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Wrestled into a New Reality
Carlos Torres had one dream in life, just one goal, one ambition; to wrestle. As long as he could remember, even when he was young, Carlos had dreamed of being a wrestler. A young latino boy who saw very few people he could relate to on television, Carlos grew up idolizing the macho luchadors he saw on TV, and play wrestling with his brothers and uncles. And well most young boys eventually moved on from their wrestling phase and into whatever other random thing they’d be interested in for about a month, Carlos’ love of wrestling only grew and grew with time. Sadly, his adoration of the sport didn’t translate into any skill with it. Despite taking wrestling classes from as young as seven, and practicing with dedication and heart, Carlos never managed to win as much as a single match, much less gain any of the muscular size that wrestlers traditionally have. He didn’t make it onto his middle school team, or onto his high school team, and after almost three years of working out obsessively and trying for it year after year after year, Carlos had just lost his final chance at getting onto his college’s wrestling team. The college senior knew it had been a long shot, that he had been incredibly scrawny his entire life, that he never seemed to go through the growth spurts his parents always told him was on the horizon, and that there was little chance of any of that suddenly changing, but this had been his last chance. Carlos was hoping that just this once someone would see the potential he knew he had, that he could get on a team and maybe, just maybe, having teammates and a coach would lead to him finally growing into the wrestling machine he has always dreamed of being. But once again, he had missed the cut. Once again, his dream had been crushed, this time for good.
Carlos trudged into the men's locker room, having hidden in a stall of a nearby bathroom in the hopes of avoiding the pitying looks of those who had actually managed to get on the team. Most of the athletes in school actually got along really well with Carlos, most admiring his dedication despite his difficulties and finding it easy to bond with him over his love of the sport, but right now Carlos just couldn’t handle seeing them. He just knew he’d be overwhelmed by his envy and end up saying something stupid, or even cruel, which was the last thing he wanted to do to the few people in his college he could call his friends. Relieved to find that the locker room was now empty, Carlos walked over to his locker, and quietly opened it, only to feel that small relief completely evaporate. His locker was almost completely empty. Some of his stuff had been left behind, including his wallet and phone thank god, but his clothing had seemingly evaporated. The only piece of clothing left in his locker was a single red jockstrap, one that Carlos was certain wasn’t his. Carlos felt his stomach sink as his already horrible mood grew worse. After everything he had been through today, after losing out on his dream, someone stole his clothing? What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t just walk out of the gym wearing his sweaty, musky wrestling gear, especially since he hadn’t managed to get on the team and had to give it back to the wrestling coach, Coach Simmons. He could possibly borrow some clothing from the lost and found in Coach Simmons’ office, but he’d have to get there. He couldn’t stand the embarrassment of being seen walking around in his borrowed singlet so long after tryouts had ended. Which meant…
Carlos winced in disgust as he looked at the red piece of cloth lying at the bottom of his locker. He picked it up with two fingers, not wanting to touch it directly. Carlos was used to wearing athletic gear, and wasn’t really one to be squeamish, but in this case the jockstrap was… clearly used. It wasn’t filthy per say, but he could see the sweat stains, and smell the musk radiating off of it without even trying. Carlos was absolutely grossed out… but if it was between this, stripping down to nothing in front of Coach Simmons, wearing a singlet he didn’t earn, or – god forbid – using lost and found underwear, then the choice was obvious. Faced with an awful choice, Carlos swallowed his pride, stripped off his somewhat too large singlet, and put on the red jockstrap, shuddering slightly as it settled around his five inch cock. Suddenly, Carlos felt a strange, intense heat rush through him, starting in his crotch and radiating out throughout his entire body, leaving him panting and confused. It was a heavy, humid heat that made his entire body start to sweat as a haze came over his mind. What the fuck was happening to him? Had someone done something to the jockstrap? Carlos knew something was wrong, knew that the strange jockstrap he had tried on had done something, but as he reached down to try and take it off he could feel the heat that had spread across his body grow even more intense. He panted deeply and wiped sweat from his brow. Why was he so hot? He felt like he had been standing in a sauna after an hours-long workout, and for some reason the feeling just seemed to be getting more intense, especially in his crotch. He took a deep breath, trying to both cool and calm himself down, only to get a noseful of his own newfound sweaty musk. Fuck he smelled so gross, so sweaty, so… manly? He had never liked the smell of his own BO before, but right now it was almost… intoxicating. He tried again to reach down and take off his jockstrap, only for another wave of heat to come over his body. This one wasn’t like the last wave though. For some reason, it felt… good. Really good. Instead of reaching down to the waistband, Carlos felt himself reach past it, down to his bulge, which he began to rub and grope through the sweaty red jockstrap. The scrawny latino moaned, loudly and wantonly, as he grabbed at his cock and felt another wave of heat spread through his body, this one reverberating through him like a shockwave as it hit his muscles. Said muscles seemed to pump themselves up with every grope and thrust, growing larger and larger. Carlos watched, his mind too hazy from the sweat and musk to understand, as his muscles began to slowly grow, his shoulders broadening, neck thickening, and chest shoving out into an impressive set of pecs as his entire body packed on muscle. It wasn’t long before the formally small latino looked like the wrestling jocks he had always envied and lusted after, but the growth didn’t just stop there. His pecs, already huge, grew almost obscenely large, as his ass pushed against the back of the jockstap, his cheeks becoming thick, muscular and juicy. His cock, which he was now groping wildly with both hands as he moaned deeply, was clearly larger, now almost the size of a soda can and long enough that he needed both his meaty hands to hold it. Carlos, or whoever he had become because of the jockstrap, didn’t look like a wrestler, but instead looked like some sort of pornographic parody of a wrestler. The latino muscle slut, because that was the only word for what he was now, felt himself pant harder as his cock began to twitch in his hands, and before he knew it, he had soaked his jock in a thick load of cum.
Carlos, who was so dazed by what had just happened that he couldn’t quite remember his name, looked around in confusion. What was he doing in the locker room? Was he supposed to be working out right now or something? He did spend a lot of time working out, didn’t he? The latino looked down at his body, and after struggling for a moment to peak over his massive pecs, noticed that there was cum dripping from his favorite jock. Oops. Carlos let out a deep, dumb chuckle and stripped off the jock, leaving his footlong, cum covered cock dangling out in the air, half hard and slapping against his muscular thigh as he walked around. He swaggered over to his locker, his impossibly big ass jiggling with every step, and tossed the soaked red jockstrap inside for someone else to find, before swaggering out of the locker room, completely naked.
The jock who had formerly been Carlos walked confidently towards Coach Simmons’ office, the last vestiges of Carlos’ intelligence remembering that he needed to get something from the lost and found, though he couldn’t quite remember what. He opened the door to Coach Simmons’ office, and found a shocked looking Simmons sitting at his desk. Coach Simmons was an older man, an out of shape ex jock in his mid fifties, with balding gray hair and a large beer gut. Carlos had always tried to get along with Coach Simmons, but the wrestling coach had a habit of pretending that anyone who couldn’t lift at least 220 didn’t exist. Now however, Coach was definitely noticing Carlos, standing up in shock as the naked wrestler entered his office, his cock still dripping with leftover cum. Simmons’ stood up, a look of outrage on his face, but was stopped in his tracks as Carlos’ musky, manly smell hit him. What had he been so angry about again? Simmons’ felt some of the fat on his body melt away, regaining some of the muscles he had in the old days as his hair seemed to darken and grow back. In moments Coach Simmons’ looked less like a college wrestling coach, and more like a DILF pornstar pretending to be one. “Boy!” Simmons said, finally remembering he had been angry at the latino jock that had entered his office “Why the hell are you out of uniform?” He said. Suddenly the fact that Carlos wasn’t wearing his wrestling gear was far more important than the fact that he didn’t have anything on at all. It was time for practice damnit, and he didn’t need his star wrestler falling behind. “Oh! Uh, sorry coach. I think my singlet got shrunk in the wash or something.” The sweat covered jock said dumbly, vaguely remembering a singlet that was far too small for someone of his size.
“Goddamnit Maestre, do I need to fuck some sense into that head of yours?” Simmons said “You can all be as dumb and slutty as you want in your free time, but when you’re at practice you have to remember to bring your singlet!” Maestre? Was Coach Simmons talking to him? But that wasn’t his name, was it? “Sorry Coach Rocks! I didn’t mean to forget.” The latino hunk said apologetically “Can I get a backup singlet?” He asked Coach Rocks glared at the jock for a moment, before smirking “... You can have the extra singlet Max. But first, you’ve got to earn it. On your knees boy!” Maximilano ‘Max’ Maestre fell onto his knees, his huge cock almost slapping against his abs as he did and his dumb mouth wide open. He knew that he should try not to lose his singlet so much, but it was hard not to, especially when Coach Rocks made the punishment so fun! In moments Coach Rocks had Max deep throating his cock, his huge balls slapping against Max’s strong cleft chin and chiseled jaw. Max moaned as Coach roughly fucked his face, and felt the mans large hands grope at his own massive shoulders. Max loved being a slut for Coach, just like everyone else on the wrestling team! And as the best wrestler on the team, Max was the one who got first dibs at worshipping his cock after practice. The others could get jealous sometimes, but there was always plenty to go around.
Coach Rocks pulled his cock out of Max’s mouth, before smacking him across the face with his 14 inch rocket, making Max moan wantonly. He grabbed Max, pulling him up into a deep, sultry kiss as he groped at his incredible fat ass, pulling apart the massive cheeks with both hands and pushing his cock inside of Max in one fluid movement. Max moaned slutily, moving up and down on Coach’s cock as his own was sandwiched between both of their abs.
“Coach! Fuck I need you coach! You’re so fucking hot! I love your cock Coach!” Max moaned wantonly, a stupid, fucked out look on his face
“Goddamn it kid,” Coach Rocks panted out “You keep saying sweet, slutty shit like that and I’m gonna…” Coach groaned loudly, before shooting his load deep inside Max’s jiggling ass. Max felt the warm cum flood his insides, and with another massive moan, shot out cum across his and Coach Rocks abs. Coach Rocks grinned, his tone fond despite his stern words “You are such a messy slut, aren’t you boy?” “Hehehe, yeees.” Max said dumbly, moaning as he pulled himself off of Coach Rocks’ cock “Alright, a deal is a deal. Clean yourself up and grab your singlet. And maybe some regular clothes too. I don't need my star player getting arrested afterall.” Coach Rock said, tossing Max a spare towel, a singlet, and some clothes. Max just giggled dumbly and wiped some cum off his abs. Fuck he loves his life.
—
Max swaggered across the quad, accompanied by the everyday sounds of his jiggling ass and his huge cock smacking against his thigh. For some reason there was an extra pep in his step, though he couldn’t tell why. Sure he had just gotten fucked stupid by Coach, but he did that all the time. And yeah, he had an awesome day of wrestling, but he had been wrestling since middle school. Still, there was something about the day that reminded him of the first time he made the wrestling team, something about the day that made him feel like his future was all ahead of him. Maybe it was the clothing Coach had given him. The red stringer tanktop that did basically nothing to hide his pecs, and the posing shorts that showed off her whole ass, did look good on him. He was hot enough that he looked good in basically anything, but the showy clothing had him feeling especially sexy. As Max strut through the campus, he didn’t notice that girls seemed to be avoiding him, or that guys got a strange, hazy look in their eyes just by being close to him. He didn’t see the effect his manly musk had on the people around him. He didn’t notice anyone, at least until he saw Fred.
Carlos hadn’t really known Fred that well. He had known of Fred, had seen the somewhat short, red haired twink around the school, either talking with other nerdier students or just people watching, but had never actually talked to him. Max, however, couldn’t take his eyes off of him, or more specifically his ass. Fuck, how had Max not already fucked that juicy, cute ass? Was he blind? Was this guy some sort of transfer that hadn’t come within a hundred miles of this school before today? That was the only excuse he could think of for not having made this twink his ages ago. Fred was standing by a water fountain, giving Max a perfect view of his ass, and without even thinking about it, Max quickly made his way over and groped Fred's butt with one of his meaty hands. Fred instinctively tried to jump forward, only to inhale a ton of musk, that left Fred dazed and relaxing into the comfortable feeling of a massive jock massaging his ass. He giggled dumbly as he felt his body slim, fat seeming to travel down from other parts of his body and into his hips, which grew even juicy. His features softened, becoming cute and almost dainty as he let loose a sweet, feminine moan. Fred looked back, not seeing a stranger but now seeing…
“Maxie!” The redhead giggled, happy to see his boyfriend, or at least one of them, grabbing and playing with his bubble butt. The jock gave a deep, fond and amused chuckle as he almost drooled over the twink, who looked like he had been yanked out of a cheesy porno. It seemed like everyone Max interacted with became a porn version of themselves, though Max didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey Red. You’re looking, like, fucking sexy.” Max said, getting another dumb giggle from the former nerd “Awe, you’re so good with words baby!” Red said with a ditzy laugh.
Max pulled down Red’s pants, revealing his juicy, jiggly bubble butt to the cold air, and shoved a finger in almost casually, getting Red to moan wantonly “M-maxie! We might get caught!” Red whined, wiggling his ass needily despite his protest “C’mon babe, who's gonna stop us?” Max said with a grin, kissing Red’s neck as he added another finger, and then another. For Coach Rocks Max was another needy jock meant to ride his cock, but for Red, Max was a sex god for him to worship. Max pulled out his fingers, getting a needy gasp from Red, before sliding his fat footlong cock inside of him, starting to fuck the twink well he was half bent over a waterfountain out in the middle of the west quad. Not that anyone seemed to mind. Girls seemed to avoid the area entirely, leaving like there was a bad smell and not seeming to even notice the raunchy sex, well guys seemed to be hypnotized by the very sight, whipping out their cocks are beginning to jerk off to the sight as they either gained a ridiculous amount of muscle and became dumb porn jocks, or slimmed down to become cute twinks. Soon the open sex show became a straight up orgy as Max’s thick balls smacked against Red’s thick, beautiful ass. As Max and Red got into a trance like rhythm, Red bouncing on Max’s cock, Max began to thrust faster as he felt his release approached. Red moaned sluttily and came across the grass, before Max came deep inside him. Just as quickly as it started, the orgy dispersed, some of the men remaining transformed, well others began to revert, confused looks on their faces as they wandered off. Max pulled up Red’s pants, smacked his ass, and gave the twink a deep kiss. Red had been one of Max’s favorite lays, ever since they met in freshman year. Max would never be satisfied with one hole, or one cock, but Red was one of the people he had the strongest romantic feelings for, and he knew Red felt the same.
“See you later babes.” Max said, giving Red a deep kiss that left him panting and breathless. Red walked off, cum dribbling down his pant leg as Max started to head down the quad again. Where was he supposed to go again? He always felt like he was forgetting one thing or another. Maybe he should go fuck someone again. That could help him focus better, right?
—
Maximilano ‘Max’ Maestre fucking loved wrestling. He had been a huge fan of wrestling ever since he was a kid, but that wasn’t really why he liked it so much these days. These days Max loved wrestling because of the hot, raw sex. He hadn’t realized it, but in the nearly twenty four hours that had gone by since he had been transformed from the scrawny hopeful wrestler Carlos Torres into the hypersexual himbo wrestler Max Maestre, he had managed to inadvertently transform about half of the wrestling team into himbos too. It seemed like whatever had happened to the wrestler was somewhat contagious, with anyone he interacted with directly being transformed into a pornographic, parody-like version of themselves. Every interaction, from working out with some of his fellow wrestlers, to saying hi to a roommate, to talking to one of his professors, ended with everyone involved becoming a hypersexualized version of themselves, which usually also resulted in, well, sex. And because Carlos, now Max, was friends with most of the guys on the wrestling team, they had been some of the first to be transformed.
Max swaggered into the wrestling gym, the outline of his massive cock clearly visible through his red singlet, which was almost comically stretched across his incredibly muscular body. His grin, full of a stupid confidence that only jocks like him seemed to have, grew even bigger as he saw one of his best friends, Tommy, already waiting for him. Tommy, who had been a fairly friendly wrestler named Tim before the change, was a Korean stud muffin with biceps that looked almost ridiculously big, even to Max’s warped perception. Max immediately sauntered over to Tommy and smacked him on the ass, getting a dumb chuckle from his friend, whose ass was still jiggling as he turned to see him. “Bro! Glad to see you didn’t forget your singlet this time.” Tommy said, playfully punching Max on the shoulder “I was sure you’d be looking for another dicking down from Coach.” “What can I say man? I gotta keep some fuel in the tank for the rest of you.” Max said with a dumb chuckle that flowed from his mouth like water. “Who the unlucky fucker whose going up against me today anyways?” Max asked, wanting to know who he’d be paired up against today.
“You’re looking at him!” Tommy said with a grin and a playful wink “We’re the first match of the day too! You better not go easy on me man.” He said with a competitive smirk
“Oh you know I won’t.” Max said. As the familiar sound of Coach Rocks’ whistle echoed throughout the gym, Max and Tommy chest bumped and headed to opposite sides of the ring. It was time for their match. Both jocks got into position, and at Coach Rocks’ signal, the match began.
Max and Tommy quickly began to grapple, their massive muscles flexing as their bodies pressed together. Max managed to get Tommy to the ground, his pecs pushed into his face, but the next moment Tommy had Max on the ropes, his manly bulge pressed against the other wrestler's face. The two continued like this, expertly taking the other down, only to fail to contain their hypermuscular opponent. Max, now soaked in both his and Tommy’s sweat, grinned eagerly, not in spite of the difficult challenge but because of it. Not being able to take Tommy out right away meant he had an excuse to take out the big guns. Max managed to pin Tommy down just long enough to start grinding his thick footlong cock against Tommy’s muscular ass. Max smirked as Tommy moaned and shuddered at the feeling, knowing the other boy had lost his focus. Tommy was an excellent wrestler, but Max knew all his weak points, and that Tommy had a soft spot for Max’s rock hard cock. In a flurry of movements, Max somehow managed to keep Tommy down while also stripping off both of their singlets, the wrestling match quickly morphing into a live sex show, one that Coach Rocks and the other wrestlers were clearly enjoying. Max shoved his cock deep inside Tommy, whose ass eagerly swallowed his friend's throbbing member inside of him. Tommy, trying to get back control, groped at Max’s pecs, making the other wrestler moan wantonly but not managing to throw him off enough to let Tommy free himself. Max began to fuck Tommy roughly into the wrestling mat, Coach Rocks seeming to tap the ground as slowly as possible to let the show go on as much as he could, every tap accompanied by another thrust by Max. One, two, three, – Tommy pushed back against the thrusting, both hoping to get free and hoping to get Max’s cock even deeper inside of him – four, five, six, – Max managed to get his mouth on Tommy’s left pec, kissing and worshiping the wrestlers chest in a way that left the Korean hunk trembling with pleasure – seven, eight, nine – Max took Tommy into a deep, dominating kiss, before with a final thrust – ten. Max finally came, shooting a cumshot deep inside Tommy that was so big it left a puddle on the floor around them, just as he was declared winner of the match. Max panted, smiling with almost delirious pleasure and trying to catch his breath as he pulled out of his friend and helped him to his feet.
“Told you I wouldn’t go easy on your bro.” Max said with a breathless chuckle, wiping some cum from his friend's thigh as they left the ring.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way bro.” Tommy said, chuckling along with Max as cum dripped from his ass. Max grinned and grabbed a towel, hoping to clean himself off a bit well as they watched the next match. Goddamn, Max fucking loved wrestling.
—
“I will never get what your thing about the sauna is.” Tommy said with a chuckle as he, alongside Max and the rest of the wrestling team, stripped down in the locker room “I mean seriously man, I love a steam bath as much as anyone, but who the hell gets purposely more sweaty after spending hours wrestling?” He said, teasing Max slightly. “Someone who goddamn loves being sweaty.” Max said with a grin “You’re just jealous of my incredible musk.” he said, flexing his biceps and letting everyone get a deep whiff of his sweaty, musky armpits. Although he was joking, Max didn’t seem to realize that his musky smell seemed to have an actual affect on the other jocks, who all moaned as the same stench that was part of their original transformation flooded their senses once again.
“Not gonna lie bro, that is hot as fuck…” Tommy said, almost drooling, before quickly collecting himself “But one of these days you’re gonna, like, passout from the hear or something. Just be careful, ok brah?”
Max chuckled happily, and nodded “Alright bro, I’ll be careful. Now, go take a shower of whatever it is the rest of you guys do after practice.” He said, before swaggering off towards the school sauna, still completely naked, his huge cock slapping against his thigh as he walked, just like usual.
Max entered the sauna alone, taking a deep breath as he did. He knew that it was a little strange to actively make himself warmer after practice instead of trying to cool down, but there was something about the warm feeling under his skin that was just addictive to the himbo. He sat down in the sauna, allowing himself to spread, and let himself enjoy the feeling of steam on his sweaty, sexy body. It wasn’t long before Max felt his cock grow hard, getting a chuckle from the jock. He had always been a huge horndog, at least as long as he remembered, so it wasn’t that strange that he was already ready for another round. What was strange however was that there was no one else around to help him. That was weird. Max was constantly hooking up with people, his friends, his boyfriend, his teachers, coach. It had been ages since he had actually had to, like, jerk off himself. Max moaned as he grabbed his own cock with both his hands, slowly stroking himself and feeling the heat of the sauna on his dick. Fuck, he almost forgot how good he was at this, hehe. He continued to slowly stroke and jerk at his 12 inch cock, his mind drifting to his many sexy hook ups throughout the day. There was Coach Rocks, Red, and Tommy of course, but also his roommate slash live-in cum slut Bill, his friends from the Sigma Epsilon Chi frat, who threw the wildest orgies on campus, Professor Braddock, who was an absolute fucking DILF who loved to tutor Max on how to take cock, and countless others. Fuck, his life was absolutely amazing. There was some part of him, deep down, that seemed to say that this was wrong, that his life wasn’t some massive gay porno, that he wasn’t like this, but that voice was quickly forgotten in the rush of lust as he began to hump his own hands, going faster and rougher as he approached the finale. He moaned deeply as he shot out a truly massive spurt of come, painting the walls of the sauna as he came, again and again and again. He let loose a final cumshot, hitting the hot stones of the sauna, which evaporated the cum and filled not only the sauna but the entire locker room with a familiar musky scent.
Max got up from his seat and left the sauna, a dumb smile on his face as he did. He didn’t think to clean up the mess he left before. He didn’t think of anything. He made his way back over to his locker, only to find all his clothing had disappeared! Had he lost his clothing again? He was starting to think people were just stealing his shit cause they wanted to see him naked. It made sense with a body like his. Fortunately, he noticed a familiar jockstrap sitting at the bottom of his locker. Max grinned and took the musky, well used jock out of his locked and slipped it on without a second thought. He fucking loved his lucky jock! He had been wearing it since high school, and it had brought him nothing but good fortune. He could honestly say he didn’t know where he’d be without his lucky jock.
He had no idea quite how right he was.
