Locker Room Encounter
The locker room was empty except for the rhythmic *drip-drip* of a leaky shower head, the sound swallowed by the hum of the ventilation system. Peter stood in front of the fogged mirror, his broad shoulders still glistening with sweat from the workout, his breath steady but shallow. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the tiled walls, the scent of chlorine and industrial cleaner clinging to the air. His gym bag lay open on the bench, a discarded towel draped over the edge, but he wasn’t reaching for it. Not yet.
His fingers traced the damp, defined curves of his pecs—no, not just pecs. They were fuller than they should’ve been, heavy in a way that made his back ache if he went too long without support. The muscle was still there, the hard-earned definition from years of lifting, but beneath it, something softer had taken root. His thumbs found his nipples, already stiff, the dark buds elongated, much thicker than the eraser end of a pencil. He pinched one between his knuckles, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth as the sensation lanced straight to his groin. His cock, still soft, twitched against his thigh, but it wasn’t the focus. It never was anymore.
“Fuck,” he whispered, rolling the nipple between his fingers, watching in the mirror as his chest flushed pink, the flesh around the bud puckering. His other hand slid down his stomach, fingers curling around his pathetic limp length. It was much too soft and small to stroke like guys normally did. Peter didn’t mind, he had long ago learned to sneeze and rub his… he no longer thought of it is a cock or penis. It was what he rubbed while using his nipples. Peter knew it would be a lie to say he didn’t often think of his former cock. It’s hard to remember how guys drooled of his once big, thick cock.
He’d been called him hung, being told his cock was 8-9 inches, and quite thick. It was a sense of power and authority, it gave him confidence of knowing that while he may not have the biggest dick, he had nothing to be shy about. Now he looked down and saw how small it was. His once large low hangers were also casualties of him seeking to develop his tits. He had not been hard in several months. Peter knew that no longer having regular erections had caused his cock to shrink. It was difficult to see if this was true as he could not get hard, and even the few times he had, it would only last a minute or two.
His cock was clearly smaller now, previously he hung thick and had an impressive bulge. Erect he was now 4-5 inches, on his large frame it looked tiny. He no longer wore underwear with any pouch. It wasn’t the lack of a bulge that embarrassed him as much as having an empty pouch. The front of his jeans now felt as though they had an empty pouch. Whether true or not, he felt anyone who looked at his crotch would see the fabric hanging loose end empty…a negative bulge. This is why Peter now wore woman’s underwear.
Peter had most often gone commando back when he considered himself a masculine male. His confidence meant he had never thought about how his crotch looked. He knew guys looked and liked what they saw. This now often embarrassed him when they saw his crotch. It was the feeling like he had let down men everywhere for having given away his masculinity. He had betrayed his brothers by becoming a sister. Yet, it aroused him knowing that no man would ever feel threatened or insecure about having the smaller cock. And, some men would be even more aroused to see how he now had large breasts with the barest hint of anything in the bikini snug against his crotch.
Peter also liked how the shape of women’s underwear felt as he moved, the high waist fit his more feminine shaped ass, hips and thighs. Peter always had long shapely legs….not the sexy thighs of a male soccer player, but the long curved thighs below what had become more and more the heart shaped butt of female fitness instructor. He Peter how his ass looked in the mirror and now dressed to accentuate and lure men in.
The mirror showed him everything—the way his pecs jiggled with each tug, the way his nipples darkened as they swelled further, the damp sheen of precum already beading at his slit despite his lack of full hardness. He bit his lip, his free hand moving to his other nipple, pinching harder this time, a whimper escaping him. “Yeah, just like that…”
His voice was rough, but there was a breathiness to it, a neediness that didn’t belong to the Peter his friends knew—the guy who bench-pressed his weight, who cracked jokes over beers, who never once let slip how much he *ached* for this. His thumbs worked his nipples in slow, deliberate circles, his cock finally stirring in his grip, thickening just enough to give him something to stroke. But it wasn’t the main event. It never was.
“I love having big tits,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky growl as he squeezed his chest, making the muscle flex, the weight of them more obvious. His nipples throbbed, the pleasure almost painful, his cock now enlarged somewhat and leaking steadily. “Fuck, I want them *bigger*.” His fingers dug into the flesh beneath his pecs, imagining the way they’d spill over his hands if they grew, the way they’d bounce when he moved, the way they’d *ache* with milk. The thought made his breath hitch, his fingers rubbing his limp cock faltering as his hips jerked forward involuntarily. “I want my tits at least twice as big. Fuck, I’d let anyone see them. Anyone *touch* them—”
While playing he fondled and grope his right breast, Peter rubbed himself through the wetness of his panties. Yet another feminine problem he had now… his panties were often uncomfortable wet whenever he became aroused. Because of this, Peter knew he would have to change into pair of clean panties he now always carried with him. Often he changed into fresh panties from being wet and smelling of sex, he had also needed to replace panties ripped off in frenzied matings and kept as trophies by some alphas. Peter was lost in waves of pleasure that washed over his body. His orgasm was building. He fingered pre-cum from the large pool his limp cock oozed onto his engorged sensitive nipples.
A sound.
Peter froze.
Not the shower. Not the vent. A *footstep*. His heart hammered against his ribs, his nipples tingling violently, his cock suddenly fully hard in his grip. He didn’t turn. Couldn’t. The mirror showed him everything—the flush crawling up his neck, the way his chest heaved, the dampness on his thighs where precome had dripped. And then, in the reflection, a figure.
Rob.
Rob was an Alpha male known for his conquests. While Rob only gave a knowing smile to other males when asked. The women however spoke of how much passion they had experienced. They spoke of how Rob had used them. Rob never failed to fuck them and deliver orgasm after orgasm. Rob had fucked they hard, yet the women often said they were the aggressive with pure lust for Rob making they beg for Rob to breed them. This is how Rob recognized he was under the influence of Powerful pheromones, yet surprised him as they were coming from Peter.
Rob, his best friend. Rob, who was straight. Rob, who was *married*. Rob, who had walked in without a sound and was now standing just inside the locker room door, his gym bag slung over one shoulder, his eyes locked onto Peter’s chest.
Peter’s breath hitched. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve covered himself. Should’ve *done* something. But his fingers betrayed him, twisting his nipples harder, his cock throbbing in his grip as he stroked himself slower, deliberate, his hips rolling in tiny, needy circles. “F-Fuck,” he gasped, his voice cracking.
Rob didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His gaze was *burning*, tracing the lines of Peter’s body—the broad shoulders, the thick arms, the muscles that had always made him the strongest guy in their friend group. But then his eyes dropped. To the way Peter’s pecs *swelled*, the dark, elongated nipples standing out obscenely against the pale skin. The way they *jiggled* when Peter pinched them, the way his back arched, his ass clenching as he fucked his own fist.
Peter’s mouth fell open, a broken sound escaping him as his orgasm crashed closer. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t *want* to. “I—I want them bigger,” he panted, his voice raw. “I don’t care if anyone sees. I *want* them to grow. I want the tits of a female porn star.” As the words left his mouth and they echoed off the walls of the shower, his eyes went wide. “Fuck, Rob, I—”
Rob’s bag hit the floor with a thud.
Peter’s entire body jerked, his cock leaking heavily, his nipples so sensitive it was almost unbearable. He watched in the mirror as Rob took a step forward, then another, his jaw tight, his eyes dark. Peter’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, his fingers still working his nipples, his cock aching. “P-Please,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “Fuck, Rob, *please*—”
Rob’s hand went to his belt.
The sound of the leather sliding through the loops was obscenely loud in the quiet locker room. Peter’s knees nearly gave out, his cock twitching violently, his nipples throbbing in time with his pulse. He turned—finally, *finally*—his back pressing against the cold mirror, his chest heaving. Rob’s cock was already out, thick and veiny, the head dark with blood, the scent of him musky and *male* in a way that made Peter’s mouth water.
“You’re a fucking *slut*,” Rob growled, his voice rough, his fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, giving it a slow stroke. “Aren’t you?”
Peter’s breath hitched, his nipples aching, his cock dripping. “Y-Yes,” he gasped. “Fuck, *yes*, I am. I’m your slut. I’m *anyone’s* slut. Please, Rob, *fuck me*—”
Rob didn’t hesitate.
One hand grabbed Peter’s wrist, yanking it away from his cock, the other slamming against his chest, shoving him hard. Peter stumbled, his ass hitting the bench, his chest heaving as Rob loomed over him, his cock jutting out, already leaking. “On your hands and knees,” Rob ordered, his voice a dark rumble. “Now.”
stumbled, his ass hitting the bench, his chest heaving as Rob loomed over him, his cock jutting out, already leaking. “On your hands and knees,” Rob ordered, his voice a dark rumble. “Now.”
Peter obeyed instantly, his body moving before his brain could catch up. The cold tile bit into his knees as he turned, his ass in the air, his chest pressing against the bench, his huge nipples dragging against the damp surface. He could feel Rob’s gaze on him, *burning* into him, and when Rob’s hand landed on his ass, squeezing hard, Peter moaned, his cock dripping onto the floor beneath him.
“Fuck, look at you,” Rob muttered, his fingers digging into Peter’s flesh. “Big tits, pretty little hole… you *want* this, don’t you?”
Peter nodded frantically, his face flushed, his nipples *throbbing*. “Yes,” he gasped. “Fuck, *yes*, I want it. I *need* it. Please, Rob, *breed me*—”
Rob didn’t make him wait.
The first thrust was brutal, his cock slamming into Peter’s untouched hole with a wet, *filthy* sound. Peter cried out, his fingers clawing at the bench, his back arching as Rob bottomed out, stretching him open, filling him completely. The burn was intense, but the pleasure was *worse*—deeper, darker, his nipples aching, his cock leaking, his entire body *alive* in a way it never was before.
“Fuck, you’re *tight*,” Rob groaned, his hips snapping forward, his cock pistoning in and out of Peter’s hole. “But you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take *all* of it.”
Peter could only whimper in response, his body rocking with each thrust, his tits swinging beneath him, the weight of them making his arms tremble. Rob’s hands found his hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he fucked him deeper, harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the tiles.
“You like that, slut?” Rob growled, his voice rough, his cock swelling inside Peter. “You like being *used*?”
“Y-Yes!” Peter gasped, his voice breaking. “Fuck, *yes*,
