day, but… yeah, that’s me in the blue.”  Seeing the real Corey flaunting my body like that was pretty surreal.  It was one thing, knowing that he was probably gonna have a ton of sex in my body– there were SO many liability waivers that we had to sign before the swap happened– but to see my own ass in a jockstrap like that…  I didn’t know what to think.

“Yeah, I feel your pain,” Matthew said, reaching up to pat me on the shoulder.  “That’s me in white.  Apparently we’re both ‘hungry bottom bois looking for daddy dick’ according to the profile.  Honestly, I think I’m more bothered by the fact that we’re drinking Truly.”

“Fair’s fair during Intern Season,” Ian said, shrugging his shoulders.  “I know you guys may not think much of your current bodies, but you are both prime bear specimen, and I think you could both have one hell of a weekend if you’re open to broadening your horizons a bit.  No man should have to resort to only his hand for ten weeks.  You should come over to my place after work tonight.”

“I’ll… I’ll definitely think about it,” I said, rubbing my beard.  I never thought of myself as gay, but the given the circumstances… a one-off with another man didn’t sound so bad.

————————————————-

“Matthew, my guy, come on in!  I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it!” Ian said, gesturing him inside.  “You have great timing, Corey showed up maybe ten minutes ago.  Come on in and get naked!  Or at least get comfortable,” he added, gesturing to my boxer briefs.

I was relieved to see that Matthew’s reaction of shock, confusion, and arousal was the exact reaction that I had gone through only moments earlier.  Ian was drinking pineapple juice, and his 72 inch flat screen was pre-loaded with ‘Anal Strap-On Vixens 5′.  The coffee table in front of the leather sofa was loaded with various lubes, a variety of dildos, and a few boxes of tissues.

Ian was unperturbed by his open-mouthed stare.  “Like I was telling Corey, I thought we would start with group masturbation, and feel things out from there.  I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t mind having sex with either one of you– or both of you– but consent is important.  And we can still have fun even if you’re not willing to go that far today.”

I couldn’t help but smile.  There was something incredibly sexy about Ian’s relaxed confidence.  I couldn’t speak for Matthew, but… I had a feeling I would not be leaving here today without Ian’s spunk coating my insides.

[supfag-archives]

KEATON SUBJECK