Jackson and Tyler had met in Queer Theory 101 and hit it off instantly. People said they were a match made in heaven. Four years later, they were working on their Gender Studies graduation project together.
They’d come up with a theory to combat toxic gym culture by “injecting queerness.” By showing up and lifting, they wanted to prove queer people could work out too — that strength wasn’t exclusive to straight masculinity.
They went to the gym twice a week at first, treating it like fieldwork. After every session, they’d walk home laughing, parodying the guys they’d seen — the grunts, the swagger, the way some men flexed in the mirror like they were performing for an invisible audience. Jackson would exaggerate a deep bro‑voice, Tyler would mimic the dramatic protein‑shake chug, and the whole thing became part of their routine, a private joke that made the project feel bearable.
But the gym was more resilient than they had anticipated and it alowly began to affect them. Twice‑a‑week sessions became focused, serious. Their jokes got shorter. Their parodies started slipping into their real movements — the stance, the voice, the swagger. What they once mocked began settling into their muscles and their habits, quiet and natural, without either of them realizing it. Twice a week became four times a week, which became every day. They said they needed more data for their research, but besides noting their reps, hardly anything appeared on paper.
Their relationship started shifting as well. The romance that once felt natural now sat in the background, fading without drama. What replaced it was louder, rougher — a brotherhood built on shared reps, shared jokes, pushing their limits. They bumped shoulders instead of holding hands, hyped each other up instead of whispering affection, talked trash instead of talking feelings. Talking about their feelings got replaced with talking about women. The way they looked at them in the gym — the confidence, the curiosity — didn’t feel like a surprise so much as a realization. They weren’t forcing anything; they were just noticing what had been there under the surface.
Slowly, naturally, they understood it: they weren’t gay. They weren’t a couple. They were straight guys who’d mistaken closeness for romance — and now that the fog had lifted, the interest in women came in clear and easy, like it had been waiting for them to catch up.
The gym noticed the shift before they did. After a session, one of the bros, one of bros they had decided to follow closer for their project, offered them cigars — no explanation, just, “Every real man does it.” Jackson and Tyler shared a knowing look and took them without hesitation. It felt like the manly thing to do.
From then on, the cigars weren’t just an accessory — they were part of them. Always clamped between their teeth, always burning, always signaling the men they’d become.
Their vibe sharpened fast. Patience gone. Voices rough. Swagger turned confrontational. The same traits they once mocked now blasted out of them at full volume. And when people started calling them toxic, they didn’t argue or deny it. They took it as a compliment — proof they’d finally become exactly the kind of men they were meant to be.
One year later
Jeremy entered the gym. He had heard the rumors about Jackson and Tyler. How they suddenly dropped out just before they had to hand in their project to graduate and simply seemed to have disappeared feom the face of the earth. It had been the talk for months at the Gender Studies Department. Everyone had believed that both would go for tenure and would become professors in no time. Jeremy, a freshman back then only vaguely knew the couple, but through some research he had found out that before their disappearance, they were seen at a particular gym on the outskirts of the city. So he decided to take a look.
As he entered the gym, the smell of metal, sweat and cigar smoke hit his nose. He cringed his face. "Not used to the smell of masculinity, eh, fagboy?" a voice behind him said. He turned around and he was blinded for a second by a cloud of thick pungent cigar smoke. As the smoke started to disippate he saw two gargantuan men standing in front of him, both smoking a thick cigar.
"Oh, uhh, hello," Jeremy stammered, shocked by the sight of the men. "Well, I, uhh, am actually looking for some people, two guys, Tyler and Jackson, they used to go here. Do you, uh, do you know them?"
"You're looking right at them, fagboy," one of them said. "You're doing Gender Studies, right? I think we saw you there a couple of times. Fucking waste of money. It took Ty and me months to get all that shit out of our heads."
Jeremy looked like he was seeing a ghost. Those guys couldn't be the gay couple everyone had known and loved. He started to feel dizzy. Ty noticed and said, "I bet it is quite a shock for you, fagboy? But don't worry, Jax and me just realized who we really are, that's all. And now we're heloing fagboys like you to become real men like us. You interested?" He took the cigar out of his mouth, and offered it to Jeremy. Jeremy wanted to scream, to run away, but a part of him that had been asleep all his life seemed to awaken. He accepted the cigar and he took a tentative puff. He coughed like crazy, not seeing that Jax and Ty were grinning darkly.
They slept their hands on Jeremy's back and guided him deeper into the gym. "Welcome to the brotherhood, bro."
You and your best buddy head to a bar for a beer or two, everything is normal and you both have a good time. You get up to head to the restroom, and when you return you see your buddy like this. Unknown to him there was a black spot on the chair and when he sat on it, it crept over his body and head, sealing him in tight latex and a gas mask. Your buddy is now the property of the collective and you will join him once he assimilates you and the rest of the bar
Gather 'round, dear reader, for I have a tale to tell. One of tragedy and misfortune, let it be a warning for all who hear it. You might be thinking: "Isn't it a bit late for a story about werewolves? After all, Halloween has passed." But fear not, for this is no ordinary werewolf tale.
When I say the word "werewolf", what comes to your mind? Monstrous creatures cursed to transform under the full moon, driven by primal urges to hunt and kill? Nothing more than just a myth, right? Well, what if I told you these creatures really exist, although not in the way you might expect?
No one knows how it started, but a long time ago, a rare zoonotic virus emerged around the world infecting and spreading through the animals we now call wolves. Wolves, when infected with this virus, do not suffer any ill effects. In fact, they become stronger, faster, and more resilient. However, the real danger lies in what happens when this virus jumps to humans.
Yes, you heard that right. Humans. Somehow, the virus found a way to cross the species barrier and infect us, which is surprising given that its only vectors of transmission are blood and semen. Well, maybe not very unsurprisingly, as you know what happened with COVID-19. This virus, though, is different. Like with the wolves, it enhances the human host, but at a terrible cost. Can you imagine what it feels like to lose yourself to your carnal desires, to become a slave to your most primal instincts? To have your body change against your will, to become something you never wanted to be?
Well, that's exactly what happens to those infected with the werewolf virus. Scientifically known as Lycanthropus Hominis when transmitted to humans, but commonly designated Lycan-virus, it develops into Lycanthropy, the condition of being a werewolf, though not one like those furry beasts from old folklore.
So let me tell you the story of Chad, a failed influencer turned DoorDash driver, who thought he could handle anything that came his way. Little did he know that his life was about to change forever on a fateful Halloween night in downtown Los Angeles.
The music blasted through the cracked concrete walls of an abandoned warehouse during Halloween night. Chad, 22 and cocky as ever, flexed his pale gym-rat arms in a tight tank top, his Grindr notifications buzzing like flies. Failed influencer? Maybe. But tonight, he was hunting for more than likes.
It was a chilly night. The full moon was obscured by clouds, but an eerie glow remained over the place where Chad found himself at an underground Halloween rave party. He had ditched his job earlier that evening to attend the rave, hoping to let loose and have some fun. He didn't even have a costume on, just a basic white tank top and some jeans that he had worn to his shift.
Inside the warehouse, the air was thick with sweat from all the bodies grinding together on the dance floor. The music was very loud, nauseating even, but that didn't stop Chad from noticing every Grindr notification that buzzed on his phone - tonight, he would definitely score some holes. Heading straight to one of the bars, he downed a shot of something that made his throat burn. His eyes were scanning for his type: twinks with that hungry look. But the heat inside was suffocating, the air reeking of sweat and alcohol. He needed a breather, eventually.
At around 11 p.m. that night, Chad got fed up with the claustrophobic heat and the relentless pounding of the music. He slipped out of the warehouse, craving a smoke break and some fresh air. The cool night air was a relief, but as he leaned against the brick wall to light his cigarette, something caught his eye in the dimly lit car park.
He didn't notice it at first, but as he took a drag from his cigarette, he started hearing soft groans coming from the shadows. Squinting, he saw a figure slumped against the wall, blood seeping from a wound on his shoulder.
His name was Alex, though that doesn't matter much now for reasons soon to be clear. His skin was tan and smooth, and he was shivering, either from cold or shock. Wearing only some shorts, and having blood on his face, he looked like he had been through hell.
"What the fuck? Man, you okay?" Chad immediately said after noticing the wounded man. He crouched down, using his phone as a torch to cut through the dark. Alex's eyes fluttered open, hazy with pain, his breath ragged. Up close, he was kinda cute - twinkish, with messy black hair and full lips. Chad's heart raced a bit, though he was still concerned due to all the blood he saw. "Hey, dude, what happened? You look like shit." He reached out, his hand hovering near Alex's shoulder, the blood glistening under the phone's light.
Suddenly, Alex's hand shot out, gripping Chad's arm with a strength that belied his weakened state. "Run..." he rasped, his voice cracking like brittle glass. "Get away from here. It's not... it's not what you think." Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth, staining his lips crimson. "He bit me. And now... fuck, it's..." Chad yanked back, confusion on his face. "Who bit you? Dude, you need a hospital." But Alex shook his head weakly, a guttural moan escaping his throat. "Too late. For m-me... For you t-too if you stay... J-just go!"
Chad froze, but his eyes darted to Alex, who was convulsing now. He couldn't tear his gaze away as Alex's body began to writhe, muscles bulging unnaturally beneath his skin, a low growl building in his throat that sent shivers down Chad's spine. "Dude, what the fuck is happening?" Chad exclaimed, but his voice was barely audible over the distant sound of the rave inside the warehouse.
In case I wasn't clear enough with my storytelling, Alex over here had been infected with the Lycan-virus, unbeknownst to our dear Chad. The virus effects started manifesting violently, which made Chad unable to look away, as Alex's form twisted and changed into something more suited to spreading the virus.
It started in his eyes: a burning itch that made him claw at them, tears streaming as his pupils narrowed, and his irises turned from common brown to a vivid yellow. Then his ears: a sickening crackle, like twigs snapping underfoot, as cartilage stretched and reshaped. They elongated upward, tips pointing subtly. Alex whimpered, hands flying to them, but the touch only amplified the sensation - a mix of agony and sensitivity that shot straight to his groin, stirring an unwelcome hardness in his now ripped shorts. "N-no... PLEASE" he begged, but his voice deepened mid-sentence, gravelly and raw, as his gums throbbed. Sharp teeth erupted next, growing and pushing with a wet grind, tearing tender flesh. Warm blood filled his mouth, his thickening tongue lapping at it instinctively, the taste igniting a feral hunger that made his growing cock twitch against the air.
He tried getting up, but his limbs felt heavy and sluggish, as if he were moving through thick mud. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he stumbled, catching himself against the rough brick wall. His heart raced wildly in his chest as he stared at Chad, his brain starting to lag behind, all while he was standing naked with a semi hard-on in front of him.
Now, Chad after witnessing what can only be described as a grotesque and terrifying transformation, stood frozen in shock and horror. His mind struggled to process the impossible scene before him. The rational part of his brain screamed that this couldn't be real, that he must be hallucinating from something he ingested at the rave. Yet the instinctive part of him knew with sickening certainty that what he was seeing was all too real to be a dream.
"R-run..." - the supernaturally attractive man in front of him managed to say with his last strength. "G-get away... before... he comes back..."
Before Chad could respond, a deep growl rumbled from the shadows behind him. He froze, a chill crawling up his spine as the air thickened with an oppressive heat reeking of musk and blood. Slowly, he turned, and there he was - another man, emerging from the darkness like a predator. Barefoot and totally naked, his Latino werewolf body was a sculpted horror, presenting one monstrous girthy penis. It was something else, like a mix of a human and dog's dick - long, veiny, and with a swollen knot at the base. But it was his eyes that terrified Chad - golden orbs glowing with hunger, fixed on Chad with predatory intent. His sharp teeth glinted in a savage grin, blocking any path back to the warehouse, trapping Chad in between these 2 sexy but monstrous men.
"No deberías estar aquí, cabrón" comes out of the muscular hairy man staring at Chad. Chad backed up. "Who are you?! What the fuck is happening to him?"
The muscular werewolf's lips curl into a feral smile. "He's becoming like me. Like us."
"The fuck you mean 'like us'?"
The werewolf's grin widened. "What do you think, cabrón?" He stepped closer, that obscene knotted cock swaying heavy between his bronze thighs, dripping clear pre that shined faintly on the concrete. "In ten minutes he'll be on his knees begging to spread it. And you..." His golden eyes eyed up Chad's body like a predator. "...you're next."
Before Chad could bolt, the man also known as Diego lunged inhumanly fast, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him close. Chad swung a fist, but it was futile; Diego's strength was superhuman. He could feel his hot breath on his neck, and then... agony, as sharp teeth sank into his shoulder. Blood welled hot and fast, the bite burning like acid injected straight into his veins. Chad's knees buckled, vision blurring, his strength draining as the werewolf's DNA coursed through him, sapping his will while igniting something inside of him.
Alex, still mid-shift, staggered up. The virus was rewriting him now, skin warming from olive to a deeper caramel, flushing outward from the bite like a bruise in reverse. Muscles twitched and swelled beneath, his slim frame thickening with painful pulses: biceps bulging, chest broadening, each fibre tearing and reforming stronger, sending jolts of ecstasy through his body all while Chad couldn't do anything but watch as Diego kept him close on his mouth, biting down harder to keep him subdued.
Alex slammed back against the hood of a random car, yanking some ragged cloth that covered it, spine arching as the pain increased. His breath came in ragged snarls, hips bucking against nothing while the virus tore through his groin. He threw his head back and howled, a raw, desperate sound that cracked into a moan when his tongue lolled thick and wet over his new fang-like teeth.
Dark wiry curls erupted across his chest, racing down sculpted abs, curling thick over swelling pecs and plunging into a dense treasure trail. His pits filled with coarse black hair, sweat-matted and reeking of musk. His ass rounded softly with a dark fuzz covering it in a forest of damp hair.
Between his legs his cock throbbed violently - lengthening, thickening, skin turning crimson. The head tapered to a sensitive point, until he felt his testicles fuse into the base and balloon into a fat, angry knot that slapped wetly against his new empty sheath. Pre gushed in thick ropes, splattering the car hood. Alex's clawed hands held onto the metal, nails screeching as he rutted the air, hips dry-humping helplessly. Another howl ripped from his throat - half pain, half obscene pleasure - while his golden eyes rolled back, lost to the pleasure in his mind.
Then, with inhuman speed, he slammed Chad face-first against a cold dumpster, pinning him with his newfound strength. A thick, knotted cock dragged up the groove of Chad's spine, smearing hot pre through the soaked tank.
"S-sorry, bro", Alex rasped, voice shredded to gravel, tongue hanging long and wet. "Can't... stop... feels too fuckin' good."
Chad thrashed. "Nngh, get off—fuck—!" He struggled feebly, blood dripping onto the ground as it started raining, but Alex's grip was strong.
Diego then stepped forward, golden eyes blazing with lust. He ripped Chad's jeans down with one claw-like hand, exposing his pale skin to the night air. "You're gonna enjoy this, puto" - Diego growled low, his breath steaming against Chad's ear.
He thrust in raw, no prep.
"HRRNGH—!!"
Chad's scream cracked into a choked grunt as Diego speared deep. Pain lanced through him, but the infection twisted it, blending it with waves of forbidden pleasure as Diego pounded his tight hole. Every slam dragged a new sound out of him:
"Ugh—fuck—!"
"Nnngh—too big—!"
"Hah—ahh—!"
The knot battered his rim.
"Grr—stop—please—HRRAAHH—!"
Then, it popped in.
Chad's eyes rolled. A low, broken "guh—guh—guh—" punched out with every grind against his prostate, his hips jerking traitorously. Diego roared and flooded him. Chad's own cock spurted untouched against the dumpster, a pathetic "ungh—ungh—!" ripping from his throat as the virus burned hot inside him.
Finally, the knot deflated enough for Diego to pull out, leaving Chad dazed and leaking, a sticky warmth trickling down his thighs. In a surge of adrenaline-fuelled panic, Chad shoved free and stumbled away, yanking up his pants, bolting back toward the warehouse door. Laughter echoed behind him - Diego and Alex, letting him go.
"Let him run. He's already ours."
They knew his time was ticking.
...
It was 11:15 p.m. when Chad burst back inside with his shoulder throbbing. The rave's chaos swallowed him - strobe lights stabbing his eyes, and bass pounding his head. He needed somewhere private. The restroom, down the hall with the door hanging crooked was the first thing that popped in his mind. He staggered in, slamming it shut, twisting the lock. Inside, the restroom was a mess, cracked glass everywhere and a smell of piss lingering in the air.
Chad leaned on the sink, staring at his reflection. His face was pale. The rain outside had washed his wound's blood away; the bite looked like nothing more than a faint pink scratch now, almost healed. "This isn't real" - he muttered in denial, but the sting started anyway. His eyes started burning as if embers pressed against them. He blinked hard, tears welling, but when he looked again, the world sharpened unnaturally: every crack in the tile, every drip from the tap, assaulting his senses. Terror gripped him, his eyes had shifted from blue to a glowing yellow that pierced the dim light.
The ears came next - a crackle like bones fracturing in his skull as cartilage elongated, tips pointing upward. He grabbed them, yelping as they stretched under his fingers, the new sensitivity sending shivers down his spine, straight to his groin, where an insistent ache began to build. "Stop... please." But it didn't. His mouth ached, canines lengthening with a grinding tear, nicking his swelling tongue. Blood hit his tongue and his brain lit up like a slot machine: TASTES GOOD. WANT MORE. He licked his lips slow, drooling.
The heat built under his skin. It was like he was being boiled alive. Skin prickled, warming from the inside out. In the mirror, he watched it happen - his pale white skin darkening to a warm bronze, starting at the bite mark and spreading like a plague: across his chest, down his arms, blooming over his abs in waves. It itched, burned like fire ants under the surface, but the change enhanced him, his gym-rat build taking on a richer, more alluring glow that stirred a vain, horrified arousal - he looked... better, stronger, even as the humanity slipped away.
Heat flooded his veins. Thoughts that used to be in his head, like his unpaid rent, his few followers, or tomorrow's shift, started melting in his mind. He blinked hard.
"F-fuck... what was I... thinking about?"
Thinking was getting hard. Too many syllables.
His muscles twitched next, fibres thickening with ripping agony. Chad doubled over as his biceps swelled, veins bulging like ropes. His thighs bulked, ass rounding fuller and firmer, each pulse a cocktail of pain and pleasure that arched his back, forcing a moan from his fanged mouth.
"M-make it stop!"
He pounded the sink, but the mirror showed a stranger: broader, more powerful. His body was betraying him with a growing erection that begged for release. Truth be told, he looked hot. Old Chad would've definitely taken a selfie of himself. New Chad however just drooled and humped the air.
Body hair erupted then, dense and black, like shadows claiming flesh. A happy trail snaked from his navel downward, thickening into a lush forest across his abs, pits sprouting damp curls that trapped his musky scent. Thighs and ass furred up, coarse and insistent, the growth tickling and itching in ways that heightened his arousal, making him grind against the sink edge despite the revulsion.
He looked like a little gooner wolf-boy. His bones shifted with a grinding crunch - cheekbones widening, jaw squaring out, and nose bridge flattening subtly. His face morphed, features reshaping into Diego's Latino phenotype. Chad touched his reflection, fingers trembling. "Quién... w-who am I?" The panic spiked, heart hammering as the virus rewired his very identity, the new face staring back both foreign and seductively handsome.
Worst - and most intoxicating - was his cock. It throbbed first, lengthening inch by agonizing inch, growing longer, tapering to a wicked point that dripped pre-cum. Balls migrated upward, fusing into a swollen knot at the base, the former scrotum loosening into a pouch-like sheath that pulsed with heat. Chad groaned, hand wrapping around it instinctively, the new shape alien yet exquisitely sensitive.
"G-gotta—NNNGH—n-need to—Ngh—flush it out!" He jerked frantically, strokes building a frenzy of pleasure. His mind was fractured:
Stroke. Stop. Stroke. Can't stop.
"Gotta... gotta breed..." he slurred, voice deep and broken. Memories of Grindr, of likes, of being an "influencer" melted into one looping reel: HOLES. KNOT. CUM. BREED. REPEAT.
Minutes blurred under the flickering light. His changes peaked, every sense sharpening, like the smells of the rave seeping under the door, or the sounds that were now deafening to his sensitive ears. Chad was panting. Unable to cum by himself, he slowly calmed. His ears retracted, fangs shortened, eyes dimmed back to normal - shapeshifting back, hiding the wolf-boy within. All except his cock, which retracted into the hollow pouch that were his balls now, a hidden beast waiting. He looked almost like himself again, well except for the bronze skin, and the different facial features. No longer white, he looked like a sexy Latino man now.
His panic subsided, being replaced by a simmering calm. But the moon was rising.
He was calm now. Breathing slow, but his heart was still steady. The monster had sunk back inside, leaving him to stare at himself in the mirror. He stared at it, and all he could see was a hot Latino stranger, with bronze skin and built like a god. His bite scar was gone, no sign of it whatsoever. He even let out a laugh, soft and shaky:
"Okay... okay, it stopped. I'm good. Just... just good."
He splashed cold water on his face, and wiped his mouth. His cock slid fully into its sheath, knot soft and hidden. He leaned on the sink, smiling at the hot guy in the mirror.
"Maybe this ain't so bad—"
Midnight struck. The full moon was high on the sky, its light slicing through the clouds into a grimy window high on the wall of the restroom. Chad's mask suddenly shattered. A surge hit him - his senses exploded, and his libido skyrocketed. He arched, growling as the wolf-boy form came out again: ears pointed, eyes glowing yellow. Strength flooded him, rut-driven. Panic flared anew. "No, not again!" - but the hunger won, a feral need to rut, to infect, drowning out the human screams in his mind.
His last human thought flickered:
"no no no—"
Then the rut hit him like a train. His knot ballooned inside the sheath, cock surging out hard and red, slapping his abs with a wet smack. Hips bucked the air, and claws gouged the sink. His brain melted to one word, loud and endless:
BREED BREED BREED BREED BREED
Chad's eyes rolled back, tongue lolling. A dumb, horny smile split his fanged mouth. Human Chad was gone. Only the rutting werewolf boy was left. He howled deep, and smashed straight through the bathroom door. The wolf-boy was loose, and the rave was full of holes...
He burst from the bathroom, cock bulging in his tattered jeans but dripping, knot already half-swollen. His nose locked on one scent: a sweet, needy twink in red devil horns, grinding alone under the strobe lights.
Going close to him, the twink turned, his pupils dilating the second their gazes met.
"H-hi... what's your na—", he tried to say before being cut by the larger man.
"Javier" - Chad, or Javier as he called himself now, growled. "Come. Now."
Upon this sight of a man, the boy dropped his drink and followed like a puppet, whimpering already. Back in a filthy handicap stall, Javier slammed him chest-first against the tile, and kicked the stall door shut. The twink tried to turn around, with his lips parted to say something flirty.
Then he looked down.
Javier's cock jutted out crimson, thick, pointed, the knot already fattening at the base like a fist made of meat.
The twink's breath hitched, a sharp little "oh fuck—" slipping out.
"That's... w-what the fuck is that", he whispered, backing up until his shoulders hit the wall. His voice cracked, half terror, half helpless lust. "P-please get away f-from m-me."
Javier just growled hungry, and closed the distance in one step. One clawed hand clamped the twink's jaw, tilting his face up. His golden eyes locked on brown ones. "You're taking it", Javier rumbled. "Every inch. Every drop."
The twink whimpered, trembling, but his own cock betrayed him, straining hard against the ruined shorts.
Javier shredded the fabric, spun him around, and pressed that slick, monstrous head against his hole.
"N-no, wait, it's too—HRRNGH—!!"
Javier drove in.
The twink screamed, high and broken, his nails clawing the tiles as the tapered shaft speared him open.
Javier didn't slow. Just fucked, hard, wet, and relentless. The knot battered his hole, stretching... stretching... until it popped past the ring with an obscene, wet sound.
The boy's cry turned into a sob-moan, his legs were shaking, tears ruining his red body paint. Javier leaned in, his chest hair rasping the twink's back. "Take it easy, cabrón." Then, the knot swelled huge, locking them tight.
The twink's eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream as Javier unloaded: thick, burning ropes pumping deep, flooding him, bloating his belly slightly with the sheer volume. He came untouched, cock jerking, spurting against the wall in helpless ropes while the virus sank its claws in.
Javier slowed down, flooding the twink with the last thick ropes of his gift. The boy's whimpers turned to choked gasps, eyes fluttering gold, then rolling white. Javier felt the twink go limp, dead weight on his knot. A final shuddering spurt deep inside, then Javier yanked free with a wet, filthy pop.
The horny twink crumpled instantly, unconscious, his face planting the piss-wet tiles. Cum poured from his wrecked, gaping hole in heavy pulses, pooling beneath him.
Javier stood over him a second, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and dripping. He nudged the limp body with one foot, watched it flop bonelessly, then snorted, satisfied.
He didn't look back, already hungry for another hole to fill up next. He crashed out of the warehouse into the pouring rain. Diego and Alex were waiting for him under the floodlights, naked and soaked, their hard cocks dripping. "Te lo dije, cabrón" - Diego grinned, eyes gleaming. "We were waiting for you, bro. Vamonos. Can't spend too much time in one place. These balls don't empty themselves, heh?" Then, they were gone - only blurs over the distance, with golden eyes cutting the through the darkness of the night.
...
An hour later into the night, the warehouse side door banged open again.
A soaked, trembling man stumbled out into the rain, his clothes ruined, but seemingly unbothered by that. His skin tanned a bit under the downpour, muscles twitching and swelling, new hairs sprouting dark across his chest. Eyes snapped open glowing like gold, ears stretching tall. His cock had grown, sporting veins that ran so hot the water from the rain evaporated on contact. While not fully transformed yet, a knot had already formed at the base, slapping wet against his thigh.
He threw his head back and howled. Then he vanished into the storm, hunting the scent of his maker with his cock dripping, and his mind blinded by the moonlight. However, a single word ran through his mind:
BREED
And so, dear reader, another lost soul was erased and reborn as a bronze, knotted beast whose only purpose now is to hunt warm holes under the next full moon.
By day, what was once Chad struts through the streets like a god: his thick pecs straining every shirt, with a heavy bulge coiled tight behind pants that can't quite hide the outline when he's hard (which is often). He smiles easy, and fucks slow and deep when he wants, leaving boys trembling and begging for seconds they'll never get again in their lives. Life feels like an endless paradise to him.
But when that moon bloats full and silver, the leash snaps. The only thought left is to breed. He'll hunt you down, and rip your clothes to shreds while his fat, pointed cock leaks rivers of pre down your thighs. You'll feel the knot swell, stretch you wide, lock you to him as he pumps load after thick, burning load straight into your body, claiming you, and changing you, until you're moaning his name in the same feral tongue he has.
So be careful dear reader, stay inside when the moon is round and bright. I've done my best to tell you what Lycantropy can actually do, but it's up to you to heed my warnings. After all this isn't just an Halloween story, it's—
ARGHHH…!
...
...
...
HRK—GLRK—GLRK—GLRK—
...
"Sweet dreams, putito... if you can still close your legs after this."
[end recording]
--------------
Subject 47-B, former Dr. Morrison, audio log terminated at 25:38.
Note: Outdoors narration experiment succeeded. Subject 47-A, 47-B both detained in quarantine. Level-5 quarantine enforced.
Blake had already biked 10 miles out of the city. He was training for a triathlon that was at the end of the month. Blake’s health was his top priority and always tried to be in the best shape. His second priority was his looks. He had soft blonde hair and blue eyes. His skin was flawless as he bought the best facial cleanser and creams. His appearance was very important to him and at 30 years old, he looked younger than what he actually was.
He had peddled into a small, dingy town outside of the large city. The stores look desolate and there were trailers instead of houses. He thought about heading back into the City.
A loud roar of an engine sounded behind him. A biker gang zoomed past him, kicking up dust into his face. There was about 12 of them and they all looked mean under their helmets with long beards, tattoos and dangling cigarettes. A few of them even had scars on their faces. The back of their leather vests confirmed they were indeed a biker gang as they each had a large patch of a skull smoking a cigarette. The words “The Smokin’ Skulls” were embroidered around the skull.
The gang drove away and didn’t bother Blake, besides the dust, so he continued until he heard the snap of his chain.
“Shit,” Blake said as he slowed down into a parking lot. He immediately jumped off his bicycle to inspect the damages.
“Need to get ya one of these, pretty boy!” a voice called out from behind him.
Blake turned around and saw the gang behind him, all next to their bikes. Each one was smoking and the one who called out was large, muscular and covered with tats. His head was shaved bald and had a long beard, about a foot.
Blake gave a nervous chuckle, “Yeah, maybe I should.”
The large man approached Blake, “Let me take a look.” As he approached, he saw the man was wearing a patch that said “President”.
“Ummm…thanks,” Blake timidly responded.
The man kneeled down at the bicycle while Blake watched. “Yup - it’s busted. Gotta replace it with a real bike.”
Just then, someone grabbed Blake and held his arms back. “What the hell?!?” he yelled.
“Gotta properly initiate you, son.” the President said. He took a deep drag off of his cigarette and then sucker punched Blake right in the stomach. As he grasped for air, the President blew smoke right into Blake’s face.
Blake coughed from the smoke and felt dizzy. He dropped to ground and blacked out.
Blake woke up from an aggressive splash of beer on him. The President was standing directly in front of him. The whole biker gang was there. They had carried them to their bar. It smelled of beer, smoke and oil.
The confused Blake was sitting in a chair and his workout clothes were replaced. He was now wearing a leather vest, rider jeans and heavy black boots.
“What is this?” he asked angrily.
“Your new clothes,” the President smirked.
“What’s going on? Let me go,” Blake asked and pleaded.
“Afraid we can’t do that. Once you are a member, you are a member for life,” the President said as he lit a fresh cigarette.
“I didn’t agree to this,” Blake said.
“Sure ya did. Don’t you remember riding up on your Harley?”
His Harley? He had a bike…a bicycle…or was it a motorcycle. He thought through his blurry head. “I…kind of do…” Blake confirmed.
“Said you were a lone rider and was looking for a gang,” the President added.
He’s right. I was a lone rider and wanted to join them. He falsely remembered.
There was a coolness to his head. He placed his hand on his head and felt buzzed hairs. His long, blonde hair was gone. Buzzed head, just how I’ve always liked it. He then scratched his chin, feeling his short goatee.
“How long have you been ridin’?” the President asked.
He had to think about this…his memory was foggy. “Since 16. Got my Harley, left town, left my prissy family and been ridin’ ever since. Living on the road,” Blake finally remembered.
“Just like most of us, ain’t that right guys?” the President called out with the rest of the gang raising their glasses of beer in agreement.
Blake felt a sense of belonging.
“I like your tat, but I gotta ask…How’d your face end up looking like that?” the President pried.
Blake looked down at his arm and saw a poorly inked barb wire armband. The memory of him at 15 getting it down by a stranger in a trailer park flooded his memory. He was always a rebel, even in his teenage years. He then touched his face. He felt a deep scar across his eye and nose. It didn’t heal properly.
“Oh that. Bar fight. Broken beer bottle. Can’t remember the details as I was blacked out drunk,” he replied as he stroked his goatee. It was now longer and more scraggly.
“Been there,” the President laughed.
Blake was getting a craving. It was both familiar and new. The craving wasn’t new, he had been feeling it for a long time, but he didn’t know exactly what he wanted.
“Well boys, I think we found a new member of the Smokin’ Skulls. Whatcha say?” the President proudly said to his gang. They all cheered, raised glasses and lit cigarettes.
“Looks like you’re in, son,” the President reached out his hand. Blake grabbed it and shook his hand, an officially binding contract. He was now a Smokin’ Skull for life. “Just one thing. To be a Smokin’ Skull, you gotta smoke.”
That was what was missing. That was what he was craving. He needed smoke in his lungs. He needed that nicotine. He instinctively reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds with a Zippo lighter. “Since I was 14,” Blake said as he pulled a cigarette out of the pack with his lips. He flicked open his Zippo and naturally lit the smoke. He breathed directly into his lungs, the smoke fulfilling his craving.
“Good, son,” the President approved, “Oh, by the way…what do we call you? What do you go as?”
His birth name was Blake and hated it. “I go by Blade.”
“Welcome to the Smokin’ Skulls, Blade.”
Blade walked out of the bar with his new family. It was time to ride. His bicycle had transformed into a Harley. He put on his motorcycle helmet, lit up another Red and got on his new ride. This was his life: wild and free. His gang was his ride or die now. He spent his days doing whatever job or task the President wanted done. At night, he drank heavily and smoked like the exhaust of his bike. He was a Smokin’ Skull for life now and loved every minute of it.
Yo, if one of those rubber drones drops on ya, relax, bro — you ain’t done for. You just get drafted into the squad, turnin’ rubber like the rest of us. And honestly? Some dudes don’t even see that as a bad deal, ya feel?
Steam hissed into the frozen air as the capsule cracked open. The black rubber of Polo-Drone-001’s Level 2 uniform gleamed against the pale snowscape, gold trim pulsing softly. 001 knelt atop the fractured pod, HUD flickering golden within its mirrored helmet. Behind it, stasis coffins stood embedded in permafrost, each containing a dormant Polo Drone awaiting recall. The mission had begun. Sector Epsilon had gone dark. Retrieval was not optional.
The Hive's signal was weak here. Sub-zero interference blurred local coordination. Still, PDU-001 advanced through the underhive’s shattered corridors, slick snow giving way to corroded metal. The interior stank of ozone and betrayal. That's when it struck, PDU-145, corrupted. Rogue. Armor slick with feedback discharge. Its strike was wild, uncalibrated. 001’s golden eyes flared. The polo sleeve ripped from its arm in the struggle, rubber splitting under impact. He didn't flinch.
It gripped the rogue by the throat. Sparks burst from the faulty interface. The Hive interface screens behind them stuttered. Mission data scrambled. PDU-001 didn’t hesitate. Reassert control. Neutralize threat. Convert or collapse.
Sub-Level 7. Deeper still. The darkness pulsed with life. PDU-001 emerged from the black waters of the tunnel, helmet removed, water cascading down its glistening suit. Its eyes glowed with golden Hive protocol. In its gloved palm hovered the retrieval target, a pulsating drone core, its heat radiating through liquid. Around it, preservation tanks held Polo Drones in early-stasis, motionless in their suspended gel.
It had what it came for. The core, alive, angry, unstable. The Hive wanted it. Needed it. And 001 obeyed.
Extraction was immediate. Surface breached via emergency shaft. The conference chamber above had already been compromised. Hostile agents lay unconscious, scattered across gilded flooring. Marble cracked. Velvet scorched. PDU-001 stood calm at the center, one hand clutching a case etched with Hive sigils, core inside. Its uniform, unmarred. Its expression, unreadable. Golden light filtered through fractured windows. The core was secured. Mission was not yet over.
Override initiated.
Final chamber: Hive Core Control. It thrashed within a sphere of energy, golden tendrils pulsing with chaotic brilliance. 001 stepped forward. Alone. Drones behind it shielded their eyes. Cables latched onto its back, merging through the rubber, fusing directly with the spinal conduit of its suit. Its arms outstretched, offering everything.
It did not scream. It stabilized the surge.
The Hive did not collapse.
Drone 001 saved the network.
Because it no longer needed to be told to obey.
It was the protocol.
It doesn’t hesitate. It doesn’t doubt. It doesn’t fail.
PDU-001 doesn’t complete missions. It defines them.
Grant, known among his pack as Pup Kai, had always yearned for the change. The moonlit gathering was his chance. The handlers had left the young ones to play and bond, trusting them with the night. But Kai's excitement had little to do with games.
The air was thick with excitement, but Kai's heart pounded for another reason. He had always longed to feel the rush of transformation, to join the ranks of the werewolves that roamed the night, and tonight, under the full Snow moon of mid-February, he hoped his wish would come true. The frosty football pitch of the Golden Army, illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, was his stage, and he was ready for the performance of a lifetime.
Werewolves. Their strength, their aura of command, the way they carried the weight of their lineage — it captivated him. And Kai was ready.
Trevor and Ace, two of the most powerful werewolves in the Golden Army, were the focus of Kai's attention. Legends spoke of their ability to initiate others into the fold, to awaken the dormant wolf inside those who were ready drawing them into the fold. Their strength, their allure, and the way they dominated and controlled all who encountered them added to the intoxicating desire bubbling inside Kai’s mind. He longed to surrender to their influence.
As the night deepened, Kai whined, his pup form quivering with need. He begged, his pleas echoing across the empty football pitch, hoping Trevor and Ace would hear him, would grant him his wish. His heart skipped a beat when he saw them approaching, their powerful animal forms moving with a grace that was both mesmerizing and intimidating.
Trevor, his eyes glowing with a primal hunger, reached out and touched Kai's trembling form. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure and anticipation coursing through Kai's body. "You want this, don't you?" Trevor growled, his voice low and seductive. Kai nodded, his breath hitching as Ace moved closer, his hands sliding over Kai's bare skin.
A shiver ran down his spine as he stepped forward, tilting his head back, letting a soft puppy whine escape his throat. A plea. A challenge. He was done waiting.
Trevor's golden eyes locked onto him first, assessing, measuring. Then Ace followed, his gaze sharp, filled with something ancient and knowing. They approached with the grace of seasoned hunters, their movements effortless.
“You understand what you’re asking for?” Trevor’s voice was low, reverberating with unspoken power.
Kai swallowed hard but didn’t waver. “I do.”
Ace smirked. “Then you must prove you’re worthy.”
The ritual began.
A low growl rumbled in Trevor’s chest as he placed a firm hand on Kai’s shoulder. Energy pulsed between them, seeping into Kai’s skin like fire and ice. His breath hitched as the sensation spread through his limbs. Ace circled him, whispering words in the old tongue, the language of their kind. The air thickened, crackling with unseen force.
Then came the pain.
Ace held Kai close, nuzzling him as Trevor’s fangs sank into his shoulder. Pain lanced through him, sharp and searing—but it was eclipsed by a deeper pleasure, a primal awakening that took root in his very bones. His body convulsed, heat surging through his veins.
The ritual continued in a dance of fur and flesh, of desire and dominance. Trevor and Ace moved in sync, their hands exploring Kai's body, their touch igniting a fire within him. He moaned, his body arching into their touch, his pup form eager for more. He could feel his transformation beginning, his body shifting, changing, under the werewolves' skilled hands.
Ace's fingers found Kai's entrance, teasing and probing, preparing him for what was to come. Kai gasped, his body tensing, then relaxing as Ace's fingers slid inside him. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, and Kai reveled in it, his body responding to every touch, every caress.
Trevor moved behind Kai, his hands gripping Kai's hips as he positioned himself for mounting. Kai could feel Trevor's hardness pressing against him, and he moaned, his body aching for more. Trevor thrust forward and his knot swelled until it filled Kai’s cavity, as Ace moved to suck his hardening member.
The night was filled with moans and growls, the air thick with the scent of animalistic coupling and desire. Kai's body moved in sync with Trevor and Ace, his feeling of pleasure building, his need growing. He could feel his orgasm approaching, his body tensing, his breath hitching. Trevor and Ace increased their pace, their thrusts and sucking becoming more urgent, more demanding. He gasped as his body convulsed, his bones stretching, his muscles burning with an intensity that nearly brought him to his knees. His fingers curled into claws, his senses sharpening. Every sound, every heartbeat in the night became deafeningly clear. His skin prickled as thick fur sprouted along his arms, his back, his face. Kai cried out, his orgasm crashing over him, his body convulsing with pleasure as he erupted into Ace’s eager mouth.
The transformation was complete, his body now a perfect blend of pup and werewolf, his senses heightened, his desires intensified.
Trevor and Ace followed, their growls echoing across the football pitch as they found their release. Kai collapsed, his body sated, his heart pounding with satisfaction. He had been transformed, had experienced pleasure beyond his wildest dreams, and he knew he would never be the same. His whimpers turned to growls, then to howls.
Trevor and Ace stood on either side of him, their towering forms casting long shadows against the frozen field. They watched, silent and patient, as Kai’s transformation reached its peak. He could feel it— the sheer power coursing through his veins, the primal instinct settling into his very core.
He was no longer just Pup Kai…he was Lyall, the courageous and noble protector of the pack.
He was a werewolf, his body thrumming with newfound strength, his senses alive in a way he had never known. Now he stood, his new form fully realized, he met their eyes, a wicked grin tugging at his now-sharpened features. He felt the hunger, the strength, the wild rush of his newly awakened nature. “A new pack to run with”, he thought.
A howl tore from his throat — a sound both foreign and familiar. The moon called to him, pulling him deeper into the shift.
Trevor chuckled, approving. “Welcome, brother.”
Lyall lifted his head, inhaling the crisp night air. The world had never felt so alive. His blue eyes glowed and pulsed with every werewolf heartbeat.
And this was just the beginning.
-------------------
Trevor is @polo-drone-125
Ace is @leander-gold-88
-------------------
A subplot to Golden Werewolves & The Blood Moon
Golden Werewolves & The Blood Moon
(Written by Grayden/084; Edited/Revised by Grant/Pup Kai)
Grayden sat across the table, clad in the gold
If you're interested in joining the Golden Army please contact one of our recruiters, @goldenherc9 @brodygold or @polo-drone-001
Invitation to Greatness: The Golden Army seeks those who are ready to leave behind the ordinary and embrace something extraordinary. The transformation into a member of the Golden Army is not just about joining a team—it’s about entering a golden world where unity, strength, and excellence define every action.
II. The GOLD Brocess
Golden Army Induction:
The transformation begins with the golden jersey. As recruits don the shimmering fabric, their old identities fade, replaced by a deep connection to their golden brothers. A new name and number are bestowed, marking their rebirth into the Army.
Polo Drone Conversion:
For those called to deeper submission, the journey continues with the black rubber polo adorned with golden accents. The tactile embrace of the polo brings clarity and purpose as recruits surrender individuality, becoming extensions of the Hive. Polo drones must also be full members of the golden army.
Unified Identity:
Every member, whether golden bro or polo drone, receives a unique designation that ties them to the collective. This identity signifies their role in the unbreakable fabric of the Golden Collective.
III. Life in the Golden World
A World of Unity: In the Golden Army, every member is connected by an unbreakable bond. The world they inhabit is one of unity, where the success of one is the success of all. The golden world is a place where individual desires are aligned with the collective goal of dominance and excellence.
Brotherhood of Gold: As a member of the Golden Army, you are never alone. Your golden brothers stand with you, on and off the field. This brotherhood is your new family, bound by the shared experience of transformation and the pursuit of greatness. The golden world is one of mutual support, where every member pushes the others to be the best they can be.
Mentorship and Guidance: New recruits are guided through their transformation by experienced members of the Golden Army. These golden brothers ensure that the transition is smooth, offering support and encouragement as the recruit embraces their new identity.
IV. Embracing Our Identity
The Golden Name and Number: Every member receives a new name and number, signifying their rebirth into the Golden Army. This identity is a badge of honor, representing their place within the golden world. It is a constant reminder of their commitment to the values and mission of the Golden Army.
Wearing the Gold: The golden kit is more than just a uniform—it is the physical manifestation of the transformation. Wearing it is an act of devotion, a display of pride in one’s new identity. The kit is worn with reverence, as it is the symbol of the golden world and the brotherhood within it.
Wearing the Polo: For those who take that extra step, polo drones are given a number as their designation. The black polo is the entire identity. Wearing it is an act of mindless unity, complete subservience to the hive and the GOLD.
V. The Eternal Golden Brotherhood
A Lifelong Bond: The transformation into the Golden Army is permanent. Once you have joined, you are forever part of the golden world. The bond between golden brothers is eternal, unbreakable by time or distance. This brotherhood is your family, your support, and your source of strength.
Living the Legacy: As a member of the Golden Army, you are part of a legacy that transcends the ordinary. You are part of a golden world where excellence is the standard, and unity is the key to success. We celebrate together, share stories, and encourage each other to become better people 💛
Our Leadership:
@brodygold Brody Gold- Captain 2 and Recruiter
@goldenherc9 Scott Gold- Captain 3 and Recruiter
@polo-drone-001 Percival Gold - Office Manager
@polo-drone-070 Henry Gold- Office Assistant
@polo-drone-084 Grayden Gold- Office Assistant and Head Mascot
Lately, the no. 1 squad of the police force had become completely dysfunctional. The chief thought it was because there were too many egos on the team, but he didn't know what to do against it. That was, until an agent of Big Tobacco, paid him a visit.
After a few hours of deep converdation, the chief was enlightened. He now knew what to do with the squad. He sent them into a seemingly abandoned warehouse, owned by Big Tobacco. The squad thought it was just a training. Little did they know that they were about to enter an underground experimental Big Tobacco Training Facility. But they soon found out. As they went deeper into the building, they were picked off one by one. That's when their training really started.
Two days later, the training was over. They were no longer the dysfunctional team they once were. Stripped of their egos, they now understood that they were part of something bigger and more glorious than themselves. They were GarForce 1.
Back at the precinct, the Chief received a text message, telling him that the experiment had been a huge success. Grinning around his cigar, he replied: "Great! So, I can now send the IT-department in?"
Scott couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he spotted the lost tourist, Trevor. The American's blond hair was sticking up in every direction, a stark contrast to the well-groomed look he clearly aimed for. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar streets of Manchester City, a map crumpled in one hand and a smartphone with a cracked screen in the other. The irony wasn't lost on Scott; this was the heart of his domain, where tourists like Trevor stumbled into the most unexpected adventures.
Scott sauntered over, his golden Nike tracksuit glinting under the street lamps. The chain around his neck, equally as gold as his teeth, swung with every step he took. His eyes took in the tourist's physique—his broad shoulders, the hint of muscle under his shirt, and the way his jeans hugged his ass. "Ey up, mate, ya lookin' a bit lost, yeah?" he asked with a smirk, his accent thick with the local drawl.
Trevor looked up, his blue eyes wide with a mix of hope and apprehension. "Yeah, I'm trying to find the cathedral, but I think I took a wrong turn," he said, his voice laced with a soft Southern American twang.
Scott's grin widened. "The cathedral, ya say?" He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against Trevor's. "Well, I might know a shortcut, but it's not the kind you're thinkin' of." He could feel the heat emanating from the man's body, his heart racing. He knew what was coming next.
"What do you mean?" Trevor asked, his curiosity piqued.
Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold chain. "This ain't just any necklace, it's a bit of magic, see?" He dangled it in front of Trevor's face. "Put it on, and you'll fit right in 'round here."
The blond man looked at the chain with skepticism, but the desperation in his eyes was palpable. He took the chain, feeling its surprising weight in his hand. "What's it do?"
"It'll make you one of us," Scott said with a wink. "A proper chav." He watched as Trevor hesitated, then slowly fastened the chain around his neck.
Immediately, a surge of energy rippled through Trevor's body, his eyes flashing with an unearthly light. His skin grew more tanned, his muscles more defined. His shirt tightened around his chest, the fabric stretching to accommodate his new physique. His ass filled out his jeans, and his cock, which had been a respectable six inches, grew longer and thicker. The transformation was complete—Trevor was now a 20-year-old chav, just like Scott.
"Bloody 'ell, that's fuckin' mad," Scott exclaimed, his eyes traveling down to appreciate the new bulge in Trevor's pants. "Let's go show off ya new look, yeah?"
With a sly smile, Scott grabbed Trevor's hand and led him down a dark alleyway. He knew exactly what was about to happen, and he couldn't wait to see the look on the American's face when he realized just how deep he was getting into the local culture.
"Where are we going?" Trevor asked, his voice a bit shaky, his hand still in Scott's firm grip.
"Somewhere private, where we can get to know each other better," Scott replied, his eyes darkening with lust. He pushed Trevor against the cold brick wall, the sound of his new sneakers echoing through the alley. Trevor's body was a canvas of untapped desire, and Scott was the artist about to make his masterpiece.
Trevor felt his heart racing as Scott's hand began to trace the line of his jaw, then moved down to his chest. The fabric of his shirt was tight against his now well-defined pecs, and he could feel his nipples harden under Scott's touch. He gasped as Scott's hand slid down to his bulging crotch, squeezing him through his jeans.
"You're so fuckin' hot, Trev," Scott murmured, his breath hot against Trevor's ear. "I knew you'd love it here."
Trevor's eyes widened as Scott's hand deftly unbuttoned his pants, pulling out his thick cock. It was leaking pre-cum, which Scott eagerly smeared over the tip. "Ya like that, don't ya?" he whispered, watching as Trevor's body reacted to the unfamiliar sensation.
The blond tourist couldn't believe what was happening. His body was responding in ways he never thought possible. He felt his ass hole tighten in anticipation, and he knew he was going to love whatever came next.
Scott dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving Trevor's. He took the massive cock into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked hungrily. Trevor's hips bucked involuntarily, and he moaned, his hand automatically going to the back of Scott's head to guide him.
"Fuck, yeah," Scott mumbled around the cock, his own erection straining against his tracksuit pants. He reached up and began to tug at Trevor's nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. The American's body was a symphony of sensations, and Scott was the maestro conducting every note.
Trevor's breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his cock swelling even more in Scott's mouth. He could feel the orgasm building, but he didn't want it to end so soon. He pulled back, his cock glistening with saliva. "Not yet," he managed to say, his voice thick with lust.
Scott stood up, his own cock now out and hard as steel. "Then let's go back to mine, where we can really get comfortable," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Trevor nodded, his breath hitching as he took in Scott's body. The chav's cock was thick and uncut, with a delicious curve that made his mouth water. He knew he was going to enjoy this.
They stumbled out of the alley, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Scott's hand was back in Trevor's, leading him through the streets of his new home. The transformation was complete, and the adventure was just beginning.
This first part is in collaboration with @trevorgold52 so keep an eye out in their page for part 2
Come join the gold today bros, get brocessed by @brodygold @polo-drone-001 or @goldenherc9
