[rakurairagnarok]

Heyyyy everyone...so I have been writing up a storm these last few months, and I was thinking why not make some money and give you guys the chance to let out some ideas. Sooooooo.

Commissions are open!!!

Currently gonna throw them at 5 euro cents per word. If anyone is interested feel free to dm. I won't do free requests for a bit... I'm very tired :P

Piece out, enjoy the show!!

-Rak

[nolecub]

A Relaxing Vacation

Rob and two of his fraternity brothers, Jeff and Andy, decided to rent a cabin in a rural area for a long weekend.  With school coming back in a few weeks, it would be their last chance to get in some “bro time” and relax before their senior year.  By next summer, they’d be going their separate ways, so why not crack open some beers in a nice setting.

They didn’t know much about the AirBnB they rented, but it had a lot of bells and whistles.  There was a jacuzzi and fire pit on the large deck out back and plenty of room for each of them to have their own room.  They brought in plenty of supplies to eat, drink, and relax.

Rob decided to take a nap one afternoon.  When he woke, he heard Jeff and Andy out on the porch.  When he opened the sliding door, he noticed they were outside smoking cigars around the fire pit.  “Yo, bros, where did you get the cigars?”, he asked.  Jeff answered, “One of the neighbors came by to say hello.”  Andy continued, “Yeah, he was really cool.  He gave us these cigars and said they would really help us relax.”

“Have you dudes been working out, too?”, Rob asked, “you look bigger than I remember from this morning.”  “Probably just been relaxing too much, I guess,” Jeff said.  “Yeah,”, Andy said, “the dude said one of the side effects of relaxing might be some weight gain.”  “Bros,” Rob asked, “why do you keep saying the word relax so much?  It’s starting to creep me out.”  Rob started to recognize that the boys were almost in a trance the way they were acting.  Their eyes seemed glassy as they kept mindlessly smoking their cigars.

“It’s totally OK, bro,” Jeff said, “you should relax with us.”  “Yeah,” Andy said, “sit down and relax.”  The smoke from the cigars seemed to be affecting Rob.  The more the guys said the word relax, it was like he was becoming more and more compelled to do so.  “This is all too much,” he said shaking his head, “I don’t want to relax.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jeff said, “just come over, grab a cigar and relax.  Come hang out with your bros.”  Andy added, “It’s totally worth it, bro.  I feel so good and relaxed.  You don’t know what you’re missing.”  Rob couldn’t take it anymore.  Seeing his bros so relaxed, almost seeming to grow in front of his eyes.  He thought, “It’s just a cigar, what’s the big deal?”

“Alright bros,” Rob said, “I’ll relax with you for a while.”  Jeff handed Rob a cigar, cutter, and lighter.  As he puffed his stogie to life, Rob understood why his bros were loving these cigars.  They were in a beautiful setting, out in the open, forest all around them.  It was a perfect time to just relax and let all the stress go away.  While he was sitting there, he could also feel almost every cell in his body coming to life.  His muscles were growing, but he was also gaining some weight in his mid-section.  He didn’t care though, all he wanted to do was continue relaxing.

About 30 minutes later, Jeff and Andy broke the relaxing silence.  “Hey, bro,” Jeff said, “we should head inside for a bit and relax some more.”  Andy said, “Totally, bro.  I could definitely relax inside for a while.”  As they stood up, Rob noticed they were looking each other in the eyes.  They were all as straight as the other bros in their fraternity.  They enjoyed spending time with each other, but it was never in a gay way.  

Initially, as these thoughts crossed his mind, Rob became slightly uncomfortable.  However, he kept relaxing and smoking his cigar.  He turned to see his bros holding hands as they walked inside the house - still smoking their cigars.  He wanted to say, “Stop, we’re not supposed to smoke in the house.  We might lose our deposit.”  However, all he could do was see his growing chub and think, “Those dudes are sexy.”

A good 30 minutes later, Rob was still smoking his cigar and relaxing while staring out in the woods, listening to the wind rustle the trees.  He was so relaxed.  He didn’t notice the door slide open as a stranger stepped foot on the deck.  As he turned, Rob didn’t even flinch seeing the man, much older than himself and his bros.  He was covered in hair, tattoos, and wearing nothing but a hat, jock strap, and work boots.

“Hello, boy,” the man said, “are you relaxed?”  “Yes, I’m very relaxed,” Rob answered.  “Good boy” the man responded, “it’s important that you continue relaxing for me.”  Rob vacantly continued sucking on his cigar, thinking only about how relaxed he was and how sexy this man was.  “My name is Wallace, boy,” the man said, “I’m the owner of this cabin.  When people stay here, I usually go to the other cabin I have next door.  But when you and your friend decided to visit, I thought it was important that you relax.”

“Thank you,” Rob said, “we are really enjoying ourselves.  This place is so relaxing.”  “Good, boy,” Wallace said, “what’s your name?”  Rob answered.  “Well, Robert,” Wallace continued, “we go by men’s names here.  Your friends Jeffrey and Andrew told me you all were visiting before going back to school.  What would you say about staying here and relaxing with me?  I could really use the help running the AirBnB.”

Robert thought about it for a moment, “I love relaxing here, Wallace.  This has been an amazing experience.  But I need to get back to school.”  “Now, why would you want to do that, Robert?”, Wallace asked, “Jeffrey and Andrew are going to stay so they can continue relaxing.  I think you should stay, too.”

Two men Rob didn’t recognize stepped out onto the deck.  “You should stay here with us, Robert”, one of them said.  “Yeah,” the other one said, “we are going to stay here with Wallace and help him out.”  Both men took hauls on their cigars and exchanged smoke-filled, passionate kisses.  Rob could recognize them now, about 20-25 years older than they were before, with beards, body hair, and wrinkles.  It was Jeff and Andy.

The shirtless men started approaching Rob, when he had a slight moment of clarity.  “What the hell is going on here?” he asked.  Jeffrey and Andrew smiled around their cigars as Wallace answered, “Jeffrey and Andrew relaxed like good boys, just as I encouraged them to do.  Through relaxation, they realized they were in love - or at least in lust - with one another.”  “Hell yeah,” Jeffrey said, “Andrew here is one hot fucker, don’t you think Robert?  Why don’t you help Robert relax some more?”  With Jeffrey’s approval, Andrew approached Rob and started to lean in to give him a kiss.

“Back off, Andrew,” Wallace interjected, “you’ve got Jeffrey.  This one is mine.”  Andrew went back to Jeffrey.  Wallace took a haul off his cigar and gave Rob an injection of his smoke.  Rob’s eyes and cock sprung to life.  “That was fucking sexy, Wallace”, Andrew said.  “There is still much for you boys to learn,” Wallace said, “so, Robert, why don’t you join me inside where we can relax together?”

Rob stood up, his growing body almost losing his balance under his new girth.  “Fuck, you are going to be a sexy man when I’m done with you,” Wallace said.  Rob grabbed Wallace’s hand as they disappeared into the cabin, leaving Jeffrey and Andrew on the deck.

A few months later, there was a knock on the door of the cabin.  When the door opened, a thick man, hairy man, wearing leather pants and a harness, smoking a large cigar said, “Hello, my name is Robert.  My husband Wallace and I welcome you to our AirBnB.  We’ll be staying down the road in our cabin, but the onsite staff Jeffrey and Andrew are here to make sure you have a relaxing stay.  If any of us can help you out in any way, don’t hesitate to let us know.  Sometimes, people feel so relaxed they never want to leave.”

[fredwkong]

I can't remember what made me follow you, but I am really glad I did ! I especially love your musk related story, BO is such a turn on for me, I'm into stinky men and you describe them so well...

Thanks, bro. I love imagining guys getting sweaty and stinky, dripping musky sweat and leaving smelly sweatprints on everything they touch. Sucking on their cheesy cocks and musky toes…

Dude, when was the last time you showered? The last time it rained? It’s been weeks! And every day, you spend hours sweating in the gym and hiking in the summer heat. No wonder I can smell you the moment you come in the door, considering how much you sweat just sitting down.

Not that it’s a bad thing. Show off those hairy armpits for me, bro. Mmm, smells so tangy and good. Give yourself a good sniff. You can just feel the musky stench dissolving what remains of your brain. Take off those sweat-stained socks and let me lick those big bro feet.

Bro.

BRO!

Bro…

Huhuhu, bruh, you, like, totally came in your boxer briefs, just from sniffing your musky bod! We should, huhu, go and find some lame nerds you can dumb down and musk up with your greasy unwashed musclebod. Like the bros reading this! See that, bros? You can smell my bro’s musky feet right through the computer screen, huhuhu. Let the stench get you all musky and dumb, just like us. Then we can all get even sweatier together, bros!

If this got you horny, consider putting some spare change in my Ko-fi cup so I can write even more hot stories.

[fredwkong]

I’m a 30 year old feminine gay guy, not really into sports or anything like that. My dad is the complete opposite of me, he’s a muscular former jock who’s obsessed with football. The two of us aren’t really close. I wish me and my dad were closer.

The genie barges in the door halfway through dinner. He’s shirtless, with huge linebacker muscles. As your dad inhales to bellow some kind of slur at the entry of a huge Arabic man, the genie flicks his fingers in a complicated pattern. “Not to worry,” he rumbles, “I’m your new life coach.”

Your dad sits back down in his chair, looking confused and muddled. “Right…” he murmurs. “Life coach…”

You’re looking gleefully at your zonked out dad when the genie gestures at you, as well. “Nah, you too, boy,” he says. Your brain slows down, and you hear your voice say, slowly, “Whatever you say…”

Over the next few weeks, the genie coaches you and your dad 24/7. You move through your days in a haze, going to the gym, eating tons of protein, getting all new clothes. Your skin darkens as your muscles grow, and you swear your dad’s looking younger. One day, he and the genie go out. You do push-ups while they’re gone, just like the genie told you. When they come back, your dad’s gotten his buzzcut bleached. He looks your age. You struggle to articulate why that’s weird.

“Don’t worry,” says the genie, whispering in your ear as he puts a durag on your head. “That’s not your dad, that’s your bro. You play football together every day.”

He’s right. You don’t know why it was weird. That’s your bro, your roommate, your fuckbuddy, your closest friend. It’s always been this way.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for.

[rakurairagnarok]

favorite word?

Uhh well hello there.

Favorite word? Juicy. Juicy pecs, juicy ass, juicy boys. Fits perfectly infront of all the things I like!

[the-transformation-hub]

Lost & Found: The Jockstrap

(Sharing a TF I wrote for @reddarkfox222)

You were just leaving the Student Wellness Center after putting in your best effort to bulk up. You had been doing pretty well at making it a habit but you were really wishing there was some sort of cheat you could do to speed things up.

As you were nearing the double glass doors of the exit, the guy in front of you had something fall out of his gym bag. Without thinking, you scooped it up and were just about to call after him when you realized the thing you were holding was kind of damp and a bit musky. You look down and realize you had unthinkingly picked up this man’s jockstrap.

You spotted the garbage and were about to toss it when something deep within you made you pause and quietly pack it into your own bag. After that, you went about your boring day of classes and didn’t think about it again until you began your homework that evening.

You tried so hard to concentrate but you kept thinking about the jockstrap in your bag and how sexy the hairy muscular football player that dropped it was. You stare at your notes for a couple unproductive minutes when at last you can’t resist it anymore and run to your bag and snatch it out.

It’s still a bit damp and the musk emitting from it is ripe but in a way that begins to make you so horny that your cock begins to get hard. Timidly, you lift it up to your face and take in a deep inhale. You can almost feel the musk as it penetrates deep into your lungs. ‘God, this scent is intoxicating’ you think to yourself as you take another whiff before you head back to your desk to resume your studies.

For a couple minutes you manage to put in some real effort to complete your homework but are interrupted by a tingling sensation across your body. Goosebumps don’t seem to be the case here as it feels more intense and the tingling quickly becomes a sharp pins and needles feeling. You’re so distracted by the feeling that you don’t even notice as chest hair begins to form and slowly curl its way through the neck opening of your t-shirt. Your armpits begin to itch as well while your pit hair gets longer, thicker, and sweatier.

The sensation makes you give up on homework for the night and you head to you bed. Along the way you decide to grab the jockstrap again because what’s the harm in another sniff? You don’t even bother to take off your clothes before hopping on the mattress, jock in hand, and begin the take deep inhales while you play with your hard on beneath the zipper of your pants.

Laying there all gooned out, you don’t notice as your cock begins to elongate and gain some heft. You just assume it’s still getting hard because of how turned on you are right now. You do however, notice the tingling sensation down there as your shaft begins to become hairy and a thick dark bush of pubes sprout at the base of your cock.

You can’t take it anymore and you begin to strip your clothes off revealing all the new hair growth along your body. Your arms and legs have a nice black carpet of hair and your stomach has a tidy little treasure trail leading down to your cock. That’s when you finally notice that your dick has miraculously gained 3 inches in length making it a whopping 8 inches long. The length isn’t the only thing shocking as it’s also about as thick as a beer can now.

It’s a good thing you stripped too as you’re about to need a whole new wardrobe. As you stroke your new fat cock you see the skin on you stomach start to churn like waves rollling across a see of pink. The churning starts to ease as thick washboard abs begin to form their way up your abdomen creating a six pack that you could never have imagined being there before. It doesn’t stop there though, your pecs start to swell and inflate under all of that new chest hair as they gain muscle mass and your nipples harden at the feeling of pleasure this is all bringing you.

You grab the jock and inhale deeply again as you begin stroking your cock even harder. The changes start coming on faster too as your feet go from a size 9.5 to 12 inches. Your calves expand as well as your thighs, the look of them is so astounding that it almost reminds you of the marble statues of nude male forms that you’ve seen in museums except a lot hairier!

You feel a bit of precum on your cock and instinctively move the jock down to wipe it up and then continue your bait sesh. As you stroke, you see your arms begin to bulk up as your biceps and triceps start to bulge out from your arms and the veins in your arms began to strain as if ready to pop. The ecstasy of this sudden growth is finally too much and loads of cum burst from your new thick hairy cock, drenching your chest hair and even the bedsheets.

The transformation leaves you exhausted and you pass out from finally having achieved release. When you wake in the morning you head to the bathroom and admire the muscular form you see looking back at you with its thick cock twitching in anticipation of another go. You head back to your room to get ready for the day before realizing that none of your clothes fit anymore. You see the jockstrap on your pillow and don’t even hesitate to grab it and slide it on. The fabric hugs your cock perfectly and the straps frame your hairy muscular ass like it’s a prized oil painting. ‘Thank god I found that jockstrap’ you think as you give the straps a playful snap ‘it’s the only clothing I have that fits.’

[dougtfs]

I’m the only one who knows Alex’s secret: He can transform you with a kiss. He confided in me one morning, and shyly added, “and I’ve kinda wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“Then do it,” I said, pulling him close. Our mouths met, our lips touched, and I felt his power flow through me.

“What are you turning me into?” I asked.

“The perfect boyfriend,” he grinned. I felt my clothing evaporate from my body, leaving me naked in front of him. My muscle cramped and bulged, growing huge, and my cock swelled. I felt my body stretch, growing taller, and I wrapped my bigger, stronger arms around him. He’s mine now, and I’m his.

Get more stories of transformation, power, and control: https://amzn.to/2zuzn1M

[occamstfs]

Waiting For Byron

Morris needs a job, Byron Industries needs an lab rat perfect for their new trial to make a mindless (read: horny) grunt. Paging through his favorite book while he waits, for such a reader he surely didn't read any fine print.

Wrote this one for a GSS challenge a bit ago! Here it is ever so slightly touched up with a few images added. This one's for all you real Melville heads out there. -Occam

“Call me Morris!”

The literature grad surely expected at least some reaction to his smallest of Moby Dick references. It’s not the first time he’s met with silence at the playfully pitiful introduction, but usually there’s at least confusion. This receptionist simply stares blankly. Perhaps there was a perfunctory smile under the facemask, but it certainly didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Morris Baker, yes? For the interview?”

Still recoiling from his scuffed opening Morris is hesitant to speak up. All the well as the receptionist takes his silent quibbling as confirmation. 

“Sir Byron will be with you shortly, please have a seat and enjoy our lobby’s amenities.”

Clutching his shoulder bag tightly as he sort of bows before stepping away from the front desk, Morris realizes that he’s not just working himself up. It’s not in his head, something is off about that receptionist. Sneaking a quick glance back, he sees the clerk is still staring at him. No? Staring through him.

To his credit, Morris stills the shiver that runs up his spine at the realization. Focusing on what matters, Morris convinces himself that between the two of them the secretary’s the weird one. That’s why the man didn’t react to his solid Moby Dick reference! Turning with a cocksure grin to take in the amenities the strange receptionist spoke of he wonders what he’ll find. It’s not every day someone like him gets to wander into Byron Roman’s business, after all.

Local celebrity doesn’t begin to cover what the titan of industry has become, but it’s certainly where he started. Morris remembers him being the talk of their provincial Texan hometown, nothing exciting ever happened around here so why not discuss the now-billionaire who escaped.

No one ever expected for him to return to their suburban ghost town to set up shop. Apparently disaffected with the West Coast preoccupation with burning money in pursuit of LLM’s and other digital faux progress, he felt a dire need to take his money elsewhere. For he is concerned with the world material.

Staring up at a painting of the great man adorning the wall above an elegant single-cup coffee machine, Morris can hardly believe they’re from the same ZIP code. That they walked the same high school corridors. Thick silver-speckled beard hiding a jawline everyone knows is as sharp as his mind, Byron seems like a man from a different age. One to be found amongst the pages of Morris’ classic literature more so than as the chief executive of an R&D company HQ’d in bumfuck nowhere.

And to think, Morris is here to work under him. Far, far, far under him presumably. The email didn’t say who he was meeting with, or really what he was interviewing for, but it must be for a low level clerk position. At least he told himself this as he signed an ‘interview contract’ that he had barely read. 

Obviously said document could have held these answers and more but Morris was too excited at the opportunity to work for Byron Roman to even glance at the thing before signing. And now it’s almost as if it’s been washed from his mind. Perhaps that would be concerning if he were able to really recall it at all. But right now Morris has bigger fish to fry, sure of his intelligence at least, there is little else about himself he is confident about.

Too gaunt to be considered pudgy, too average to be dubbed attractive. Morris, like the CEO, seems to be pulled from the world of fiction, though one rather distinct from the epic Sir Byron Roman is cut from. No, Morris is more akin to a street urchin busking to sell matchsticks. Some Dickensian side-character that would be left on the chopping room floor.

Stealing another glance at the portrait wondering if he should hazard another cup of coffee, Morris can’t believe the sense of gravity he gets from the painting. It’s as if the man were standing her before him, asserting his masculinity through brushstrokes and painted posture alone. 

Coming to this exact realization as he awkwardly averts his eyes and starts brewing a cup, Morris jokes to himself, “Can oi interest you in a pape milord…”

Unbeknownst to the off-duty barista, the receptionist has yet to take his eyes off him. Watching as Morris taps away at a coffee machine that inexplicably has a screen, he scans with concentration more like a machine than a man.

Only when the nervous interviewee sheepishly looks over his shoulder at the otherwise empty room does the receptionist at last avert his eyes. Having apparently gathered everything he needs, when Morris sits down with his steaming to-go cup, the receptionist speaks up.

“Sir Byron will see you now. Please proceed through the door on my left before entering the third room on the right.”

Letting the man’s words hang in the air for a moment, Morris puffs his cheeks and squints as he realizes this is the second time the secretary has outright stated he’s going to be meeting with the CEO. 

The first time he had assumed it was a simple mistake, just a slip of the doorman’s hidden tongue. Having spent even a second longer with the mechanical man, Morris feels confident that he is not the type to speak in err. Nevertheless he opts to clarify.

“Hey! Hi there~ I don’t believe I got your name earlier, Mr..?” His question hangs in the air long enough that he gives up and continues. “Right. Well, I do believe there has been some sort of a misunderstanding? I-I’m here for a simply preliminary interview, surely Mr. Roman had better things to do than-“

“This organization is Byron Roman. If he allows some plain well-read fop to represent him in any regard, and that ungainly grunt makes an embarrassment of his name. Well.”

It’s the most animated Morris has seen the man since he walked in. Despite the cool collected tone he’d swear he saw the man’s eye twitch at the very idea of someone embarrassing the brand. Breezing past being called a grunt and clinging to being called well-read Morris tries to salvage the situation. Sure that if everything goes well that he’ll be working to some degree with the severe man before him, he beats down his nerves to perform.

“Of course! Of course~ I completely understand, sir. The squeaky wheel- err? Rather, a man is always judged by the company he keeps! I am simply surprised that a man as great as Byron Roman would make time in his busy day for an aspirant such as myself.” 

Unlike the previous hidden grin, at this the secretary’s eyes light up with a smile. Like a faithful hearing true testimony of their lord. 

“Well spoken Mr. Baker. Perhaps we’ll have a fruitful working relationship after all. Hold fast to that fervor. Now, if you don’t mind, please away to the next suite. Sir Byron will arrive to join when he is finished with his current business.” Once more gesturing to the door to his left, the secretary’s face resets to its emotionless steel as he awaits for Morris to obey. Coffee cup in his hands he is torn whether to leave it or bring it to the second location. The simple decision almost freezes him in place. 

He can’t help but overthink every single choice before him. Scoffing at himself as he clenches his jaw, in lieu of a decision he follows the path of least resistance and keeps the cup in hands. Still chiding himself for his perpetual lack of volition and his obsession with minutiae, he attempts to beat stoic surety into himself in preparation of meeting a CEO.

The process is interrupted as he crosses the threshold out of the lobby only to find an unremarkable hallway. Warm wooden flooring and vintage wallpaper give the place a homey vibe far more similar to a small-town doctor’s office than the working HQ of a tech company. Even seeing the large elevators at the end of the hallway in a building Morris knows is only the one story tall, he can’t help but be lulled by the place’s provincial decor. 

“It’s like my mom decorated this place…” 

Snooping just enough to check out the other few doors on the way to the promised third on the right, Morris finds only more beige doors. Their handles are covered with a thin layer of dust that his attention just glides past, much like it does regarding the gleaming elevator down the way.

Far less overactive minds would begin telling themselves horror stories and worst-case scenarios about wandering into the back office of a billionaire’s clearly shady studio. Taking a sip of his coffee and stealing one last glimpse of the empty hallway, Morris refuses to give way to anxiety. The rich light roast on his tongue grounds him, it perfectly reminds him why he’s come here today. 

He is not going to be a barista anymore. The lobby’s attendant flickers in his mind as he swallows. A job just like that, maybe one where he doesn’t need to be quite so dogmatic, is that too much to ask? 

Lost in thought as he enters the room. From the side of his eye Morris catches movement and spits up coffee as he flinches into the door in surprise. Instantly worried that Byron has been waiting on him and caught this jittery display, he tightens his posture and forces an awkward smile on his face to feign confidence.

His harried resolve immediately drops when he turns completely only to find a full-length mirror leaned against the wall. Sighing in relief Morris decides to use the opportunity to freshen up. Setting down his coffee he wanders closer to inspect his reflection. 

Hair as unfrizzled as he’s able to get it, there are more than a few curly fly-aways sticking out of his tight dirty-blonde bun. Looking down his baggy button-up there are thankfully no coffee stains on its placket. 

At least everywhere visible is stainfree if nothing else. The same can surely not be said regarding the sweat under his arms, but this is thankfully hidden by a neat cardigan and nigh-medical grade deodorant.

‘I’ll be fine’ He tells himself on loop, tugging his cardigan down to cover a wrinkle. Looking downwards his pants are simply too long and bag atop dress shoes he only pulls out for very special occasions. His belt still slightly limp even on its most extreme loop, Morris feels nerves prickle on the back of his neck. He absolutely won’t be fine, he looks like a fucking mess!

The barely positive mantra he’s been clinging to is succinctly batted away as the reality of the situation pelts away the hope he’d been foolish enough to trust. He hadn’t even applied for any position in particular, simply thrown his resume at the company’s inbox alongside a pathetic cover letter asking to be used however they see fit. 

As if their CEO would waste a second of his day besides to come down here and chastise him for wasting his important company’s time. The receptionist held more worth in a finger than could  be found in all of Morris put together, and he thought he’d be able to work a job like that!? He’d crumble under the slightest obstacle, some rich investor chews him out and he’d dissolve. Morris feels himself tearing up at the very idea.

Or perhaps he’s simply halfway to weeping for being a dumbass who thought things could be better. Always thinking. Too much thinking. He feels his fingers clench into his forehead before he even realizes he’s put his face in his hands. The pain of his fingernails scratching brings him back to his senses and after making sure he didn’t leave splotchy red marks on his hairline he takes a deep breath and turns away from his watery-eyed reflection.

Now’s not the time.

If this is real, and it must be. Then this is a massive opportunity he simply can’t waste because he got in his own head. He’s too smart for that. He’s smart, and Byron Roman himself has a position in mind for him. This is-

BING BONG DING DONG- DONG DING BONG BING

“Jesus christ…”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, it’s clear that despite telling himself to calm down he has remained well on edge. Looking up to find the villainous implement that startled him, Morris is shocked he didn’t notice the clock before now. Still recovering from the jumpscare he can hear a subtle tick-tock, grounding him in reality as he attempts to find calm.

Centering himself on the consistent clicking of gears nearby, Morris sits in a small chair and sets his bag down beside him. Time to lock in. Reaching down to paw through the couple of belongings he saw as necessary, Morris debates whether it’s best to read through his printed resume or to focus wholly on setting his mind at ease.

Obviously he’s not going to just scroll on his phone. At worst he’ll stumble across something that’ll stress him out more. At best he’ll look like some screen-addicted zoomer right when Mr. Roman walks in.

Fingers glaze the worn cover of his trusty bible. Melville’s masterpiece. Moby Dick. Thinking of the tome and the vastness of the sea within, the classicist feels the constriction in his chest just melt away. Focused on the sound of North Atlantic gulls in his mind, buoyed by the persistent ticking of the newfound clock, how could Morris ever  notice the slightest hissing now emanating from the nearby overhead vent. 

Book in hands, he turns it over a few times before opening it to some choice section on whales and their constituent parts. Morris at last relaxes back into his chair. Despite doing everything right, as  he reads his pulse continues to rise. First putting his hand on his chest to feel its racing beat, Morris shakes his head and pointedly ignores how it suddenly feels warmer in the room to read the passage before him.

Fanning out his button-up he frowns and tells himself the discomfort is all in his head. Shifting in his seat he feels the pooling sweat in pits and resolves to ignore it. Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he squints at the text and begins to whisper it aloud to himself.

‘Gnawed within and scorched without, with the infixed unrelenting.. Uh?’ Hearing something bump in the hallway he turns to hopefully see his interviewer interrupting him only to find it’s presumably in his head. Scratching at the side of his chest, carefully not shoving his hand deep in his pits, Morris purses his lips and looks back to the book, unknowingly skipping a few lines.

‘Or, if for any reason thought to be corpo- uhhh? Corporately, no. Corpor-really? Corporeally? Jeeez, god… I must be more stressed than I even thought.” And he certainly thought he was plenty stressed. 

Leaning back against his chair, Morris closes his eyes and simply tries to find peace in the darkness. His foot anxiously taps on the floor, at first matching the ticking before rapidly outpacing it. And then it falls heavier. His shoes were tight from the get-go having rarely been worn, but suddenly it’s almost like they’ve gotten tighter in the last few minutes. 

Every muscle in his body tensed, he uses his anxious tension to jump up with a start and pace the otherwise empty office. This does nothing to abate the discomfort in his shoes, but as he does so he begins to find that it is not only his feet that are suddenly acting up. Crossing his arms tightly as he patrols the small suite, his cardigan tugs against his shoulders like it never has before.

With a scowl he looks down at his wrists exposed from both his sweater and shirt. Imagining the surely pristine suit his town’s idol is sure to arrive in he easily works himself up anew about his foolish daydreams. Even worse than before, as if every already extreme emotion had heightened. As if they were still heightening. 

Throwing his arms down and swinging them to simply remove them from his sight, he refuses to acknowledge how the twigs twitch with every sway. Muscle fibers that have been inactive save to froth milk and open novels suddenly twinge and burn with a need Morris doesn’t understand. 

Struggling to make sense of the strange sensation, with pursed lips his fists cramp and at last it becomes perfectly clear. Aggression. Morris is filled with the all-too unfamiliar need to punch something. His consistent pacing back and forth immediately stops as the urge takes pride of place in his mind. Staring as his dainty hands curling into fists, Morris watches mouth agog as the veins on their backs throb. 

The sound of his knuckles cracking larger with the force of his clenching is absolutely clear. Wispy blond strands that have long decorated his wrists seem suddenly darker in this office light, to say nothing of the fact that it seems like there are altogether more of them.

Hidden by his cardigan sleeves, Morris suddenly feels his forearms filled with force. Not knowing what a flexor or extensor even is, Morris is dumbstruck as he feels muscles reflexively constrict. Higher up his arm, and far more eye-catching, he is stunned as he sees his sweater catch on biceps like he’s never seen. Muscle like he’d never even been able to imagine on his unimpressive form.

Everything else is washed from his mind as he sees his arms continue to bloat. The shock from his sudden violent streak and even the slight pain still pinging from his shoes pinching more and more, everything fades away as a grin overtakes his shaky face. Panting almost as he lowers and raises an invisible dumbbell, Morris watches as with every lift his sleeves are strained further. And his arms continue to grow. 

Hands stretch further from the end of his sleeves as the scratchy, darker curls spreading up his forearm continue to thicken. Doing everything short of drooling at his biceps bulging thicker, when it starts to strain against the dress shirt beneath, his vacant expression twitches into one of frustration. 

Nose flaring in irritation, he unintentionally takes a deeper breath and gasps as he suddenly notices a pervasive stink has begun to fill the room. Sure that it simply can’t be coming from himself he raises his heavy right arm to look underneath and can hardly believe the sight. Sweating through both the dress shirt and the thick, once baggy cardigan, Morris can’t take his eyes off the dark, spreading stain in his armpits.

Stunned, his face burns bright red and then feels starkly itchy itself. The urge to scratch is waylaid by the far more powerful need to shove his head into his pit and inhale deeply. Get some of that sweat on his face… Maybe it’d stay there, stick on his upper lip and he’d get a deep whiff of his musky male odor with every single breath.

“Nnno… That- I cann’tuhh…” Words dissolve from his mouth and mind as his lips simply fall open.

Tongue almost lolling, his neck that had been surreptitiously thickening itself begins to lean towards his waiting pit. Converted to the cause, his barely cognizant rational self, tries to make sense of his need. How is he to fix the issue without truly understanding it. He has half a mind to unbutton his shirt and let his pits breath to the open air.

Mind wont to picture the bushy tangle of pit hair that must be hidden beneath these restrictive layers, he does just that. Thicker than his pubes and almost as scratchy, he imagines the chalky deodorant he threw on this morning simply melting away. Absolutely overwhelmed by the prodigious musk his pits produce, proof of his own prodigious manhood.

Lost in a daydream, one hand slowly reaches over to scratch the armpit he imagines and finds it just as hairy as he imagines. Stomach quivering as higher thought continues to vacate. Buried beneath two tops, even still his fingertips can still feel the deep scratchy strands that have begun to stretch well beyond their underarm stomping ground.

Lips twitching into a grin, Morris moans quietly to himself as blush returns to his pale cheeks as its skin tightens and grows rougher. Standing limply in the center of the room as he continues to fill out his clothes, there are a couple inches of straining dress socks showing from the pants that were ever too long. 

On the opposite end of the garment, his growth is far more drastic. Never much of a shower or a grower, Morris’ petit package has more than filled his lucky pair of briefs. While one hand remains preoccupied with his pits, the other enthusiastically goes to cup a cock slowly twitching larger.

Quickly struggling to remove a belt now constricting his widening waist before it snaps, at the very same moment it clinks against the floor he hears his swelling cock strain his briefs. When it at last breaks free from his underwear and begins throbbing down the side of his pant leg, obviously visible, Morris’ hips twitch forward and he is brought back to the unmistakable reality of his situation.

“OHHHhhh GOddd~” Panting as he tries to make sense of this must-be nightmare, Morris stumbles over to the mirror to try and free himself from this manic hellscape. Thicker lips drooping open surrounded by stubble darkening from its blonde peachfuzz into a real man’s beard, he forces his face into his hands and tries to convince himself that these changes aren’t good. Cock throbbing in response it’s not looking good. 

Thick breath mists the mirror, hiding the vacant look in his eyes as they trail up and down the reflection of his body’s new almost pornographic proportions. So focussed on the meaty arms hanging at his side, he had yet to notice how a forming chest suddenly strains the buttons on his shirt. Nipples encircled by lancing curls are absolutely visible through the sweat-stained top. 

Hunger and need fill the spot left by intelligence in his eyes, he forces a hand to his mouth to stop a loud moan as his chest cracks wider, at last tearing the pitiful dress shirt. Strange new strength filling him more with every moment, he is again felt with the impatient urge to make use of it. To fight, to ff- fuck. Forcing his fist into his mouth he bites down to feel anything but the oppressive sensation pulsing from his cock at the idea.

Desperately willing himself to settle down and figure out how to wake up from this hallucination, Morris slams the fist not cupping his cock into the wall as he bites down hard on his lip to try and force himself back to his senses. “FUCK!” 

Clutching his injured mouth he stomps a foot in pain as the taste of iron fills his mouth. This marks the end of his dress shoes as the seams on its front burst open to reveal long toes almost completely visible beneath the sparse threads of a sock barely hanging in there. The sound of leather tearing continues as his freed foot continues expanding and tears the tattered shoe in two. 

Apathetic to the small trail of red dripping into the thickening stubble on his chin, he looks down at his mismatched feet. One with a shoe hanging on its ankle, still widening beyond the pale. The other barely hangs in there, shining leather filled to the brim with the mass of a foot simply far too large.

Gasping in pain at the feeling of his left foot trying desperately to match its pair’s growth while still confined, there’s an ice cold pit in his stomach as he at last realizes he can’t be dreaming. It just feels too much, too good. And then the other shoe bursts open, sending fabric and laces flying, the slightly humid air of the office a balm to the sole. 

Somewhere increasingly buried in his mind, he struggles to understand. If he’s not dreaming, then this is real. His back cracks as he adjusts to stand slightly taller. This is impossible. 

Staring at the remains of the most expensive piece of his outfit now hanging from both ankles, Morris tries to understand. It’s what he’s best at, making sense of something. Thinking. He has a degree. He was in debate and wrote for his university’s paper. At least he’s pretty sure he did? 

Furrowing his brows as they begin to thicken from their patchy blonde, Morris finds it suddenly difficult to recall. Concern at his situation rapidly gives way to frustration which gives way to apathy. He’ll just wait for Byron to come in and explain everything. Surely he’ll know what’s going on.

As it begins to become more and more difficult to recall his higher education, his thoughts begin to drift increasingly to Byron. Picturing the great man does no favors to his libido, his trigger happy crotch is eager to twitch with fervor as Morris struggles to control himself. 

No matter what he’s not going to be caught masturbating when the mysterious executive walks in. Despite wanting nothing more in the world to do so, he moves to sit down and struggles to tuck the massive cock in between his thighs before doing his best to cross the thick trunks. 

Vaguely recalling he brought some book with him, Morris looks at the novel tossed aside and picks it up. There’s a flicker of recognition as he knows it’s a book he really likes. But as he reads the title he has to stifle a laugh as in lieu of that ingrained peace, he simply reads the words ‘Moby Dick’ “Pffff WAH HAh ah- Hrm.” Clearing his throat as his voice cracks lower, shifting to one which yearns to guffaw rather than giggle.

Steeling himself, as much as he’s able. Morris recovers slightly and sternly tells himself he likes this book. That he’s a big reader, he’s got a degree in books. This is his favorite book. But even as he flails to remember what exactly a B.A. stands for, the memories of going to university feel less true. 

Surely he’d be smarter then…

When that thought flits to his mind the pride he holds in his intelligence returns. Determined to prove it by reading a book thicker than he can clearly remember reading, he opens it to a random page once more: Chapter 94. A Squeeze of the Hand.

Eyes glazed over, the language is far too advanced for his simplifying mind to even begin to comprehend. Still, they drift over the lines enough for him to pretend he’s grasping anything before at last they catch on something: ‘Squeeze! squeeze! Squeeze!’ Exclamation points calling to him, Morris continues to read Ishmael’s account of processing spermaceti. And unsurprisingly, he begins to laugh.

While earlier he was reading to focus on the text, now he almost needs to sound out the words for them to sink in. Following the lines with his fatter finger “All the morn-ing long; I squeezed that- hehheh, Sperm till I myself almost melted into it HAH HAhah- Huh… Sperm… Squeeze…”

Biting the lip that has miraculously healed already, if only he could recall the injury, Morris’ now sperm focussed and squeeze happy mind can only do what the written page suggests. Dropping the tome as he manspreads in an office chair that now creaks beneath his heavier load, he swallows the drool pooling in his mouth. Looking to pants now decorated with small tears, the once-academic stares at the too squeezable cock stretching halfway down his meaty thigh.

Pants so tight he can see the thick veins through the tearing fabric, Morris’ mouth falls open as he drools outright, beginning to rub his own whale through pants seconds away from tearing apart altogether. Feeling it scratch against his curl covered thighs and the cheap satin of his dress pants, he can scarcely recall that he’s in this room let alone the reason why. 

Pool of pre rapidly pulsing through the vicelike pants, Morris’ moans echo as he can recall no reason at all to quiet himself. As he can recall nothing but the pleasure emanating from his wanting cock. Louder than the clock, completely covering the ever-present hiss of the vent that has been steadily increasing; not that Morris ever stood a chance at noticing. His twitchy hips rut as he spits up over himself from excitement at release that is soon to come. 

Every aspect of self and every stray neuron firing is focused on the rising pressure in his crotch. Morris can feel his balls pull up as his free hand clenches the chair about to break underneath his weight. Legs extend as every muscle flexes, and just as that sweet release is on the precipice of freeing him from the grand weight of his worries- the door knob turns. 

Clad in a tailored three-piece suit more expensive than Morris’ apartment enters the prodigal chief himself, Byron Roman. Morris veins run cold at being seen in such a compromised position by that most influential man that has ever stepped foot in their podunk shared home town. Bolting up like a bullet, the horny man’s spine is straight as a ramrod.

So too is his cock as it finally wins the war against his cheap dress pants. Sending a small stream of pre flying as it bursts free from confinement, Morris can’t help but cross his eyes as it bounces in the air. Hazarding a glimpse, he can hardly believe just how impressive his dick is. Almost twice its previous size and veinier than his arms after the best pump he’s ever had, Morris would have cum at the very sight were he not wholly stunned from being in the presence of Byron.

Closing the door behind him as he enters outright, there is no surprise on the executives face as he inspects the goods. Striding to meet the man, he holds his hands behind his back as he inspects every inch of the man standing firmly at attention. Expressionless as he takes in every detail of Morris.

Zeroing in on whatever bodypart of Morris’ strikes his fancy, as he stares Morris continues to grow. Accelerating from the attention of the great man before him, as if every muscle and mindless body part were trying to make him proud.

Starting from behind, Byron takes an interest in the man’s ass. Morris twitches as his glutes expand, what remains of his briefs fall irrevocably into their crack as his hairy cheeks hang larger in the open air, stretchmarks painted across their prodigious mass like the work of art it is. 

Eyes trailing upward, Morris' waist fills out to give his silhouette the most powerful shape one can imagine. Connecting his heavy chest with wide hips and heavy thighs, there is no way someone could look at the drooling man and imagine anything but strength lying within him.

Finishing a slow lap around his aspirant, Byron stands in front of Morris and does one last look down and up. Landing on his face, Morris feels his jaw sharpen underneath the perpetual stubble that coats it. His chin juts out like a superhero’s while his cheekbones and brow ridge grow just as prominent. There’s a small crack in the air as Morris feels his nose reshape into something either aquiline or one that has simply broken and rehealed.

Still frozen in place, Morris’ stunted mind only just realizes that he’s at eye-level with Byron Morris. It’s so unbelievable that it almost breaks him free from whatever trance he’s in. Feeling the sweat drip down his exposed midriff as a breeze in the room sails through the treasure trail etching itself up his puffy abs mostly hidden by his strong gut, a needy grunt ekes out of his throat.

Finally, Byron gives any real indication that he’s anything more than a passive observer. Waiting for his guest’s glazed eyes to look back at him, the CEO smiles. “So. What is it that brings you in today?” His voice is like an upright bass alone in an orchestra hall, tightly controlled, smooth, and completely attention grabbing.

Unable to string two thoughts together he grunts and tries to explain himself, “I- I, uhh… J- Job- s ssir…” Struggling to swallow drool still spilling from his overactive glands, he tries to stand even straighter to hide the obvious mess he’s in. Taking a deep breath to recover from the strain of speaking, he inhales a hearty dose of his musk and struggles against the handful of twitches his body enacts in response. 

“I hope you don’t mind the subterfuge, from your letter I did gather you were quite desperate. So much so you were quite lax reading the fine print of- Well, I imagine you can’t recall anyway so what is the point, right old- Er? What was your name again?” For the first time Byron reaches out to touch Morris, brushing some shred of torn cardigan stuck to his sweaty skin as he asks the question

“I’m Mo- Mo…” Finally thickening enough to be the caterpillar-like brows he’s always admired on other men as his brow ridge bulges lower, his eyebrows furrow as he tries to recall the simplest of answers. Waiting patiently, Byron starts to massage his bicep, distracting him all the more. It’s his name. It should be engrained within his mind, within his self more than anything else. 

Byron’s hand travels up his shoulder before shifting over to cup his heavy pecs, prodding them as if he’s inspecting livestock with a grin. “Come now boy, you must know your name! I read your very brief resume- or I briefly read it, rather. Hm, I suppose you couldn’t mind such a dig at this point ah ha ha!” With each laugh he presses firmer into the man’s chest, delighting as he quivers with need. 

“I’mmm Mmmnhh”

Byron reaches up to grasp the man’s jaw with his free hand while he travels down the whole of his torso with the other. Batting away the shirt as he easily sails down sweaty abs and haphazardly detangles scratchy body hair, Byron smiles as he forces the man to look directly in his eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if we just gave you a new one? After all, what could you want more than a fresh start under my wing.”

Needily nodding, the now nameless man melts as Byron at last graces his cock with attention. Lightly grazing its veiny surface with his manicured nails, the executive gives one small tug on the meaty cock’s head and watches as pre that has been trickling down his shaft drips onto the floor. 

Eyes darting to the book lying on the floor, Byron smirks as he brings his hand to his mouth to sample the sticky ichor glazing his hand. “Moby, hm? Isn’t that swell.” 

Tongue hanging limp from his mouth as he pants like a dog, he must agree the name feels fitting. It feels like him. Or he would if there was a single thought in his mind. At the moment any higher consciousness, much like his blood, was rushing to that most turgid of organs. He was just waiting for Byron’s permission to finally become. 

As Byron’s hand reaches to grasp what little of Moby’s cock it’s able, the new hire feels the peace he was always longing for. Mind simplifying with each small tug and twist of the fingers, he feels all he is and was drain into his balls as they pull upward.

Eyes rolling back as his supernaturally rigid posture twitches and almost collapses under the touch of his boss. There’s a blank grin on Moby’s face as he prepares to release the heavy weight of understanding. And with a few simple flicks of Roman’s wrist, Moby does just that.

Erupting like a geyser, everything that made Morris what he was is launched from him in pearly strings. His application and the contract he thoughtlessly signed, his few long years as a barista, his poorly received thesis and the best years of his life precipitating it; all converted to a messy cum splatter on the floor of this corporate office.

 Moby pants as he falls back amongst the pools of his scattered past self. Bleary smirk on his face, the toll of almost doubling in size leaves him drained as his eyelids begin to waver. Pulling up a chair and lighting a cigar that had been hidden in his jacket, Byron Roman watches him overtaken by sleep.

He doesn’t remember too much about the man smoking above him. He doesn’t remember too much at all. But he knows the man is everything to him. And when he wakes up well, he’s going to do his best to make him proud.

Byron Roman never really saw the point in a grunt. His many underlings all served their purposes, true. But a body man, one always at his beck and call, one always by his side. He always imagined it would be suffocating. 

Never has he been more pleased to be proven wrong. Moby has performed every duty even better than expected. Given their steamy first meeting it’s not long before their relationship grows beyond that of boss and muscled-up assistant.

His scientists always pushed one of their own to be the lab rat, but Byron has always preferred the humanities. While mechanical intelligence may have sufficed, Moby’s tortured classical passions gave his final form far more flavor.

Reclined at his desk, incense burning slowly as he stares at Moby standing over watch outside his office, Byron decides it’s time to call it a day. To that end, he calls his grunt over for their now daily ritual. Calling him over, Byron’s mouth curls into a grin as watches Moby’s tight uniform contort and stretch over his muscle with every labored movement.

“You rang boss?”

“Moby be a dear, lock the door and close the blinds.”

Blush burns underneath Moby’s permanent five o’clock shadow as his mouth reflexively falls open. Sprinting to the door to do just that, he bounds back to his boss to do exactly what’s made for.

Undoing his tie, Byron’s already well-excited himself, zipper creaking as this becomes indisputable. Something about their sessions always leaves him feeling rejuvenated himself. When he looks in the mirror after he’d swear his beard is always a touch darker, the neck it hides thicker. Perhaps he’d worry, but fucking and being fucked by the titan simply has a way of softening his many worries. 

Stealing one last glance at a weathered blue copy of Moby’s old book, he cracks his shoulders and feels them reset ever so slightly firmer. “Time to do what you do best, boy.” 

[harvzilla]

A few submissions from wolfboy1991 of art he comissioned from furii

[rakurairagnarok]

"Broooo stop... I'm getting so... big..."

Micheal was trying to button up this new muscle shirt he bought from this online store called Rakurai Inc. which apparently makes you grow fucking huge if you keep it open. But an unknown side effect was that you also got super dumb in the process.

His roommate, Bryce was present while he put it on, but now he was keeping Micheal from buttoning up his shirt, making his juicy pecs even bigger and his arms straining even harder against the fabric.

"Broooo... staahpp" Micheal moaned as Bryce was groping his muscle tits.

Bryce grinned as his roomie got even bigger, feeling his bulge grind up against his leg. He couldn't wait till his shirt got in, he couldn't wait to be hot, dumb and sweaty with his dumb roomie.

Want to help test some items from Rakurai Inc.? Feel free to sign up. Rakurai Inc. Is not liable for any bodily changes that may occur.

[fredwkong]

Fucked Silly

You didn’t think much of what he’d said at first. He was just a Grindr hookup, and tops will say literally anything. The message didn’t even crack the top 5 weirdest things you’d been sent. But still:

“Gonna see you fucked silly.”

It was so specific. Okay, maybe you looked like a bit of a dummy, with your sturdy muscles and habitual smile. But you were getting a doctorate! There was nothing silly about a PhD in Historiography.

“Gonna see you fucked silly.”

You looked at the message one last time as you waited rang for him to unlock the door of his building. You rolled your eyes. Bullshit tops.

But as his fat cock penetrated your hole, you started to feel weird. Your thoughts started to slow down and drift away. “What’s… happening?” you groaned as he bottomed out.

“You’re getting fucked silly, like all the other guys I top,” the top told you, and shifted inside you. You felt his cock rub up against your prostate and some of your thoughts popped like shiny, glittery soap bubbles.

“Noooo,” you moaned, shocked at how slutty your voice sounded. “I don’t wanna be a silly boyyyy.” You were smart, right? You were getting a Historo— Histrio— His— a big degree!

“Yeah, you do,” said the top, starting to fuck you harder. “You wanna be a silly bottom boi with big juicy muscles.”

“I’m moooore than a joocy muscle boiiiii,” you moaned, caught between bliss and horror as your whole body lit up from the fucking. More and more of your thoughts, memories, and knowledge slipped out of your grasp and vanished as he kept on fucking. You tried to hold onto things like your high school math class and your favourite show, but they vanished so fast you forgot you’d ever known them.

You felt your brain getting lighter and lighter as everything inside it dissolved and went away. As the top’s rhythm broke down with approaching orgasm, you moaned wantonly and fucked back into him, desperate for stimulation as the last of your smarts vanished.

The top came, and the sensation of him filling you up with his cum ripped away everything that you had left. You spurted all over the bed with an empty-headed groan. The sight of all the globs of cum on the sheets suddenly struck you as hilarious, and you started to laugh. “Huhuhuhu…”

The top pulled out. “Another happy customer,” he said, patting you on your broad back.

You twerked back at him, feeling empty. You flipped over and grinned up at him. “I wanna go dancingggg,” you whined in your new dumb, slutty voice. “Let’s go partyyyyy.” You were just a dumb, airheaded himbo with bouncy muscles and a goofy personality.

You’d been fucked silly.

[forthegaze123]

Best Roommate Ever

I woke up to the sound of the dorm shower shutting off and the heavy, wet footsteps of my roommate crossing the room.

Reece.

Even the name still sent a dark little thrill through me every single morning.

He stepped into the main room still dripping, curly brown hair plastered in messy, damp ringlets across his forehead, that signature half-smirk already tugging at his full lips like he knew exactly how ridiculous he looked and didn’t give a single fuck. Water and sweat mixed on his skin, turning it into a glossy, golden map of muscle. Those heavy pecs rose and fell with each breath, the deep cleft between them shiny and inviting, dark nipples still tight from the cold water. His abs flexed and rippled as he towel-dried his hair, every ridge and cut standing out in sharp relief. The towel hung dangerously low on his hips, the thick root of his cock just barely hidden, the heavy bulge shifting with every step.

“Morning, nerd,” he rumbled in that deep, post-sleep baritone, voice still rough from sleep and the way he’d probably been moaning my name into his pillow an hour earlier. He caught me staring and flexed one arm lazily, watching the bicep peak and the veins stand out along his forearm. A bead of water traced down the curve of his pec, caught on the nipple, and dropped onto the floor. “You gonna keep eye-fucking me or you actually getting up today?”

I grinned, cock already thickening under the sheets. “What? I'm just appreciating the view. You look like you got run over by the protein truck again.”

Reece laughed, low and easy, and turned to grab his gym bag. The motion made those massive lats flare and that perfect bubble ass flex under the towel. He had no idea. No clue that a week ago he’d been my balding, beer-gutted, ranting homophobic father. No memory of the slurs, the lectures, the way he used to sneer at anything that wasn’t “normal.” All of that had been scrubbed clean by Chronivac.

Now he was Reece—my 22-year-old, 6'2", 225-pound bi jock roommate who thought we’d been sharing this dorm since freshman year. And he was mine in every way that mattered.

I waited until he left for his morning lift before I pulled out my phone and opened the app again. The interface glowed softly.

Target locked: Reece.

Status: Oblivious.

Reality stable.

I scrolled through the categories I’d already tweaked and felt my cock twitch at the memory of how it had all started.

--------------------------------------------------------

What happened exactly? It had been last Friday night.

My dad—Robert—had shown up at the dorm unannounced, same sour expression, same gut straining against his polo, same receding hair and judgmental eyes. He’d taken one look at the rainbow flag sticker on my laptop and launched into the usual bullshit about “real men” and “phases” and how I needed to “fix my shit before it’s too late.”

I’d smiled, nodded, offered him the pull-out couch, and waited until he passed out drunk on cheap beer and self-righteousness.

Then I opened Chronivac.

I’d set the parameters with shaking hands and a throbbing dick.

Name: Reece Thompson.

Age: 22.

Height: 6'2".

Weight: 225 lbs.

Body Type: Competition-ready jock, low body fat, maximal muscle density, tanned skin, thick curly brown hair, handsome face with natural smirk.

I’d spent a long time on the body sliders.

Shoulders: +40%.

Chest: +65% — heavy, rounded, deep cleavage, sensitive nipples.

Arms: 19-inch biceps, thick vascular forearms.

Abs: deep-cut 8-pack with sharp obliques.

Legs: tree-trunk quads, diamond calves, and an ass that would make grown men cry.

I previewed it and nearly came in my sweats at the render.

Cock & Balls: 8.5 inches soft, 10.5 hard, thick as a wrist, heavy low-hanging balls, constant precum production, high sensitivity, refractory period near zero.

Ass: Plump muscular bubble, tight when flexed but soft and greedy when relaxed, prostate hypersensitive.

Libido: Maximum. Always horny. Leaks easily. Gets hard from flexing, from being watched, from my voice.

Personality: Cocky, outgoing, gym-obsessed jock bro. Openly bisexual. Flirty with everyone. Secretly submissive and eager to please only around me—his “nerd roommate.” High confidence, zero homophobia, zero shame.

Awareness: Off. Full reality rewrite enabled.

Apply – Gradual Over 90 Minutes.

I hit that button. Then I sat in the dark and watched my father become my perfect roommate.

It started in his face. The snoring stopped for a second as the skin smoothed. Deep lines around his eyes and mouth faded like they’d never existed. His receding hairline surged forward, strands thickening, darkening, curling into those messy brown waves that now framed Reece’s face so perfectly. His jaw cracked softly and squared out, stubble reshaping into the light, sexy scruff that suited him. His lips parted on a sleepy sigh and settled into that permanent half-smirk. Even unconscious, he looked cocky and fuckable.

His neck thickened next, cords standing out, Adam’s apple more pronounced. When he mumbled something in his sleep it already sounded deeper, smoother, younger.

The chest was the part that made me pull my cock out and start stroking slow and tight.

Under the old polo, his soft tits began to swell. The fabric stretched with a quiet creak. I watched the shape change—fat melting, muscle packing on in heavy, rounded slabs. His nipples pushed outward, darkening, growing sensitive enough that even in sleep one hand drifted up and rubbed across the new chest. The polo rode higher and higher as the pecs inflated, the deep valley between them forming right before my eyes. Throb… pulse… stretch… I could almost hear the tissues remolding. By the time the changes slowed, two heavy, meaty pecs strained the fabric, the outline of those fat nipples obvious. A bead of sweat already glistened in the new cleavage.

His gut followed, shrinking fast. The beer belly caved in with wet, sucking sounds I felt more than heard. Skin tightened. Muscle carved itself into existence—first the top row of abs, then the lower ones, deep cuts appearing between each block until an 8-pack sat where the paunch had been. His waist pulled in, creating that sharp V that arrowed straight down to his crotch. The polo was now comically tight, seams popping one by one with tiny pop-pop sounds as his lats and chest kept growing.

Shoulders broadened with dull cracks, delts capping, traps rising. His arms inflated like someone was pumping air into them. Biceps rounded and split, veins rising to the surface in thick ropes. The sleeves of the polo shredded at the seams with satisfying rrriip sounds. He shifted in his sleep, one new massive arm flopping over the edge of the couch, and I had to bite my knuckle to keep from moaning out loud.

Lower body next. His legs lengthened slightly as height adjusted, then packed with muscle. Quads swelled against his pants until the fabric stretched shiny and thin. Calves hardened into diamonds. And that ass—fuck, that ass. It rose and rounded, cheeks firming and lifting into two perfect, muscular globes that pushed the seat of his pants to the absolute limit. Stretch… swell… clench… I watched the fabric ride up between the cheeks as they grew. He was going to have the kind of ass that looked obscene in anything he wore.

The crotch was last and the best. Even asleep, his body knew what was happening. His cock began to lengthen down one thigh, thickening visibly, the bulge growing and shifting. Throb… pulse… thicken… The head pushed against the fabric, forming a clear outline. His balls swelled into heavy, churning orbs that made the fabric tent. Almost immediately the high libido kicked in—dark wet spot blooming at the tip of the bulge as precum started soaking through. His hips twitched. A low, unconscious groan left his new deeper voice. I stroked myself faster, matching the rhythm of his growing cock.

Over the next hour the changes refined. Skin tone warmed and tanned. A light dusting of hair appeared across the new pecs and abs, just enough to catch sweat and make everything glisten. The old clothes morphed—polo and pants becoming a tight black tank and gray gym shorts that barely contained the new body. When he finally stirred and sat up, stretching those massive arms overhead, pecs bouncing and flexing, he looked exactly like the man now living in my dorm.

“Shit, I crashed hard,” he said in that new voice, rubbing his face. The smirk appeared naturally. “Did you just let me sleep on the couch like a fucking animal, bro?”

I played it cool even though my cock was still leaking in my hand under the blanket. “You looked comfortable. Rough night?”

He stood, and the new body moved like it had always belonged to him. Shoulders rolling, pecs shifting, that heavy cock swinging in the loose shorts. “Nah. Just lifted late. You know how it is.” He scratched his abs absently, fingers tracing the new cuts. “Gonna shower. You need anything before I head out?”

I shook my head, watching the way his ass flexed as he walked away. The reality rewrite had already settled. In his mind we’d been roommates since freshman. My dad had “taken a job out of state.” No one questioned it. No one remembered the old version except me.

And I made sure to enjoy every second of the new one.

Over the next few days I made small, delicious adjustments while he was awake and oblivious.

Tuesday afternoon he was in the middle of push-ups on the dorm floor, tank top soaked through, curly hair falling into his eyes. I sat at my desk pretending to study and opened Chronivac.

Chest size +8%.

Nipple sensitivity +20%.

Apply gradual.

I watched as Reece's pecs swell right there on the floor. Each rep made them bounce heavier, fuller. The tank stretched tighter. His nipples, already sensitive from the first round of changes, darkened and pebbled visibly against the fabric. He grunted through the set, sweat dripping from his chin onto the deep cleavage.

“Fuck, pump’s insane today,” he panted, completely unaware that every rep was making his chest grow. By the time he finished, those pecs were noticeably heavier, the tank looking painted on. He stood up, rolled his shoulders, and caught me staring. “What? You like the pump too, nerd?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Looks good on you.”

He grinned that cocky grin and flexed both arms, then bounced his pecs deliberately. “These bad boys? Been growing like crazy lately. Must be the new protein shake.” He stepped closer, still breathing hard, musk rolling off him in waves. “You can feel these milkers if you want. Spotter’s privilege or whatever.”

Fuck yeah, I want it.

I reached out and ran both hands over the hot, sweat-slick juicy muscle. They were so full now, so heavy, bulging under my fingers. When I brushed his nipples he let out a soft, surprised nnnghhh and his cock twitched visibly in his shorts. A tiny wet spot appeared at the tip. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“Sensitive today,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away. If anything he leaned into my touch, eyes half-lidded. That submissive streak I’d programmed was already showing. “Feels… good when you do it, though.”

I squeezed gently and watched his eyes flutter. “Yeah? Maybe I should spot you more often.”

He laughed, low and breathy. “You know what, maybe you should.”

By Thursday I’d added more. Bigger balls. Higher cum volume. Ass sensitivity cranked. And a little extra spice, whenever he was around me and horny, he’d start leaking steadily without realizing it. Reality made sure no one else noticed the wet spots or the constant bulge. Only I got to see how desperate he really was.

That night he came back from the gym looking like a hot mess—curly hair damp, skin glistening, chest pumped and shiny, that smirk in full effect. He dropped his bag, peeled the soaked tank off with a wet schlick, and tossed it aside. Those heavy pecs bounced free, nipples tight and dark. Sweat ran in rivulets down the deep cleft and over the carved abs. He caught me looking and didn’t even pretend to be shy.

“Shower’s all yours if you want it,” he said, but he didn’t move toward the bathroom. Instead he stepped closer, still in those low gym shorts that clung to his thick thighs and the massive, half-hard bulge. The wet spot at the tip was obvious now, fabric dark and clinging to the fat head of his cock. “Or… you could help me cool down first.”

I stood up. My own cock was already rock hard. “How do you want me to help, Reece?”

"Hmmmm, I don't know," He licked his lips, eyes flicking down to my bulge and back up. The cocky jock mask slipped just enough to show the hunger underneath. “Been thinking about your hands on me all day. That spot you gave me the other night? Fuckkkk. Couldn’t stop replaying it.” He reached down and adjusted himself, the thick length shifting heavily. A fresh bead of precum soaked through. “You make me so fucking hard lately, bro. Is that weird?”

I stepped in until our bodies almost touched. The heat rolling off him was incredible. “Not weird at all. I like it. You like it.”

His breath hitched when I ran my palms up his sweat-slick chest, thumbs circling those sensitive nipples. He groaned—deep, needy—and his cock jumped, another pulse of precum darkening the shorts even more. “Nngh—fuck, you're right, nerd. I like your hands…”

I leaned in and licked a stripe up the center of his chest, tasting salt and musk and pure jock. He shuddered, one big hand coming up to grip the back of my neck, not pushing me away but holding me there. I sucked one nipple into my mouth and he actually whimpered, hips bucking forward so that massive bulge pressed against my stomach.

“Bed,” I murmured against his skin. “Now.”

He went willingly, that big body dropping onto the mattress like he’d been waiting for the command. I stripped him the rest of the way and just stared for a second. The cock that sprang free was obscene—thick, veiny, ten and a half inches of throbbing meat, heavy balls drawn up tight, the head already shiny and leaking a steady stream. His ass flexed as he spread his legs for me, hole already twitching.

I took my time. Sucked that fat cock until my jaw ached and his moans filled the room. Schlick… slurp… gluck… He leaked constantly, sweet and salty on my tongue, hips rolling in little desperate circles. When I finally pulled off he was panting, curly hair sticking to his forehead, pecs heaving.

“Fuuuccckkk meeee,” he begged, voice rough. “Pleeeeaseee, roomie. Need it.”

I prepped him slow and thorough, two fingers, then three, watching his greedy hole swallow them. Every brush over his prostate made his cock jump and spurt more precum onto his abs. By the time I pushed inside him he was babbling—cocky jock talk mixed with desperate begging.

“Holyyyy shittt—yeah, stretch me out—FUCK, your dick feels so good in my ass—been wanting this all week—nngh, deeper, bro, please—”

I fucked him hard and deep, watching those heavy pecs bounce with every thrust, abs flexing, curly hair bouncing, that handsome face slack with pleasure. His cock slapped wetly against his stomach, smearing precum everywhere. The sounds were filthy—skin on skin, wet squelch of lube and precum, his broken moans, my own grunts. I reached down and stroked him in time with my thrusts and he came with a shout, thick ropes painting his chest, some landing on his own face and in his open mouth. His ass clamped down so hard I saw stars and followed him over the edge, pumping deep inside that perfect, twitching hole.

Afterward he lay there wrecked and gorgeous, cum cooling on his skin, chest still heaving, that lazy post-orgasm smirk back in place. He reached up and dragged a finger through the mess on his pec, then sucked it clean with a filthy little sound.

“Round two in ten?” he asked, already half-hard again.

I laughed, low and satisfied, and reached for my phone where it sat on the nightstand. Chronivac still open. I could already see the next tweaks I wanted—maybe make that cock even thicker, or add a little more submissiveness so he’d beg prettier, or turn up the nipple sensitivity until he could cum just from me playing with his chest.

Reece—my Reece—stretched like a big satisfied cat, completely oblivious, completely mine.

“Whatever you want, roomie,” I said, already sliding the sliders. “I’ve got all night.”

And I did. The Chronivac glowed. His body was already starting to respond again, cock twitching, nipples tightening, that perfect ass clenching in anticipation he didn’t understand.

I smiled and hit Apply.

The night was just getting started.

--------------------------------------------------------

Weeks blurred into the best semester of my life. Reece just being a perfect roommate for me in every single way. He's the perfect jock bro who somehow anticipated every need before I even voiced it. He’d wake up early to make me protein-packed breakfasts, shirtless and still sleepy, those heavy pecs swaying as he flipped eggs and hummed off-key. He quizzed me on lecture notes while doing sets of push-ups between my desk and the bed, his pumped chest glistening, that cocky smirk flashing every time I got an answer right. After long nights hunched over textbooks he’d pull me into his lap, big hands kneading the knots out of my shoulders and back until the massage inevitably turned filthy.

And you know the rest of it. He’d fuck me slow and deep right there in the desk chair, one arm braced beside my open textbook, the other stroking my cock in time with his thrusts, whispering encouragement between kisses until we both came in a messy, groaning tangle. And every single time he acted like it was the most natural thing in the world for a bi jock to dote on his stressed-out roommate like this. He had no idea how perfectly I’d programmed him to be exactly what I needed.

Exam week hit hard. I was a wreck—eyes bloodshot, shoulders locked, barely sleeping, stress radiating off me in waves. Reece noticed immediately. He didn’t push, just brought me extra snacks, left little encouraging notes on my desk like “You’re gonna crush it, roomie”, and gave me those long, grounding hugs that always ended with his hand sliding into my sweats for a quick, filthy handjob that left me boneless and a little less panicked. This morning he’d kissed the back of my neck before heading out, murmuring, “Text me if it gets too much. I’ve got you.” I thought that was it.

I was already sitting in class, and almost everyone had already left. One exam was over, and two more were left. I took a deep breath as my phone lit up with a message from him.

Reece:

Hey stressed boy. Saw how tense you looked when you left. Figured my favorite nerd needed something to take the edge off before that exam. Don’t overthink it. You’ve got this. I’m so fucking proud of you.

Come home after and I’ll help you celebrate properly. Love you, bro 💪❤️🍆

Attached was a video.

I opened it with shaking hands, already half-hard from the tone alone.

“Figured you needed a reminder of what’s waiting for you when that exam’s over,” he rumbled, voice low and intimate like he was right there in the room with me.

“Been thinking about you all morning, roomie. How haaaarddd you’re working… how gooood you’re gonna look when you ace this shit.” He wrapped his big hand around the shaft and started stroking—slow, deliberate, wet schlick-schlick sounds filling the audio as more precum leaked steadily, dripping onto the tile between his feet. His balls hung heavy and full, swinging with every stroke.

"These are all pumped for you. Wish you were here so I could shove your face between them while you study.” His strokes sped up, the head of his cock flaring, the wet sounds getting louder and messier.

“Gonna cum for you right now, bro. Think about this load painting your chest later… or filling that tight ass after your exam. You deserve it. You’re gonna do so fucking good.” His breathing grew ragged, that handsome face tightening with pleasure, the cocky smirk melting into something raw and desperate. “Nngh—fuck—here it comes—FUCKKKK—watch me, roomie—”

Reece came hard, thick ropes of cum erupting across his abs and up onto those heavy pecs, some splattering his chin and lower lip. He kept stroking through it, milking every pulse, hips jerking, deep groans echoing in the locker room. When it finally slowed he brought the camera back up to his cum-streaked chest and smirked again, licking a stray drop from his lip.

“There. Now go crush that exam like the smart, sexy nerd you are. I’ll be waiting. Love you.”

The video ended on that smirk and those glistening, cum-covered pecs.

I set the phone down, took a deep breath, and turned back to my notes with a small, private smile. The exam suddenly felt manageable. And when it was over, I knew exactly who would be waiting—shirtless, smirking, already half-hard and ready to help me celebrate in the filthiest, most caring way possible.

Thanks to Chronivac, my annoying homophobic dad was nothing but a distant memory. In his place was Reece—my perfect, ridiculously devoted, best jock roommate ever who somehow always knew exactly how to take care of me.

And I was never letting him go.

[hairybreedsbest]

You could spot a slutty bottom twink from a mile away. As you sat at the restaurant bar waiting for your friend, you looked around the dining room and saw one having dinner with his family. He was already stealing glances at you, biting his lower lip and smiling whenever his parents weren’t looking at him. Just to mess with him, you undid the top two shirt buttons, putting your hairy, muscular chest on display. Next you rolled up your sleeves, showing off your muscled, fur-covered forearms. Without even looking his way, you made your way to the bathroom. Sure enough, 30 seconds later the door opened and there he was. You had to make it quick, not because you cared if his parents found out their son liked getting fucked by anonymous, hairy, older men, but because you wanted to be back at the bar in time to meet your friend. You pulled his pants and underwear down, split his cheeks open, and tongued his smooth little pucker. It wasn’t about making him feel good, you just needed to get him wet enough to accept your oversized, hairy, horse cock. You whispered in his ear, “No condom, I’m going to change you.” He whimpered in acceptance. You lined up your cock head and pushed in. He moaned and squealed as you sinked in deeper and deeper until your thick, black bush was tickling his smooth cheeks and crack. You pulled out nearly the whole way, and slammed it back in to show him who’s boss. Then the pumping began. He ran his hands over your hairy chest, tugging on your nips, as you thrust in and out. After a few minutes, you put a hand over his mouth, pulled him in even tighter with your other arm, and released a torrent of raw sperm inside of him. You pulled out, laughing at his gaped, battered pucker. “If you want it again, take a pic in the bathroom after dinner and text me. If I like what I see, I’ll give you my address.” You were halfway through dinner with your friend when you got the pic. You smiled, enjoying seeing what your sperm had done to him in just one hour. A lot more muscle definition and a thick coating of fur on his chest and stomach. He would probably have some thick stubble on his face and hair on his arms and hands by the time he got home, enough that his parents might start wondering what’s going on. Little did they know that the Daddy sperm their son had taken at the restaurant was turning him from a twink into a hirsute, balding, slutty bottom pig. You texted him your address, your balls already churning and brewing the next load that would further seal his fate.

[misctf]

Cocky straight guy becomes a twink trophy boyfriend

He spots her across the living room before anyone else really registers she’s arrived. New face, effortless confidence—his kind of challenge. He takes a second, smooths his shirt, then crosses the room like he already knows how this ends.

“Hey,” he says, easy smile, leaning just enough to feel close without crowding. “You look like you’re deciding whether this party’s worth staying at.”

She glances at him, amused but unreadable.

“I was,” she says. “Still am.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Give me five minutes. I’ll make it worth it.”

She tilts her head. “You always open like that?”

“Only when I’m right.”

“Confident.”

“Usually rewarded for it.”

“Usually,” she echoes.

He grins, holding eye contact. “Stick around. You’ll see.”

She doesn’t answer. Just watches him, an amused smirk forming on her face. Jake returns the smirk- god she was hot. He couldn't wait to make her...

“Not my type.”

That actually lands. Jake blinks, thrown off, but only for a second. His smile returns quick, “Alright, maybe I started off wrong. Name’s Jake.”

“Lena.”

“So what is your type?”

Her eyes travel over him, slower this time. “Bulky guys aren’t really my thing.”

Jake scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “How can you not be into muscles?”

He flexes his arm, showing off muscle that no woman could resist. Only the peak isn’t as full, the sleeve of his shirt hanging just a bit looser than it did a minute ago. He catches it, but maintains the smile. Figures the lighting is off.

She looks at him, unimpressed, “I said what I said.”

He smirks, leaning closer. “I’m more than just muscle, you know.”

“Mhmm... Doubt that.”

"Yeah?” he smirks, "Give me a chance and I'll prove you wrong." He readjusts his shirt, barely registering how it no longer clings tightly to his chest.

“I'm good." She shrugs, "All that body hair isn't winning you any prizes with me."

Jake huffs a laugh. “What? C’mon! That’s what makes me a real man.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing down as he casually drags his thumb along his forearm- then pauses.

The dark hair there looks… lighter. Thinner. He rubs again against increasingly smoother skin.

“That's... that doesn't make sense.” he mutters, forcing a grin, though his fingers linger.

His other hand comes up, brushing his jaw. He paused. His usual rough stubble is... gone. Like he just shaved. His confidence flickers and he feels a cold shiver run through him as his chest prickles under his shirt.

Jake straightens abruptly. “Woah that's not...” Lena is smiling, a predatory look in her eye, "I... wait here, I'll be right back" He chuckles, nervously- mind racing. He needed a mirror. Just to check. To confirm.

He takes a half step back. Lena leans in just slightly, smiling.

“No, stay,” Her voice lifts. “I’m enjoying our little conversation.” She runs a hand along his smooth jaw, "Please." Jake feels his heart flutter, "Just relax, tough guy."

Jake grunts as the tension drains out of him. He should be on edge. He was on edge. But he feels his posture soften, weight shifting onto one leg, hips angling slightly without permission. His stance opens up. Less guarded, more… inviting.

“Wh-what?”

His lower back arches subtly as he shifts. His stance now blatantly emphasizing his ass. Jake stiffens at that, registering just how exactly he looked standing there.

“No way...” he mutters, trying and failing to address his stance, "I look so..."

He tries to square himself again. To stand with the same commanding presence he usually did. But the adjustment slips, settling back into that same relaxed pose. His ass jutting out, begging for attention.

“You did ask me what my type was." Jake's eyes widen as he realizes he's standing at eye level with Lena now, "But it's so much more than the physical. I like guys who know how to be vulnerable."

Jake swallows, “I mean... yeah, I can be vulnerable,” he says, but it comes out softer, less certain. His shoulders pull in as he talks, frame narrowing further, “It’s just, like... I don’t usually say this stuff out loud, I just kinda… push it down, you know? Be a man about it...” He freezes, “Why am I saying this?” His voice jumps... higher. Whinier.

Lena smiles, "It's okay to open up, Jake."

Jake’s hand flies to his throat. “Okay, no... like why does my voice sound like this? This's not... like, not my voice.” It spikes again, edging toward a whine.

"Jake?" He recognizes that voice, "Dude, what the fuck?"

“Brett!” Jake blurts, cringing at the pitch of his voice, but relief floods in anyway. “Oh my god... thank god you noticed! Something’s like… totally wrong!”

Brett steps in close, brow furrowed. “What happened to you, man?”

“I don’t know!” Jake says quickly, voice light and uneven. “She just, like... started saying stuff and now I’m...”

A sharp snap. Brett goes still. His expression melts, eyes half-lidded, mouth slack. Drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Jake stares, “What? Brett?”

He grabs Brett’s arm instinctively and pauses. His fingers press into Brett’s bicep, lingering a second too long. There’s a flicker of something... appreciation?

Jake jerks his hand back and spins towards Lena, “Like, what did you do to him?!”

Lena barely glances at Brett. “Don’t worry about him,” she says smoothly. “Focus on something more fun. Like gossip… or cute guys.”

Jake tries to hold onto his panic, but her voice threads through it, steady and impossible to ignore. His thoughts begin to blur at the edges, like something is quietly wiping them clean, and before he can latch onto what he’s losing, new ones slip in—lighter, easier, strangely compelling. He finds himself wondering who’s attractive, who gets attention, who deserves it.

Behind him, Lena leans toward Brett, whispering into his ear. Jake turns without meaning to... and this time, he really looks. The line of Brett’s arms, the way his shirt fits across his chest, the way his slacked jaw and dim eyes look.

“Oh wow.” Jake’s breath slows and he licks his lips.

He'd seen Brett in the locker room after games. Knew what he was packing. He never thought much about that. But now? God... he wanted it now. He wanted Brett.

“Now you’re more my type,” Lena looks over Jake carefully, satisfied. “But I doubt I’m yours.”

Jake blinks, still looking at Brett, something warm and fluttery settling in his chest. He lets out a soft, airy laugh, barely even thinking about it.

“Yeah, I mean… like… no offense, but… yeah.” He winces slightly at how natural that felt.

Lena smiles. “So tell me... what is your type?”

Jake doesn’t hesitate this time. He glances back at Brett, eyes lingering, a small, giddy smile slipping through. “I mean… Brett,” he says, almost giggling. “Obviously.”

"He's kinda cute."

“Kinda? Bitch, he's hot." Jake can't believe the words leaving his mouth, but they don't stop, "So like... we're..."

"Besties." Lena grins, "I needed a new gay bestie anyway." She looks over at Brett and snaps her fingers, "And what are besties for?"

Brett's face contorts and settles. The dull look in his eyes shifting as he looks over Jake. Replaced by something hungrier. Jake watches as Brett steps closer, slow, deliberate. His eyes stay locked on Jake.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice lower than Jake remembers. “You look… different.”

Jake giggles, “Different good, right?”

Brett’s hand comes up, hesitating just a second before brushing along Jake’s waist. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Really good.”

Jake inhales sharply, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans, eyes flicking up through his lashes.

“Wow, okay…” he says, half-giggling. “You’re, like, being really forward right now.”

Brett smirks faintly, closing the space between them. “You don’t seem to mind.”

Jake bites his lip, heat rushing to his face. “I mean… I don't.”

“My room’s just upstairs,” Brett murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You wanna check it out?”

Jake lets out a soft, breathy laugh, glancing back at Lena for half a second before looking up at Brett again. “I mean… yeah,” he says, voice light and a little giddy, fingers brushing Brett’s arm. “Lead the way.”

Lena watches for a beat, satisfied, “Have fun, you two!”

--------------

Jake moans loudly as Brett slams into him from behind. He arches his back, pushing his fat ass further along Brett's length. His own cock, smaller than he remembered it being, throbbing uselessly. But he doesn't care. Not when he can feel Brett balls deep inside him.

"Fuck yes," Jake gasps out, hands fisting in the sheets beneath him. "Harder, Brett. Fuck me harder." Brett grunts, gripping Jake's hips as he picks up the pace, "Oh fuck!"

Jake couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy each time Brett bottomed out. The same kinda sounds he imagined Lena making if the night had gone differently. But now? His world was narrowing, focused only on the feeling of the dick pounding into his thicc, juicy ass. Because for Jake, nothing else mattered in this moment - not his pride, not his former identity. And it never would again.

[jerkingnerds2jock]

GOOD BOY

Oh aren’t you so CUTE. You fought so hard playing my game tonight with all your cocky jock attitude and bravado. It was so CUTE when you challenged me, saying you could “take my magic” and to “give it “my best shot”. Hell i even said if you did manage to do it I would give you something you desire. But one simple PULSE and that smirk on your face started to waver didn’t it. The tremble in your voice was so CUTE when I called you a “GOOD BOY” and you said you “ weren’t no good boy”. Another pulse and you talked about how easy it was, that you felt nothing as you adjusted yourself, hand snaking down into your pants. But it was so much harder because they were getting tighter. Not cause your cock was growing, no that was a decoration. It was your ass, getting so much fatter. So much thiccer for men to play with, for you to finger while you waited for someone to service your hole. Your hand was already reaching back there now instead yeah. Just another PULSE and you feel your clothes changing, melting off your frame. Skin clearing up as its revealed, till PULSE your just in your underwear PULSE your underwear is changing PULSE your wearing a thong now PULSE Gooood boyyyy PULSE such a nice ass bet it feels empty PULSE you need it PULSE go ahead and get ready for me boy i’ll be there in a second PULSE perfect good boy thanks for getting into position

______ Want access to more horny writing sooner! patreon and Kofi Members get access first seeing it on discord! They also are gonna get to vote on future free stories and captions in the next few weeks!! Any and all support is appreciated

[fredwmain]

Moved in right before the start of Pride. We are so fucking back

[occamstfs]

Model's New Mustache

Constantly annoyed by his androgyny, David stumbles onto a spam ad that leads to his first facial hair and unknowingly condemns his latest overly masc ex to the twinkdom he's leaving behind.

Pretty standard role swap/masc theft! Twinky bottom to hairy top though much of the opposite changes happen off screen. At any rate, hope you enjoy this tale of Twink Theft! -Occam

And so began the same argument that has led to the end of each and every one of David’s previous relationships. Sure, he knows he’s beautiful. Angelic many of his one night stands and observers from afar frequently point out. He’s a model by default and his face card is perfect bait for men to just fall at his feet.

David frequently finds himself with men almost stereotypically masculine, alpha bros and DL hoes are always drawn to his androgyny. But rarely do they ever consider anything but his looks. When the cherubic man can no longer hold back his ire at being considered just a pretty face they fight and then abandon him for some other waifish twink. Leaving him feeling like nothing more than a soft-skinned doll for them to play with and abandon.

Curled up in the passenger seat of his current horndog fling’s car, David looks from underneath his tangle of perfectly coiffed curls as Mattias just stares down the open road. Glancing at the hairy jungles covering the man’s torso and pits, David yearns to feel the scratch of hair against his body. The closest thing he can ever experience to growing it himself.

For half a moment the model believes that perhaps Mattias is reflecting, thinking about their argument. Considering David’s point of view at all. When a hand drifts to adjust a bulge clearly visible in his pants it’s clear there’s only one thing on his mind. And David is certainly not going to let that happen tonight. 

“You’re not even listening.”

“Shiiiit, I mean c’mon babe. Be serious. You couldn’t even grow facial hair if you tried. I just dunno why you’re being such a lil bitch about it.”

Bony arms hugging his long legs, draped with pants he purloined from a shoot, David feels a fire burning within him. He’s not even been allowed to try. His agency would can him on the spot. Staring at the small mustache decorating Mattias’ upper lip he reaches to feel his own smooth, soft face. He’s going to try.

“I don’t care what you think, I’m going to stop waxing. Keep complaining, see what else I might decide to try. Asshole.”

Eyes flitting to his passenger, Mattias reaches over to feel David’s inner thigh. “So, uhhh, that means we’re not-”

“Fuck off you horny fucking- Spend half an hour thinking about anything but my ass and maybe, maybe I won’t lose your number.”

Clicking his tongue, Mattias throws his head against his headrest and starts rerouting to drop David off at his home. Sure that his dick is anything worth craving he assumes David’ll come crawling back to him by the end of the week, femme-er than ever. Smirking as he nods farewell to the man, he imagines soft hairless cheeks bouncing on him come Tuesday and quickly redownload Grindr to try and satisfy his still throbbing cock.

Watching yet another mindless jerk abandon him to his insecurities, David is of a different mind. This time it’s going to be different. As soon as the tail lights of Mattias’ shit box are out of sight, David begins his research. 

It’s not long at all before David comes across a targeted ad. Formatted like any other, on the left there’s a twink that the model swears he’s seen before, on the right is a perpetually bear-faced man. Face overgrown with itchy stubble and capstoned by a burly mustache that makes David’s mouth water.

Averse to cumming in his pants from a spam-ad, David does his best to stop imagining the twink’s journey to become the hairy hunk opposite him. He can just picture the bleach blonde hair giving way to that ruddy brown as his hairline retreats. Stubble growing so quickly it’s not even worth trimming. David bites his lip to stop from imagining his bulky figure out of frame.

Trailing past both the familiar ditzy twink’s lolling tongue and the alluring garden of chest fur on his alleged new self, David reads the caption. ‘How I became a man with ONE simple trick’

Rather than inviting whatever malware hides behind this jpeg onto his system, David scrawls through his instagram hoping against hope that he does actually know this man. Lo and behold he miraculously finds him, though as of late the twink’s has been dry.

Refusing to acknowledge the reality that this ad probably just stole an image from this mystery model’s account, David prepares to cold-DM this man he doesn’t really know. Desperate to feel the way he has always craved, desperate to change, he types his message:

‘Hey Hi! Peyton right? Funny thing :P I just found an ad of u and this like,,, lumberjackey otter? U know anything about this?’

Within the minute the man replies:

‘lmaooo ya thas me dude so u wanna fucc or what?’

Shocked at the bizarre response, there are a few false starts before David lands on a message. While he certainly wouldn’t be opposed to getting fucked by the man on the right, his eyes are on the prize of being more like him than anything else.

‘Ahhhh unfortunately I was more just wondering about the trick the ad mentioned. Like,, is that real? Surely thats like a joke huh?’

Across town and annoyed at the boner that won’t be satisfied now that Peyton knows what David wants, the hirsute horndog whines and starts absentmindedly playing with his cock as he prepares to offer David the route to join him. Much like David’s string of horny tops, he’s slightly disappointed for the world to lose such a pretty boy, but he would never stand between someone who wants to join him in his most-masculine form.

And he knows it’s not the only change to erupt from David’s ascension.

‘its easy brother just click the link and type the guys name in’

‘The guy?’

‘the dude who made u feel like shit lil bro sumone u want to take down a peg’

Obeying the strange man’s prescription, David takes a deep breath before clicking the ad to find nothing but a small empty text box. Left with nothing to go off besides the man’s words, David pictures the most recent jerk to wrong him.’

Imagining Mattias’ sneer as David explained the pain he feels when he looks in the mirror, the mustache twitching with his lips is impossible to ignore. He yearns to just rip it off the man’s face and put it on his own. David quickly types his name into the box. And nothing happens.

MATTIAS

Worried he’s fallen for some phishing scam or at the very least made a fool of himself, David quickly hits his keyboard to ask for next steps from Peyton:

‘What now?’ … ‘Hello, you there? I typed his name in’ … ‘K. Well thanks for nothing’

After spamming the man who got him this far with a few more dms, unaware that the man has simply muted his notifications to quickly masturbate, David refuses to be awake any longer and falls into his bed. Tomorrow he’ll be over it. It’ll be just another day. He’ll go to a shoot, pose, go home, do his regimen, and then go to bed again. 

  Sinking into his mattress, David stares at his ceiling. Dimly lit by the computer monitor left on he swears he can see Mattias’ cocky face watching him. After a blink he sees his own, gaunt and smooth, like carved marble.

Seeing his face reflected in the funhouse mirror of his mind’s eye, David doesn’t know when sleep overtakes him. When he begins to dream about the man he is going to be, a small smile twitches across his sleepful lips as the slightest itch begins to burn atop them.

The changes he finds in the morning are already too drastic to outright explain, if he could notice anything new besides the slight but unmistakable new mustache, that is. Fingertips instantly poking against the adamant new prickles decorating his face, David rushes to the bathroom to find his new reflection.

Quickly tearing out his phone to get permanent proof of his first facial hair beyond peach fuzz, David is ignorant to how his messy ringlets retracted into the spiky new fade that crowns his slightly retracted hairline.

So focused on the new lip candy as to miss this most prominent of changes, the many more minute alterations absolutely breeze past the excitable new man. Staring at the stubble promising future growth on his chin, he doesn’t notice the rougher hands holding up his phone or the ruddier complexion covering his face. 

Underneath the shirt he fell asleep in the first steps of body hair begin to slowly prickle out. Struggling in a biome designed to prevent regrowth, David’s lasered chest and perma-waxed pits tingle as the first brave new curls begin the first steps towards a total rout of his smooth twinkish form.

Unable to do anything but grin as he delights in the first glimpse of a life and body he never truly saw for himself, David rushes to thank Peyton for putting him onto that strange site. He can’t believe all it took was some manifestation! Funny how a stupid little text-box prompt could be so helpful!

Blissfully unaware of the ocean of changes brewing beneath his skin, David is waylaid by a handful of notifications. Grin turning to a smirk as he imagines it’s his manager on his ass for being late to a shoot; little does he know he’s got a far bigger surprise in store. Scratching at the barely noticeable itch in his pits, his fingers free the musk that had been baking all night under his heavy shirt.

Half-preparing to send the selfie he took to the man who fought for him to stay femme more than anyone else, David instead finds the handful of texts are from his personal trainer. Of course he’s had one since he was brought on by his agency, but reading the handful of missed messages, David is thrown for a loop.

As far as he could remember their routines have always been on keeping him lithe. Maintaining his stick thin figure. Ensuring his cortisol stays low at any cost. To see message after message tearing into David for not taking strength training and bulking up seriously completely derails his train of thought. 

Something deep within his chest turns at the idea and without even changing into something more appropriate for the gym, David tears out the door and sprints to his trainer’s side. With every step further from his austere apartment, his body continues to adapt to its new status quo.

Calves designed to be draped with baggy pants burst with muscle as each rushing pace springs with more strength. Working from increasingly strained shoes upward, his calves begin to blanket with a soft garden of hair. Burgeoning curls tug at the air soaring by as they yearn to connect with the thickening patch of pubes surrounding a permanent-semi that David is struggling with as he continues his heady jog.

Before he even arrives at the gym he has already become an altogether different man. The step-above-peachfuzz mustache that languished on his face when he woke up has continued to thicken and now hangs entirely over his upper lip. Across his whole body his bony figure has continued to fill out from the exertion of his sprint to the gym. 

Biceps bulge onto his thin arms as they cut through the morning air on his run. Sleeves of a shirt not designed to be within a city-block of a gym are quickly strained as dark stains under his burgeoning shoulders show the beginnings of his tangled pits seeding proof of their existence. Smelling the unpleasant odor of his morning breath joining the aura of body odor steaming in his wake, David feels his underwear strain as his hips readjust and grow mid stride. Panting like a dog he moans from soreness burning as new muscle strands thicken and bulge onto his powerful limbs. 

Filled with gratitude greater than he can understand to the man who ushered him into this ecstatic change, he once more goes to message Peyton only to find a plethora of new messages from none other than Mattias. 

‘What did you fucking do to me you bitch.’

Absolutely no idea what that’s about, David stares dumbfounded at the screen before his attention span in high-demand is summoned by his trainer as he bumbles into the gym, late. “You ready to go or what princess?” Butterflies in his stomach quiver at the words, he’s not a princess anymore. And he’s going to prove it to Mattias, his trainer, and anyone else who gets in his way.

His chest burns with a need to grow as he makes his way over to a bench. The act of laying down alone causes his thin chest to bulge larger. The buttons that always hung loosely on his sternum fly off into the gym as pecs fill his sweat-stained shirt to its breaking point before sending lancing tears further down his chest.

Through each new open seam and widening hole, the hidden hair prickling across David’s torso makes itself known. Having expanded well beyond a paltry patch connecting a handful of curls swirling around his formerly petite nipples, the swath of tangled jungle covering his bulging pecs races to make itself seen. His growing chest aids in this as the single button still feigning modesty on his shirt bursts free to reveal the curls climbing towards his neck.

Feeling the pump of growth, his heart racing, David grunts and groans as torso firms and expands to compete with his strengthening limbs and eye-catching chest. Quickly filling the shirt like rising dough in a tin, David barely holds back a horny scream as he feels the fabric tear to shreds off his body. 

Standing nearby for obvious reason, David’s trainer simply stares blankly as his once doelike ward has grown into a stag. Watching as his face prickles with thicker stubble surrounding his gritted teeth, staring as arms that he swears were to be deliberately untouched thicken and trail with veins, the trainer has a burning urge to keep him here in the gym as long as possible.

To this end he reaches up to usher David to the next machine, opting to reach for the small of the man’s back for lusty greed alone, he bites his lip as he feels the beginnings of his trainee’s ass hair creeping up towards his shoulders. Unlike the still perma-poised David, the trainer doesn’t quite quiet a whimper from feeling up his sweaty back. “Mhhmm~”

Shocked to hear as much from someone David would’ve sworn was straight, David turns in surprise to stare at his visibly horny trainer. Blush paints the broish man’s cheeks and the twitching package he can’t hide makes it clear he’s certainly not red in the face from his own scant workout.

Stepping away David watches as his needy hands fall away. Gulping with need, there’s surely a part of the hitherto professional trainer that knows there is something strange alluring him to David, but when he sees the growing man’s bicep twitch even larger his train of thought has no recourse but to pull out all the stops to keep him close.

David knows he’s hot stuff, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten googoo eyes from a ‘straight man,’ but something’s off. Scratching his head he feels how his hair texture has shifted. As clear as he feels itchy tufts of thick hair in his pits rubbing the sides of his chest as he moves his arm, his thicker fingers feel hair that is both thicker and thinner than it should be.

Texture more akin to fur than the downy curls he once had, in real time he feels what’s left of his model’s do retract into a tight and rough buzz. Memories of a hair routine before bed every night dissolve to be replaced by David just rolling into a barber and getting the most basic cut they have to offer.

Glancing towards his trainer he feels something profound shift within his chest. He’s used to attention sure, but having a truly masc man stare at him with needy jealousy has awoken something within him. His own cock twitches and he reaches down to adjust it. When the trainer’s needy eyes follow David’s hand his newfound cockiness only grows.

He can almost feel the thick hair coating his chest thicken as his adorer’s mouth falls open in need. He does feel the cock that he’s only recently begun to fondle grows even more, only a semi thus far if David didn’t know any better he’d swear it was already larger than the most turgid erection he’s ever had. 

Having humored the man enough, Dave feels a profound urge to play with his food for just a second longer before dipping. Glancing at the muscular figure he’s always admired he doesn’t feel nearly the same heat that the trainer evidently has for him. Feeling his phone still blowing up in his back pocket he’s reminded he’s got a bitch- er, he’s still got Mattias to deal with.

To point he challenges his trainer. 

“What’s the problem with you?”

Sheepishly the trainer averts his eyes from the center of Dave’s chest where the hair is so thick that one truly can only guess that there’s skin beneath. Halfheartedly pointing to the next machine he viscerally feels any authority he once had over Dave slip away.

“Just let me go.”

Knowing deep within himself that this is profoundly wrong, that the twink he was hired to keep fit and keep femme has grown into a man like he’s never seen, when Dave pushes past him towards the exit of the gym the only thing he can do is giggle from feeling his sweaty skin against his own. Dave doesn’t even look back as he stomps out of the gym, hairy feet exposed as the tennis shoes he had on finally give way to the massive stompers this top heavy body requires.

Left behind, the trainer feels lightheaded as the source of his confusion leaves him be. Slightly worried he’s going to get chewed out for something out of his control, by the time Dave pulls out his phone and begins walking towards Mattias’ he doesn’t even remember having Dave as a client. It’s not like his employers had any interest in fashion for men who think deodorant is optional.

Finally free from the gym, Dave allows the asshole blowing up his phone some attention. Every message is whinier than the one that came before. Scrolling up to the first, Dave finds it the usual aggressive diatribe he’d expect from a man he chose explicitly for being a macho loser but with every step closer to the present his messages tinge with emotion.

“I no u did this u little bitch when i see u its over

“Look idk what I did but u need to stop it. Please I cant show up to my boys lookin like this”

“Fine, shit! Maybe I deserved it but you gotta stop. I don’t want to be some hairless twink.”

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.”

Every message only makes the hunger within Dave grow. Reading Mattias beg and whine and cry only makes him feel more. Bigger, hairier, hornier. Each heavy step towards this man’s house hits harder as his thighs bulk up to support his widening chest and the thickening cock between them. 

The mustache on his face thickens and hangs lower to cover the entirety of his upper lip. The dense thicket on his pecs decides it’s not enough as thick curls launch towards his shoulders and musty pits. His midsection continues to thicken as the thin arrow of a treasure trail that once pointed to his tangled pubes widens to engulf the whole of his heavy new muscle gut. 

Gym shorts he didn’t remember changing into are taut on his ass as it sends a couple tears straight down his ass crack, partly exposing his jockstrap and the dense tangles it struggles to corral to the open air. Dave can’t help but continue to read Mattias’ appeals as he grows. Thick vein bulging down his biceps as a coat of curls races down his muscular shoulders to meet the prodigious jungle on his forearms.

Grunting as he feels his cock strain the front of his shorts he wonders if he’s going to make it to Mattias’ without being criminally indecent. Seeing his thick cockhead near the lip of his shorts he finds Mattias’ most recent messages have switched their tune.

“I’ll fucking do anything babe please, anything but my cock.”

“I wish I had a cock like yours…

“God you’re so hot, I just wish I could be more like you…”

Doubletaking at the idea of this once vainer than life machismo obsessed douche yearning to be like him, less than a moment later Dave smirks and remembers his reality. Of course Mattias wants to be like him, who wouldn’t. The twink’s wrapped around his meaty finger just like anyone lucky enough to get to ride on his cock would be. Scratching his hairy gut he decides he wants to see his prize. 

Deigning to reply at last, Dave just sends two words. ‘Facetime me’

Within a second Dave’s phone is ringing for Mattias. Seeing his old profile picture Dave can’t recognize the middling man before him. Nothing like the twink he knows and loves to fuck, still he lets the mystery man’s face stay on his phone for a moment longer to leave Mattias waiting. Offering the perfect juxtaposition between Mattias’ new and old self.

“Hey daddyyyy~ Are you coming over or what?”

Even the most powerful supernatural effect couldn’t stop Dave from being stunned in his tracks, shocked at the twink, jittery with need, now performatively shimmying on the facetime call. Staring at the pathetic remains of the mustache and goatee Mattias once prided himself over, Dave feels his cock twitch and drip with pre as it finally escapes his shorts.

Accidentally grabbing a few curls on his thigh as he yanks his shorts back down to poorly hide his throbbing rod, Dave grunts in pain which causes Mattias to gasp as his thicker lips purse into a pout. “Are you okay baby?”

His airy whine drives Dave into one final wave of changes as he grunts out a “Be right over. You’d better be ready.” Shorts almost shearing off his meaty thighs as he begins sprinting towards his lay’s home, Dave pants like an animal in heat as he feels everything about him grow more extreme. No inch of skin is spared as his coat spreads to cover every inch of his sweaty skin. 

Swinging between his legs, Dave makes no attempt to hide his thick cock during his flight. Prioritizing speed above everything, his hairy feet do their best and miraculously the accidental nudist arrives at Mattias’ house with nothing but his hairy ass having been seen.

Stumbling into the front door, always left unlocked for him, Dave follows his nose to the floral scented bedroom and finds Mattias just where he wants him. Even thinner and smoother than he was on their call moments ago, Dave smirks at the pouf of manicured curls on his head and the pitiful few strands of hair clinging to his pits, the dregs of his  masculinity.

Pouncing on the bed to straddle Mattias, he sees a sparkle in the twink’s eyes as his massive cock bounces hard in the air. Shocked at just how large it is compared to Mattias thin waist he rests upon the small man and rubs his smooth skin with hands rough from the gym and a life lived with altogether no attention to skincare.

Feeling his cock buck of its own accord as it spews viscous pre onto Mattias’ hairless chest, Dave experiences for the first time just how powerful it feels to be The Man in bed, in a relationship, in life. Give him a few seconds and he might just cum from the very feeling.

Doing his best to restrain quick-cumming he leans down to whisper in Mattias’ ear, he feels his mustache scratch the twink’s regimented cheek. “Get on your stomach and let’s get this started.” Blushing like he’d never have done before, what is Mattias to do but obey the sexiest man he’s ever been with.