Massive TF and Monsterfucking enthusiast

24, Gay,minors fuck offI write, i do art, Into TF, muscles, monsters, sweat and change. Succumb to my odd imagination and let yourself be TF'd or make my body into clay and turn me into hot, vile, monstrous men or monsters. Open to requests

[reforge-me-endlessly]

Masterlist and Rules!

Hello, name's Alex! I write for whatever ADULT readers are willing to read my stuff!

I mostly write about male-identifying people and monsters but not opposed to others when i get more writing confidence

This blog will be in english

I write mature content, and might reblog ~spicy~things too. If you dont like that, go somewhere else

Minors DNI, NEVER INTERACT. If I see you're a minor you will be blocked. This is for your own good.

Ask box is always open.

I can absolutely not write an ask im not comfortable with, for whatever reason actually.

I can also answer private asks.

[reddarkfox222]

What's life without a bit of risk, i think i'd be more dissapointed in my life if i didnt try to go for something better. Spin me up at the roulette I'm a 28 years old 5'10 eastern european guy. I'm on the chubbyer sides with wide shoulders, hair to my mid-back and a somewhat hairy body and no facial hair whatsoever even through i've tried growing more for years. I work as a pharmacist and life is just fucking boring, barely any fun....so, my fate is in your hands

The pharmacy closes at eight. The arcade stays open late. Twenty-eight years old, from Eastern Europe, one meter seventy-eight. Chubby, broad shoulders, hair on his back reaching halfway down, a somewhat hairy body. On his face, nothing. He tried to grow a beard for years, but nothing ever came. A boring, monotonous life, hardly fun at all.

What is life without a little risk? Better to try than to stay disappointed.

He sees the machine in the corner. He pulls the lever.

🧔 🎽 🩲

The instant after, boredom no longer exists.

The first thing he feels is his face. It itches. It burns. Where nothing had grown for years, something now explodes. The mustache. Thick, dense, dark. It covers his upper lip and extends down toward the corners of his mouth. From a man. From someone fascinating. From the kind that make people dream in magazines.

But no beard appears. His cheeks, jaw, and chin remain clean and smooth, leaving his face defined only by those thick, powerful mustaches that frame his mouth and give his face a bold, masculine character.

The hair on his body. What he already had intensifies, thickens, explodes. On his chest, a dense, dark layer covers every centimeter. The pecs, which before were hidden under fat, now define themselves, emerging beneath that new coat of hair.

On his back. What was already hairy becomes a forest. Dense, warm, covering every centimeter down to the shoulders, down toward the glutes.

On his arms. The hair thickens, covering the forearms, the biceps, the shoulders.

On his legs. Oh, the legs. From chubby and soft, they transform. The muscles emerge, define themselves, becoming big, powerful. And over them, a dense layer of dark hair covers everything. Hairy thighs, hairy calves, all covered by that warm, masculine coat.

The body. The fat transforms, redefining itself. Underneath, muscles emerge that he did not know he had. The chest swells, the pecs become two slabs of muscle covered with hair. The shoulders widen, the deltoids round out. The belly, once chubby, tightens into a solid wall covered with hair.

And then the clothes. The ones he was wearing disappear. In their place, something new.

A white tank top. Simple, classic, tight. It wraps around his torso but hides nothing. Chest hair spills out from the collar and the straps, covering the fabric. The pecs press against the cloth, the biceps stretch the sides.

The underwear. White. Classic men’s briefs. Tight, leaving little to the imagination. And there, inside, something has changed. Radically.

It is obvious. Big. Long. Pressing against the white cotton, creating an unmistakable shape. The fabric stretches, deforms, unable to fully contain what is underneath. It pushes forward, visible, imaginable. Enormous.

The socks. White. Up to mid-calf. On those hairy, muscular legs they create a strange contrast, almost innocent. But nothing is innocent about that body.

He looks at himself in the reflection of the machine. The man he sees is no longer the chubby, boring pharmacist. He is someone else. Extremely hairy, extremely fascinating.

The thick mustache, the hair everywhere. The white tank top showing glimpses of the hairy chest, the hairy arms emerging from the sides. The white briefs that hide nothing, actually emphasizing everything. The hairy, muscular legs with those white socks.

He touches his mustache, thick and firm above his lip. He runs a hand over his chest under the tank top, sinking his fingers into the hair, feeling the hard muscles beneath. He moves down, touching the belly covered in hair, solid and firm. Then lower, where the white briefs tighten and what is underneath presses, heavy, long, thick.

His own hands touch it, feel it. Enormous. Truly enormous. A groan escapes him, from surprise, from pleasure.

The sweat. Under the tank top, on the hairy chest, it begins to form. Warm, dampening the hair, making it cling and shine. It runs downward, slipping into the briefs, wetting what is underneath.

The smell. New. Strong. Musky, warm, animal-like. A smell of skin, hair, muscles, of a man. A smell that fills the room, that clings to clothes, that lingers.

He looks again at the reflection. The thick mustache, the hair everywhere, the white tank top, the stretched white briefs, the hairy legs, the white socks. It is a powerful, erotic, irresistible image.

He smiles under the mustache. A slow, confident smile, like a man who knows his worth.

The boring, monotonous life of a pharmacist is over. The new one—hairy, muscular, fascinating—has just begun.

He adjusts the tank top, but it is useless. Hair sticks out everywhere. He looks down at the briefs, at what is inside, and another smile crosses his mustached face.

Outside, the world is waiting for him. And he is finally ready to live it.

[reddarkfox222]

Someone I didn’t have saved in my phone sent me this link. I dont know who it was. I’m 32. I’m currently an amateur bodybuilder who has been struggling to pack on enough size. I’m 5’6” and about 190 but wish I could be twice as big… or bigger. Russian American, kinda hairy. Beard. I saw the word “Jock” and clicked immediately. I’ve been struggling with my image for a while and am willing to do anything for a full aggressive transformation. I would like some control over the changes, but I like the idea of things getting out of hand and beyond my control. All I care about is that I get as massive, hairy, and dumb as possible. No such thing as too big BRO!

Message from: Unknown Number “BRO. You’re blocked. A little mouse dreaming of being a gorilla. The link breaks the chains. The link gives you the mountain. Click and stop fighting. Start DOMINATING.”

There’s no need to think twice. The words hit you straight in the ego and the frustration. “Stop fighting. Start dominating.” It’s everything you want. You’re a bodybuilder who has always fought for every gram. You want more. Double. The link promises the mountain. Your finger presses, hungry.

The Click. The Avalanche.

There is no transition. Only impact.

A dull roar, like thunder, echoes inside your rib cage. It’s the sound of your genetic limits shattering.

It starts from the bones. They don’t lengthen. They thicken. Your joints creak, reinforce themselves to support the titanic weight that is coming. You’re 1.68 m, but you begin to feel as wide as a van. Your shoulders literally burst out of their sockets, clavicles spreading with an audible CRACK. The deltoids swell into three balls of hard, round muscle, so huge that your head seems wedged between them.

Then, the growth. Pure mass. It’s not a pump. It’s a flood of muscle tissue. Chest and Back: The pecs don’t grow, they collide with each other at the center of your sternum, forming a thick, striated wall that pushes forward. The back expands, the lats open like a bear’s cloak, the traps rise into two hills that merge with the neck, now as thick as your former thigh. Arms: The biceps explode into high, striated, veiny peaks, so full the skin looks translucent. The triceps expand like scaffolding beneath them. Your arms are now bigger than a normal man’s legs. The sleeves of your gym tank top vaporize, torn apart by the pressure. Legs: The quadriceps swell into four enormous separate muscle heads, carved by deep veins. The calves become two spheres of granite. The denim of your shorts turns into a shredded second skin.

An itchy heat wraps around you. Not on the skin. Under it. The hair follicles wake up en masse. It’s a crawling wave that rises from below. A thick, dark russet pelt erupts on your chest, condensing into a dense, curly carpet that merges with the hair on your belly. The back is covered by a thick layer of hair. The shoulders, the arms (except the biceps peaks), the legs… everything becomes a virile, dark, primordial forest. The beard, already there, thickens, lengthens, becoming a Viking beard, thick, unkempt, majestic, framing a face whose features are simplifying into an expression of animal amazement.

You wanted it to get out of hand. It did. The physical growth is accompanied by a total wipe. Your complex thoughts—training splits, diets, supplements—dissolve. They’re replaced by pure, simple, glorious impulses. Flexing: You look at a muscle. You have to flex it. Watch how it moves, how it swells. Touch: You have to touch your muscles. Feel their hardness under the hair. Scratch the beard. Arousal: The sight of your body, your fur, your power… arouses you. Deeply. Unstoppably. It’s a circuit of total physical self-gratification. Cum: The arousal isn’t cerebral. It’s physical, immediate. Orgasm becomes a reflex, a release of pressure, like sneezing. A frequent event, linked to the sight of your muscular progress.

You stand up. The floor groans. Your body is a sculpture of hypertrophic muscles covered in a bear pelt. Do you weigh double what you did before? Maybe more. You’re a mountain of flesh, hair, and power. You look at yourself in the mirror. A stupid, ecstatic smile spreads beneath the thick beard. “Bro…” you grunt, your voice a guttural boom. With slow, powerful movements, you start to flex. Pectoral. Bicep. Quadricep. Every contraction is a wave of pleasure. You notice the arousal, prominent, pushing against the few scraps of fabric left. You touch it through the hair of your lower belly. It’s too much. It’s all too much. A shiver runs through you, powerful, primitive. YOU CUM. It’s a physical event, not an emotional one. A release. You look at your hands, then back at the mirror, laughing, a low, satisfied laugh. “Yeah. Bro. Big.”

Clothes are an offense. They block the view, the touch, the freedom of the hair. You rip everything off except a pair of black boxers, which immediately fill with a constant bulge. You’ll spend your days: Running your hands over the hair on your chest. Flexing in front of every reflective surface. Getting aroused by the sight of your reflection. Cumming with embarrassing, joyful ease. Eating whatever is within reach, with your hands. Repeating the words “Bro,” “Big,” “Massive,” “Hair.”

The phone, buried under a scrap of fabric, vibrates. You pick it up with fingers that look like sausages. A message from the same unknown number: “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. YOU EXCEEDED EVERY EXPECTATION, BRO. YOU ARE THE MASTERPIECE. NOW YOU ARE FREE. FREE TO BE ONLY THIS. THE LINK IS CLOSED. YOU ARE NOT.”

You read, but the words are shapes. “Bro” and “Big” are the only ones you recognize. You nod, serious. Your hairy chest rises with a deep breath. You toss the phone away. You don’t need it. You got what you wanted. A complete, aggressive transformation. You lost control. You lost your mind. You lost every glimmer of complexity. You became the ultimate bodybuilder’s dream: a mass of muscle, hair, and pure, simple, glorious instinct. There is no such thing as too big. And you, Bro, are the living, panting, hairy proof.

[reddarkfox222]

That roulette is intriguing. I've always wanted to be tranformed, but that only happens in fantasies. There's no harm in trying though, I mean, worst thing that can happen is it's a scam. And there's already a token, so...

I'm a 24 years old 5'8 caucasian guy, with a beginner gym build, somewhat hairy body and no facial hair. I'm curious what the machine would do...

The machine is still there, in the corner. Someone has left a token. Again.

The guy walks past it, stops, turns back. Twenty-four years old, average build, the kind of body of someone who sometimes thinks he should go to the gym but then postpones it. Scattered body hair, nothing special. Clean face, no beard. Average height.

He looks at the token. Looks at the machine. Shrugs.

“What could happen?”

He presses the button.

🦍 🏋️ 🦲

The next instant, he cannot breathe for a second.

The head. The head is the first thing. A tingling sensation that turns into burning, as if someone were passing a blowtorch over his scalp. He brings his hands there instinctively and finds them full of hair falling out in clumps. In a few seconds, nothing. Zero. Bald as a stone. Shiny. The skin of his skull smooth, tight, ready.

But while the head empties, the rest of the body… fills.

The hair. It explodes.

On the shoulders, once smooth, a dark, dense, almost impenetrable layer sprouts. These are not normal hairs. They are thicker, fuller, more… primitive. They spread down his arms, completely covering the skin. On his chest, a forest starting from the collarbones and descending to the navel, without interruption. The pectorals, which a moment before were flat, rise beneath that coat of hair. They swell. They become two massive slabs of muscle covered by dark fur.

The back. He cannot see it, but he feels it. The itch, the tingling, the sensation of something growing, expanding. When he turns toward the machine’s mirror, he sees a back he does not recognize. Wide. Powerful. Covered in hair like an animal. The lats spread, giving him that V-shape that before was only a vague desire, but now is real, tangible, exaggerated.

The legs. The hair bursts there too. Thighs, calves, even the feet. Everything covered in a thick, dark pelt.

Under all this hair, the body is changing. The muscles do not grow, they explode. The biceps swell until the sleeves of his hoodie burst. The chest lifts the fabric as if there were two balls underneath. The abs, covered by that dark mantle, carve themselves anyway, hard, sculpted, even if invisible.

The height. The room seems lower. From 1.73 meters to 1.85 in a few seconds. The bones lengthen, adapt, strengthen. Now he is taller, more massive, more present.

And then the sweat. It begins to bead on his bald forehead, to run down through the hair on his chest, to dampen that new pelt. A warm, dense sweat that mixes with something else.

The smell.

It is no longer the smell from before, that neutral scent of an ordinary guy. It is something animal. Musky. Heavy. A scent of pure testosterone, of working muscles, of skin covered in hair. A smell that fills the space around him, that clings to clothes, that lingers.

He looks at himself in the mirror. Bald. Hairy. Massive.

The jaw has widened, the neck is thick as a trunk. The nose perhaps a little broader, the eyebrows thicker. He is no longer a boy. He is a beast. A beast for the gym, for the bedroom, for the street.

He touches his bald head. Smooth. Shiny. He runs his hands over his chest, sinks his fingers into that thick, warm, sweat-damp fur. Feeling the muscles beneath, hard, powerful, is a new sensation. Exciting.

Then he looks lower. Down there, in the middle of that new jungle, something has grown. A lot. He freezes, eyes widening. Then a slow, animal smile crosses his face.

“Wow.”

Just one word. Spoken with a deeper, rougher voice.

He touches himself again. The pectorals. The abs. The enormous shoulders. He smells one arm. That scent. Strong. Masculine. Beastly.

He knows that now, at the gym, he will not go unnoticed. He knows that under the shower, after training, he will leave trails of sweat and hair. He knows that someone will look at that fur-covered body and want to touch it. And he also knows that now, he is fine with that. More than fine.

He runs a hand over his smooth bald head, and a shiver runs down his back. Another hand sinks into his chest, between the wet hairs.

Outside there is the world. And he is ready to discover what it means to be a beast.

[occamstfs]

Bumming A Smoke

Harold bumps into the wrong crowd. Forced to have a one on one with their boss Jonny, the world he knows seems almost alien. Though none of that stuff seems as worthwhile as the cig lolling in his mouth.

Last of the novel TF’s from that poll! Reality and mental changes are the headline, hope you enjoy this smoke heavy story of a man becoming a greased up grunt! -Occam

Harold was on the way home from a fairly uneventful afternoon with some friends. Just a quick catch up, knocking out a few mimosas and offering a middling performance at some brunchy bar trivia. The secretary reflects on what a delightful time he had as he strolls down the well-trod streets towards his home. 

He thinks about unbuttoning a button or two, but that wouldn’t be very well, gotta look presentable in case he bumps into a coworker hm? He knows a few of them live nearby. Still, it was quite nice to cut back for a time with his old friends, shame he can’t do so more often.

As Harold’s distracted for some time putting his too brief good times to memory, contemplative smile on his face, he doesn’t notice as he happens upon a crew of people that seem to have spilled straight from an old genre movie. Clad in enough shiny leather to cloth a bear bar with rigid pompadours and other stylized hairdos coated in enough grease or wax to coat a few motorcycles.

Never has there been a worse time for the ever-observant businessman to zone out or lose himself to distraction. Unfortunately, for the man so used to having control of his calm and quiet life, it is at precisely this time that he bumps into who else but the ringleader of this bizarre crew.

“Woah woah woah there baby, gotta watch where yer goin yeah?” Immediately the man’s coarse hands are on his shoulders, Harold doesn’t know whether to be bothered more by the cloud of cigarette smoke pouring from the crew around him or the must-be filthy mitts now sullying his pristine jacket. He offers a courteous nod to apologize, but the man’s grip doesn’t loosen.

His performative smile twitches which only causes his assault’s grin to grow wider. As he moves his smooth hands to tap the man’s arms, he hears jeers begin to fly forth from the crew that has begun to surround the pair of them. “Gonna let a square walk all over yas?” “Lettem have it Jonny Boy!” “Get Beeeent ya asshole”

Before his hand can make contact with the man’s leather covered arm, Jonny releases Harold and steps back, arms raised in a faultless surrender. His eyes are closed peaceably but a coy smirk remains the foremost expression on his face, “Ay now ay now, we don’t mean youse any harm there chief. Let’s you and me have a little chat eh? After all, was you who stepped all into my biz after alls. Love to show youse around, break some bread.”

Harold does a double take, looking around for some hidden camera as this situation simply must be some kind of prank show or something. It has to be! He’d be laughing himself were he not surrounded by men staring at him with such scorn. It’s beyond the pale. Still, he has the stark feeling that Jonny’s words were not an ask so much as an order. Telling himself it would be impolite to flee, despite alarms beginning to blare, he acquiesces.

Harold offers a hand for this ‘Jonny Boy’ to shake, forcing a smile back on his face, “Of course uhm, sir? I certainly meant no ill will towards yourself nor your crew. If you would, please accept my humblest of apologies.” From his first word snickers begin to echo from the rowdy bunch around him, Jonny’s eyes reopen and there’s something behind his congenial expression. Something predatory.

Nevertheless, the boss takes the hand offered. Harold squirms under the rough scratch of Jonny’s callouses, his grip more than a match for the most performatively aggressive handshakes he’s endured during his time at work. He stays firm and waits for Jonny to give, which he does after some time, leaving Harold’s hand only slightly worse for wear, some ash or grease having clearly been left on his hitherto clean palm. 

“Ah! Soz about that Mr?” 

“Harold. Now if you don’t mind-” having now been truly inconvenienced, his patience begins to wear thin and he makes to leave. Before he even takes his first step he is assailed once more by their leader, his heavy arm now forcibly atop Harold’s shoulders, “Ah ah ah- Not quite ye Mista Harold. Youse gotta do a little more than that to make it up to us. Wha’s life without song ‘n dance?”

He begins to lead Harold through his crew, in the opposite direction of home. At one point some particularly brutish member brandishes a switchblade which the polished man flinches away from. After a moment the bovine man clicks it open to reveal a comb and guffaws at Harold’s cowardice before using it to puff up his pompadour. “Ahh Now Harry, can I call ya Harry? Can’t let ol’ Bruise getcha like that. Youse should know that by now eh? Anyways, as I was sayin…”

Only now hearing Jonny fast talk him so thoroughly does he realize just how he’s being strung along. Palming his wallet in his pocket to ensure he’s not been pickpocketed, focused on his intact billfold he’s none the wiser as his suit jacket has somehow flown from his shoulders. Instead he sighs in relief that his pocket change remains safe. Then Jonny’s words sink in, what does he mean I should know!? I don’t know any of these freaks!?

He begins listening to the boss’ words, unaware that even arguing with them to himself gives his assertions space within his head. All the while Jonny continues assailing his memories. Small suggestions that Harold knows not to be true, or are they? Quick and vacuous sentences blur into a vague humming in Harold’s ear. It’s like static. He feels it begin to fill his head like cotton, all the while Jonny’s intentions have begun to affect the polished man’s appearance. Harold is far too distracted by his ongoing suggestions and hazarded explanations to notice how the fabric of his shirt begins to shift.

Expensive linen blends give way to a working man’s cotton shirt, slightly stained under the pits and elsewhere from being worn in a life actually lived outside of an air conditioned suite. The few buttons he intended to leave open earlier pop off to expose his pale, nigh-hairless chest as he follows Jonny in perfect step. His pants lack the flair of white collar life and grow rougher. 

“So I says to her- Well Harry you know what I says eh?” Harold opens eyes that had been clenched shut to hopefully ease the throbbing headache continuing to increase. Before he can correct the, by all intents, gang leader on both his name and reality, he freezes up as the world he sees before him is not one he recognizes. Beyond that, it’s not one that’s possible. His hand flies to his mouth as he sees color begin to drain from the world.

Looking down to discover his changed outfit, he rubs his eyes with a fury to try and undo whatever shock to his senses has caused this. He scarcely notices the scratch of his shirt against his chest or how his pants sit differently on his waist as his pale skin shifts grey. If he strains he can just make out the red of a stop sign, the blue of the sky, but with each passing moment the world feels more black and white.

Then he turns to stare at the man whose arm remains draped across his shoulders, head now tilted despite an expression that belies not a single drop of surprise at Harold’s shock, “Everything alright buddy?” Harold desperately tries to understand what’s going on, what happened to his vision, to his clothes. But then as he shakily takes in the calm man who must be doing this to him.

Try as he might to focus his anger and fear to demand an explanation. The cigarette bobbing in Jonny’s mouth acts as a hypnotist’s pendulum, demanding his attention. Suddenly concern fades as only one thought, one desperate need fills his mind. 

Man, I could use a smoke. His mouth waters with a urge he’s never felt before, yet one more compelling than hunger or thirst. He craves the grit of smoke filling his mouth, the burn racing down his lungs. His mouth falls open in wanting as he smells the trail of smoke wafting from Jonny’s still lit cigarette.

Just before he reaches to his own pocket, not knowing what he’ll discover in these pants still continuing their impossible change- Feeling them pull upward as suspenders stretch under his larger collar, some shred of self returns and he remembers clear as day, he’s not a smoker. After a beat he finally finds the will to throw Jonny’s arm free from his shoulders, “You needta-” 

He clears his throat as his voice resounds deeper, harsher. After a moment to collect himself he resumes with his usual orderly affectation, words only slightly tinged coarse, “Look. I already apologized for bumpin’ into ya- Gragh! For bumping into you. I don’t know what drug you’ve clearly laced me with but you need to fix it, and fast-”

Jonny throws a hand across his chest miming hurt. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he leans in close to Harold before opening his mouth and letting the smoke spill over the man’s face, slowly rising as he speaks “Now there Harry, how could youse say sucha thing about yer ol’ pal Jonny knowin all too well that youse an’ me don’ do nunathat stuff.” 

Harold can scarcely hear the man speak as his smoke flies true, sending pangs of need coursing through the man now fighting a losing battle with a mind being rewritten. His old reality of files and reports is suddenly less real than the monochrome world before him. His mouth still hanging open, he can’t help but notice how close his lips are to Jonny’s. The stink of his smoky breath and the cheap mints he always has stashed in his jacket to poorly cover his tracks.

Harold's eyes go blank as he just stands there breathing in the smoke. Jonny takes a few more puffs, more for Harold than himself of course, shooting curls of smoke straight into his face, each one clearly shifting his mind and memories. Not only that, as they rise past his glazed eyes, they sneak through the once thinning mop of hair on his head and endeavor to puff it higher. 

As each further wisp of smoke graces his hair, his blonde coif thickens and begins to rise. Feeling something shifting on his head, his hands instinctively go to style, readjust, ensure that he’s looking as fresh as ever. Under his glazed eyes his clothes change in response, everyday wear and tear making the attention given to his perfect hair all the more noticeable.

There’s no outward tell besides his smile growing wider as Jonny puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it. Closing his eyes as he takes his first, long drag of a cigarette he feels the smoke fill his lungs sweeter than air. From then on each beat of his thrumming heart accelerates the erosion of his past self. No longer does his being labelled Harry even bother him. As if he’d go by Harold- name for a square if ever heard one. not that he blames his ma, course.

Feeling wind blow against his uncovered biceps he frowns as he takes the cigarette from his mouth. Paying no mind to the calloused hands that evermore move without the grace they once commanded, dark hairs coating them almost as heavily as grease stains. While he can’t quite understand why seeing his arms in the open air is odd, he does see firm new muscle beginning to be built under his skin. 

Delighting in strength he has both never had and always wielded, Harry flexes and grunts as his biceps peak higher with every new pose and slight adjustment. He feels his sleeves grow more and more taut as his shirt struggles to expand quick enough to match his still racing growth. His chest fills the front of his shirt, threatening to expose his surely built midriff as his tuck strains. 

So preoccupied is he with putting on his show of strength as his thighs bulk larger and his ass grows unmissable in his tight jeans, that he forgets about the cigarette dangling in between two stained fingers. Under Jonny’s watchful eye, he eventually rushes into a pose far too hastily and sends his cigarette straight to the ground. Bouncing off his shoes he gasps, worried that he scuffed his shoes before stamping the lit thing out. 

There’s not a thought in his mind as he does so. What should he care about littering? Everyone else’s doin’ it these days anyway. His eyes narrow slightly at the idea of these days, as if he had lived any other kind of days. Gears turning slow enough as to not be moving at all the new greaser’s eyes return that thoughtless glaze as his mouth falls ajar once more.

Then he feels a single lock of hair fall out of line before Harry’s grease stained hands quickly force it back into place with a comb that quite resembles one he was threatened with not too long ago. Ah Bruiser- He can’t help but smirk as he remembers his best pal. The other muscle in Jonny’s crew. Jonny’s crew?

As if that were the missing puzzle piece he’d been looking for, Harry jolts up, almost falling over as he’s not used to his new strength. “Boss! Have uhhhh, youse seen my jacket anywheres?” Harry could never hope to understand the thoughts that must be going through his boss’ head. He stares dumbly at the boss, waiting for whatever his orders are to be.

To the observing eye Harry now lacks, Jonny is Clearly sizing him up like a piece of meat, determining then and there what part Harry’s to play in their crew. He laughs at one point, realizing the similarities in the brute before him and the office Clyde that let his crew walk all over him. Anyway, it’s easy enough to see what role the muscled up man’ll do for him.

Content, Harry nods and reaches into the back seat of a hot rod behind him and hoists up a large leather jacket. Harry smirks as the sight brings him no small amount of joy. Powerful as they may be, his meaty arms yearned to be covered by that jacket, by his jacket. His rough hands go to catch it before it’s even in the air.

Nothing matters to him more than the jacket his boss holds. The jacket soaring to him. The jacket clenched in his hands. The scent fills him with surety. Comforts him like an old blanket, like a world he’ll never return to.

It fits like a second skin, Harry wastes no time in throwing it back on his shoulders. Truly a perfect fit, as it always has been. He stretches and moans as he hears the leather squeak and groan from his movement. Finally he feels complete. Anxieties of a life now gone and a world far too complicated disappear as Harry sighs, releasing tension he didn’t even know he was carrying from his newly built shoulders.

Then his eyes open as Jonny struts over, barely able to throw an arm around his new brute. Harry smirks as nothing feels more correct than being at his boss’ right hand side. He speaks up, his slow plodding voice music to Jonny’s ears, “So uhhhh, what’re we gettin’ up to tuh-day boss?” 

Jonny pats the man on the back, “Doncha worry yer pretty little head ‘bout that Harry. Gotsa few ideas kickin’ around but first- as ever, I’m thinkin our gang could use some more members.” Harry’s heart pumps in his thicker chest at the idea. That sounds perfect. Guess that’s why Jonny’s the boss man!

[gabxarchival]

by Jake O’Donnell

[jakelandry]

Confidence Boost

“I-I-I don’t know,” Vince paused for a few seconds trying to finish his sentence, “Mr. Larson. I’ve never been very good at sports. It’s just that… It’s just that… I don’t know.” Vince’s head sunk to the ground.

“Nonsense my boy,” Coach Larson patted him on the back. The wind was practically knocked out of the freshman. “You’ll be perfect. Just gotta believe in yourself a little more. That’s all.” Coach Larson led Vince into the college locker room. “And it’s Coach Larson.”

“Oh,” Vince’s eyes shot back to the floor. “Right. Coach Larson. I’ll try.” Each syllable came out in short breaths. There was no way Vince felt like he was going to live up to Coach’s expectations.

Coach Larson gave a hearty laugh and another slap to the back. “Thata boy. It’s all I can ask for. Now go get changed into something more fitting.” Coach pointed Vince down to the changing room. An XL shirt and some flexible fabric shorts sat on a bench.

Vince picked them up and eyed them suspiciously. Honestly he didn’t even know how he got into the locker room. Last thing he remembered was walking out of the library carrying several psych books and then he was talking to Mr. Larson. “Coach.” He corrected himself.

Despite not wanting to do any of this Vince still found himself undressing in the locker room. He reached over and pulled the XL shirt over his head. “I look so stupid…” Vince muttered as the shirt draped over his shoulder. “There’s no way that Coach thought this was my size.”

As Vince stood staring at himself in the mirror he didn’t realize that his posture was changing. He was standing straighter instead of leaning forward. His shoulders pulled back as muscle started to build. He looked at himself confused. Something was different. He rubbed his hand against his chin. “Damn it,” he cursed, “I forgot to shave this morning. Whatever Jenny will like it.” Who was Jenny?

Oh that’s right it was the girl he fucked last night. He’d been through so many lately he forgot for a moment. But Jenny actually stuck around. “Yeah Jenny. She’s a real good fuck. Couldn’t get enough of this bod last night. Actually knows what a real man is.” Vince rubbed his hands underneath his shirt grabbing at his pecs. They kept growing; filling the top of the shirt giving him a wide v shape.

It didn’t take long before he was flexing in the mirror again; one of his favorite pastimes. His powerful arms, he’d gotten from wrestling, was his favorite part. He loved the large round tops whenever he flexed. However he wasn’t able to enjoy it for long as he heard a loud rip from one of the sleeves.

“Damn it Coach, I need double XL. Stop getting me such small clothes!” Vince shouted from the locker room.

Coach Larson stood at the door smiling to himself, “Alright bud. I’ll make sure to order it right next time.”

[bearforcecaptions]

I always wished I had a neighbor more like me. Living here felt like I was trapped behind glass — close enough to see everyone, but never quite part of it. Most people kept their distance. And the one person who didn’t? My neighbor across the street — a massive, musclebound military guy who stomped around in full gear like he was still on active duty. Always shouting into his phone, working out in the driveway. We had nothing in common. I barely even waved hello.

One night, feeling lonelier than usual, I muttered under my breath, "I just wish I had a neighbor more like me." I didn’t think anything of it. Just a passing thought. But the world must’ve been listening.

When I woke up, everything was wrong.

First thing I noticed was the weight of the dog tags clinking against my chest. I sat up, disoriented, and the bed creaked under my heavier frame. I looked down — I was wearing only a pair of tight black boxer briefs. And my body... Thick, heavy muscles bulged under my skin, veins tracing over biceps the size of softballs. My stomach was a carved six-pack, my legs like stone columns. Tattoos wrapped around my shoulders and arms — sharp black ink I didn’t remember getting.

I opened my mouth to shout, to ask what was happening — but instead, out came a calm, deep voice: "Situation normal. Good to go." I clamped my hand over my mouth, heart hammering against my ribs. This wasn’t right.

I stumbled out of bed — bare feet slapping the floor — and nearly tripped over a neatly stacked pile of folded camo fatigues. I rushed to the bathroom, gripping the doorframe like it might disappear.

The man staring back at me in the mirror was a stranger. Square-jawed, military haircut, a body like it was carved from granite. Hardened, disciplined. Unshakable. My hands — thick, calloused — shook slightly, but my face stayed stoic, calm, trained. I had to get help.

I yanked on a tight olive-green T-shirt, fatigues, and boots waiting by the door. Everything fit perfectly, like it had been tailored for this new, monstrous body. I bolted outside, desperate to find some scrap of normalcy.

That’s when I saw him. My neighbor. Standing by his truck, grinning wide, like we’d been friends for years.

"Mornin', brother!" he barked, striding over and clapping a heavy hand on my back. I tried to say something casual, anything — but my body snapped to attention, and I barked back, "Mornin', Sergeant! Outstanding day for PT!"

No. No no no. Inside, I was screaming. But on the surface, I was steady, confident, every word crisp like I’d practiced it my whole life.

We talked — about gear, training regimens, upcoming drills — and I just kept playing along, answering perfectly, even laughing when he cracked a joke about "those soft new recruits." At one point, I heard myself say, "Woke up at 0500 hours, got my warm-up set in before chow," — like it was the most natural thing in the world. 5 a.m., I corrected silently. Normal people say 5 a.m. But my mouth would never betray the facade.

"Come on, brother, we’re late for base," he barked, tossing a duffel into the truck. Without hesitation, I grabbed my own — somehow packed and ready — and climbed in.

The base was real. The ID around my neck scanned at the checkpoint. Guards waved me through. Nobody questioned it. We spent the day side-by-side, yelling commands, demonstrating lifts, pushing trembling recruits through brutal obstacle courses. And somehow, everything I needed to know was just there — drilled into me like muscle memory I never actually earned. Every command, every drill, every reprimand rolled off my tongue with perfect authority. And somewhere deep inside, the real me — the scared, confused version — shrank further and further down, screaming silently into the void.

That night, back in my strange, hyper-organized house, I tried to process it all. Photos covered the walls — snapshots of me and my neighbor on deployments, at competitions, at ceremonies. Awards lined the shelves. My inbox was full of congratulatory messages on recent promotions. My memories — my real ones — felt like faint shadows compared to the heavy, real weight of this new life.

The world believed this was who I'd always been. The world demanded I believe it too.

And no matter how much I panicked inside, no matter how much I begged for the old life back, my mouth only said, "Yes, sir." "Roger that." "Mission accomplished."

I guess my wish had come true. I wasn’t alone anymore. I had my best friend. My squad. My calling.

And deep down, under all the tattoos, the muscle, the discipline, the pride, the old me still existed. Still thrashing, still trying to surface.

But each day, that voice grew a little fainter. Each day, it got a little easier to lace up my boots, square my shoulders, and drive out to base. Adapt and overcome. That’s the mission now.

[growthhyp]

I love your stories dude! Do you think that you could turn me into a huge Viking warrior?

For a Thousand Bucks

I am preferring you to Jack, the owner of the garage sale. Hope you like it.

You approached the garage, and there he was, Jack, a man who looked like he could have been chiseled out of a block of granite. His biceps bulged under the sleeves of his t-shirt, which bore the logo of a local gym.

"What can I get for you today?" Jack boomed, his deep voice echoing through the clutter of the garage.

You looked around at the piles of old baseball cards, dusty electronics, and faded furniture. "Well, Jack," you began, feeling slightly ridiculous, "I'm a huge fan of Vikings. I know it's a long shot, but is there anything here that could, you know, take me back to their time and turn me into a warrior?"

Jack's eyes lit up with a glint of mischief. He reached behind a stack of comic books and pulled out a gleaming sword. "Ah," he said, "I think I've got just the thing."

The sword looked ancient, with intricate runes etched along its blade. It had a wooden handle wrapped in leather that looked worn from centuries of use. You couldn't believe your luck. "How much do you want for it?" you asked, your voice trembling with excitement.

Jack's smile grew wider, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. "It's a rare piece, my friend. For you, and only because I can see the passion in your eyes, I'll let it go for a thousand dollars."

The price didn't shock you. In fact, you had been saving for a bike that cost twice that amount. The allure of the sword, however, was something money couldn't buy. It was the gateway to your dreams. You reached into your pocket, pulled out the crisp bills, and handed them over to Jack without a second thought. "It's all yours," he said, his voice filled with a strange excitement. "Remember, you just need to wield it."

The moment the cash exchanged hands, a strange feeling washed over you. It was as if the very air grew thick with anticipation. You nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you took the sword in your hands. It felt surprisingly light, the balance perfect. As you turned to leave, Jack called out, "Good luck, young warrior!" His words lingered in your ears as you walked away, feeling the weight of destiny in your grip.

Once you were back in your apartment, you couldn't help but feel a little let down. You had just bought a sword that was supposed to transport you to the Viking era and turn you into a warrior, but all you had to show for it was a very expensive decoration. With a sigh, you decided to at least play the part. You took a swing, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh.

As you continued to swing the sword, the room grew dimmer around the edges. The modern furniture and appliances grew hazy, and you felt your legs wobble beneath you. Your eyes grew heavy, and with a final, hopeful grunt, you collapsed to the floor.

When you woke, you weren't in your apartment anymore. The concrete had turned to packed earth, and the walls had been replaced with wooden planks, chinked with a mixture of mud and straw to keep out the cold. The light was different too – softer, with a gentle warmth that suggested it came from a nearby fire rather than a light bulb. You sat up, bewildered, and looked down at your new attire. The tunic and robe felt rough against your skin, and the leather shoes on your feet were surprisingly comfortable.

You stepped outside into the bustling Viking village, and all eyes turned to you. The children giggled at your skinny frame, and the burly warriors cast you dubious glances. You felt the weight of your own disappointment pressing down on your shoulders. This wasn't the epic transformation you had dreamed of. You had wanted to be a mighty hero, not a weakling that could barely lift a shield.

But as you wandered the dirt paths, you overheard whispers of a legendary sword, one said to grant the strength of a thousand men to its wielder. Your heart raced. Could this be the answer to your prayers? You approached the village elder, a wise-looking man with a long white beard, and asked him about the sword. He leaned in close and spoke in hushed tones of the blade's resting place atop a nearby hill, buried in a stone pedestal. The villagers believed it to be a myth, a story to tell around the fire, but you knew better.

You set off on a quest to find the hill, your heart pounding with excitement. The journey was long and arduous, but with the thought of becoming the warrior you had always dreamed of, you pushed on. When you finally reached the hill, you saw the pedestal, a simple stone structure with a sword sticking out of it. You could feel the energy emanating from the weapon, calling out to you.

You approached with caution, unsure if it was a trap or a test of some sort. As you touched the handle, you felt a strange warmth spread through your body. The sword was heavy, much heavier than you had anticipated. You wrapped your skinny fingers around it and took a deep breath. The muscles in your arms quivered as you tried to pull it out. The sword didn't budge.

You took a step back, gritted your teeth, and tried again. This time, with a grunt that sounded more like a squeak, you managed to lift the sword an inch. The villagers had stopped their activities and were now watching you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. You ignored them, focusing all your energy on the task at hand. With a mighty heave, you managed to pull the blade halfway out. The effort made you stumble, but you regained your balance, your eyes never leaving the gleaming weapon.

Finally, with a roar that seemed to come from the depths of your soul, you yanked the sword free. The sound of metal scraping stone echoed through the quiet afternoon, followed by a sudden clap of thunder that seemed to come from the very sky itself. The crowd gasped as a bolt of lightning struck the sword, sending a shockwave through the ground and knocking you to your knees. The energy surged through the blade and into your body, setting your very being alight with a fiery power that was unlike anything you had ever felt.

Your body began to change before your eyes. Your chest swelled outwards, each muscle popping out like the cobblestones of the village streets. Your stomach tightened into a series of ridges, forming a six-pack that looked as if it had been carved by the gods themselves. Your shoulders grew broader, your biceps bulging to the point where they looked like they could crush rocks with a mere flex. The horseshoe shape of your triceps grew more pronounced, and your forearms thickened like the trunks of ancient oaks.

Your legs ballooned with power, the muscles stretching until they looked like they could snap a man in two with a single kick. Your calves grew round and powerful, each one a testament to the might of a true Viking warrior. Your neck thickened, and your jawline took on a new sharpness, giving you the fierce countenance of a chieftain. Your face grew more angular, your cheekbones becoming more prominent, your eyes now set in a face that was both handsome and terrifying.

The armor that materialized around your body was not just any armor. It was the armor of a Viking chieftain – ornate and gleaming, with intricate engravings that spoke of battles won and enemies vanquished. The metal felt like a second skin, molding perfectly to your new form. The helm that appeared on your head was adorned with the horns of a ram, giving you a commanding presence that was impossible to ignore.

You felt the weight of the armor and the power of the sword in your hand, and you knew that you were no longer the skinny college kid from the future. You were a Viking, born anew in the past. Your eyes searched the horizon, hungry for the battles you knew were to come. The villagers watched you in amazement as your transformation was complete, their whispers of doubt now replaced by gasps of awe.

[supfag-archives]

A GRUNT'S LIFE

[bigwishes]

I found this smelly old balaclava on the side of the road a week ago. Everyday I get tempted to put it on and wear it around... but it REEKS! And yet, I still for someone reason manage to keep it on for hours. But I've noticed I've been wearing it more and more, my clothes are starting to get pretty tight, and I think this balaclava's stink is rubbing off on me...

Magic artefacts come in all shapes and sizes, they are fairly simple to make but tend to have some consequences once lost, like the ones you've been experiencing.

You see its important that you know what an artefact does especially if you want to go and do something stupid like wear it all the time then you'll just have to learn the hard way.

You wake up in the morning, a potent bitter smell flooding your nose and the feeling of tight fabric rubbing up against and sticking to your face. The balaclava you had put on and forgotten to taken off was so slick with sweat it was sticking to your skin, but that wasn't all it was sitting more snug than you remember, you it had gotten smaller, or like it was been stretched further. You heaved yourself upright, sitting on the edge of your bed, not noticing how heavy your body had become. You sat there slowly itching your new giant meaty pecs.

With a groan you pushed yourself up of the bed and waddle in nothing but your tight briefs and balaclava down to your kitchen. With each step your massive tree trunk legs slammed together forcing you to widen your stance, your biceps dragged against your lats and bumped your pecs with each swing, making your widen your shoulders until you were awkwardly waddling down your hallway towards your kitchen.

Stumbling over to your kitchen sink you lean on the bench and stretch out into the sunlight. 6.6ft and 300lsb of muscle bathing in sunlight. You roll up the face mask, just enough to show your mouth. Flicking on the tap you lean down and begin loudly gulping the water down, using your hand to help push as much in as you can. Standing up in runs down your lips onto your giant muscled chest and down your chiselled abs, you roll your balaclava back down feeling the water seep into its already soaked fabric.

URRRRRRRPPPPP

You belted out an arrogant and potent belch, the smell trapped in the fabric wafting into your nose making you hard. Before long your kitchen was trashed as you tore through the cupboards like a wild bear with the faintest smell of food getting in a good feed for breakfast. You mindlessly fed your hulking roided up body.

walking into your lounge room you rubbed your dick through your briefs, belching and subtly flexing your sweaty body. scattered on your lounge room floor where green camo pants and a green army shirt along with combat boots. You picked it up off the floor smelling it, its extreme stench of sweat simply made you shrug your shoulders, to you it seemed perfectly fine. You looked ridiculous as you wriggled and manipulated your roided up frame to contort and put on the shirt, the pants were next only they were caught on your thick ass and bulge. Grunting like an animal you pulled it up over your big muscles ass and stuffed your bulge down as you zipped it up. The impossibly tight combat pants only made you hornier, sitting down on the edge of your couch it only got tighter. Your eyes rolling back as your hands now wrapped in combat gloves now jerked your dick through the layers of fabric. A few minutes later and a masculine grunt was all that left your mouth as your underwear suddenly became soaked in come.

Not even bothering to change your underwear or pants you pulled your combat boots close to your. They potent aura of stench assaulting your nose you slipped on the musky sweat stained socked that were resting inside before sealing your feet inside the hot military combat boots.

Standing up your cant help but start to sweat even worse than before, every inch of your skin covered in thick warm fabric sealing your body heat inside, and endless cycle, keeping you warm, making you sweat. The odour leaked out of every gap in the threading creating a toxic aura of B.O and musk.

Slowly you waddle forward towards your front door, a giant stinking beast hungry for war.

-------

"hey man how's...WOAH HOLY SHIT" the young bloke behind the counter almost collapses just from being within a few feet of you.

"dude just let the big guy in he's here every day and the sooner he gets outside the better it is for everyone" you hear his supervisor whisper to him

"eerr, here you go man" the young bloke hands you a small laminated pass, a paintball rifle and a glass jar of ammo pellets. "enjoy your game bro...err. we also sell deodorant if you wanna grab some after your game?"

You grab the rifle with your giant meaty hands and tilt your head. Only your eyes visible through the balaclava, you stare him down in the eyes and tilt your head.

UUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP

You let out a monstrous belch in place of a "fuck you" but its clear they get the message. Turned on by your own masculinity your semi turns into a ranging hard on and you make a show of adjusting your giant manhood through your pants before walking off out the gates.

-----

You see every magic artefact has its purpose, some people make things to become more powerful or impress people. This one just so happens to have been made for a hobby, to be a dominate beast on the paintball field and impress and intimidate with potent masculinity. This would be great for the occasional game or two on the weekend but since you've been wearing it non stop it seems you've turned yourself into nothing more than a giant sweating beast who's only purpose is to play soldier boy on the paint ball field.

So get out there and have some fun you disgusting beast.

[playotterplay]

[male-tf-control]

Calvin drank the bottle of Otter Punch about 20 minutes before his workout, just like the label said. Then, he started his workout the same as usual.

A couple minutes in, however, he started feeling kind of funny. I mean, good. Like, really good. Kind of, just happy, you know? He felt like a pup, like a cute, muscled, furry little otter pup, just ready to play and eager to please.

By the time he got back to the locker room, he’d gone full otter, and the transformation had turned out even cuter, even sexier than the one time he’d tried it before.

He gave his furry pits a deep sniff, rubbed his toned, sweaty body up and down, and even let his ass shake a little bit to the cute new pop song he suddenly realized he was listening to in his headphones. 

As he zipped up his gym bag, he saw the second bottle of Otter Punch he’d brought along peeking at him from underneath a bunched-up t-shirt. As tempting as it was, he decided to save it for another time.

[hairyjocktf]

Saltwater and Stubble

Preston was at his prime. He had just graduated from the Naval Academy at the top of his class, and he meant business. He was committed to a five year stint of active duty and he was excited for it, it’s what he’d signed up for after all. He donned his uniform for the first time since graduating and reported to the docks. He was met with a sea of fresh faces, all recruits his age. Some looked energized as he was and some looked like the life had been stolen from their eyes. He couldn’t care less. This was his moment, the time to put his education, his effort, his dedication to work. He looked into the distance at the massive ships lying in wait for them, for him. He felt alive.

The line of men slowly moved forward as new ensigns and seamen moved through and were given their assignment. He was getting antsy in line, the anticipation was getting to him. He could see the sweat stains beginning to show on the backs of the guys in front of him, and the air began to grow ripe with the stench of sweat. The sun was beating down on him for what felt like hours when he was finally called inside. He felt the sweat running down his back, but was eager to present himself at his best. With perfect posture he approached the desk.

“Name?”

“Preston Davis,” he responded sharply. A few moments of silence passed. He could see the clerk flipping through pages and pages of names, and he wondered why they hadn’t gone digital yet.

“Preston Davis, Ensign. You are assigned to the USS Nitze for a deployment of 8 months, effective immediately. Proceed to dock 7 for further instruction,” the clerk said in a familiarly monotone voice.

Preston nodded and departed out a new set of doors, and with that his new life was about to begin.

He boarded the ship with a few others with little ceremony. The other new seamen looked similar enough to him, young and in various levels of shape. They lined up on deck, the harsh sun beating down on them once again. After several minutes of sweating, a door opened and an absolutely massive man stepped out, ducking his head under the bulkhead. He walked towards the group, overshadowing them entirely. He was in full uniform but Preston could see it was holding on for dear life. The officer was built like no one he’d ever seen before, with bulging muscles clearly visible pressing out against his shirt and pants. As he stepped up in front of Preston he could see that his arms were covered in thick black hair, extending onto his hands too. The same black hairs were also curling up over his shirt collar, and from there a dark five o’clock shadow coated his neck and face, despite it only being eleven in the morning. He absolutely oozed masculinity, and even Preston felt intimidated after years of training in school. The officer finally spoke, his deep booming voice shaking the group’s bones.

“Alright you lot, welcome to the USS Nitze. This destroyer will be your home for the next eight months, so you’d better get to know her well. My name is Captain Driscoll, I am in charge of this ship. I hope you all are prepared to work and become a part of the Navy, because we’ll grind you down and rebuild you here.”

With that, he turned around and disappeared inside. Preston thought that last sentence was a little ominous, but if he could handle the academy he could handle anything here. From the same bulkhead, four new men appeared, and they were all just as jacked as the captain. Preston noticed that they too all had thick hair covering their arms, along with the same shadow on their faces. Two were adorned with thick mustaches, and one a short well trimmed beard. They barked at the group and divided them up by rank. One by one they took the newbies away, leaving just Preston and one of the men. He sized Preston up before speaking directly to him.

“You, what’s your name?” He had the same deep voice as the captain.

“Officer Davis, sir” Preston replied with gusto. 

“I’m Lieutenant Ridgelock, you’ll report to me from now on. I’ll have one of the officers in my command show you the layout here. We leave port at 0800 tomorrow, you’ll need to be ready for service then,” he said sternly.

“Yessir!”

The rest of the day was a blur. Ridgelock took Preston below deck and introduced him to another officer before vanishing. For some reason that officer also looked like he never left the gym, and his arms were covered in thick blonde hair. Preston couldn’t help but notice the pattern here, why was everyone on this boat built like a bodybuilder? He didn’t have time to wonder, as the other officer led him through a flurry of information while simultaneously getting Preston acquainted with the ship’s layout and schedule. He thought he’d been prepared for active duty but this was so much more than he’d expected. By lights out that night he collapsed into his bed, fully exhausted and slightly dreading the alarm in the morning.

He’d barely closed his eyes when the alarm sounded, his body on edge shooting up instantly. He had to get ready, fed, and start his duties before the ship started moving. Preston lugged his body out of his bed and towards the shower. Upon entering his jaw dropped. Yet again, every man in sight was a beefcake. Under every showerhead stood a man at least six foot, with enormous frames of muscle. Preston was shocked the drains weren’t clogged, as every single one was also a complete furball from head to toe. He didn’t even know you could have hair in some of those spots. He took a quick breath. They were just the same as him, in service on this ship. He hopped in under a vacant showerhead, trying not to look at the hulking men surrounding him too much. 

Preston’s first day on duty was marked by feigned confidence and slight delirium. He had so much to do at every moment and couldn’t lose focus, despite his lack of sleep. He should’ve been used to that, at least in theory, from his time in the academy. But this was real, he had to be on his A game. At a certain point the sight of extremely built men stopped surprising him. It must just be some workout routine they do on this ship, Preston thought, although the sight of muscled bodies stuffed into tight uniforms never got old. Initially it felt odd commanding these giants around but ranks are ranks, and he had his duties to fulfill. By the time lights out rolled around he didn’t even bother to completely change and prepare for bed, he just collapsed into his pillow, his body feeling a little more sore than usual.

Day after day passed, with Preston gradually getting used to his new position. The long hours and intense work kept him busy every waking moment, and just distracted enough to not spend too long in the mirror. He didn’t notice how his jawline began to square, or how his shoulders were just a little broader than they were the day before. He was too busy shouting orders to seamen to realize that his voice had dropped an octave, or that his uniform pulled just a little bit tighter. While he was showering one day he looked up and found himself at eye level with the other officers who’d once been towering giants to him. But there was no time to consider that, he had to be in position by 0700. 

Over time his already fit body truly began to fill out. The workouts added up. His shoulders broadened, traps and lats flaring up to give him a defined triangle shape. His stomach tightened as his abs grew larger. His chest, which had been fairly defined before, really took shape as his pecs pushed out into pillows of thick muscle. Every night Preston laid down on his bed with an aching soreness pervading his growing body. His legs grew longer and thicker by the day, his biceps inflated from their modest size, even his ass began to plump up from its flat state. The other officers, who had initially treated Preston coldly, slowly warmed up to him. They would welcome him in the mornings, slapping him on his newly muscled back and squeezing his deltoids that had popped up nearly overnight. The next week had his biceps, triceps, and forearms swelling, veins criss-crossing them as muscle emerged day by day. His back continued to widen, lats uncontained, traps exploding with size. Definition came to his legs as his quads took a whole week to develop, stretching his pant legs as they grew outwards. His hamstrings and calves grew in proportion as his feet slowly pressed against his regulation shoes. His uniform slowly grew tighter and tighter, letting him fit in with the crew filling the ship. Two months into his deployment, Preston finally looked at himself in the mirror again. He felt confident, he was an officer on this ship, he had authority, and he looked like it.

Despite that, Preston was on edge the whole day. They’d been told last minute of a change in location, requiring some overnight maneuvers through extremely treacherous seas. He spent the day going through protocol to make sure the ship, and its crew, were ready. Tying everything down and briefing seamen for some possible conditions on the other side took up the bulk of the daylight hours, and by sunset the surf had begun to pick up. He could feel the salt in the air as winds shifted and the vessel began speeding up. A strong gust nearly stole his hat, and with that Preston decided to head back below deck. As he took care of some more administrative duties he could feel the ship breaking through waves that slowly grew larger, and the occasional howl of wind from someone opening a door up top. Hours later he finally crawled into bed, the regular swaying of the ship rocking him into a deep slumber.

Preston’s eyes shot open to the sound of shouting. He could hear the sound of boots sprinting down the corridor, booming voices echoing off the metal walls. Stumbling out of bed, he threw on some clothes and was out the door in seconds. He followed the men running towards the stairs up to the deck, realizing what the problem was as their thunderous footsteps turned into splashes. Water was pouring in waves down from the bulkhead up top, wind howling through the opening, drowning out the shouts. The ship lurched as it hit a large wave, water cresting over the deck. Preston tried to make out what they were yelling up in front of him, but it was just too loud between the water, the wind, and every other seaman yelling to one another. He pushed past them and started climbing the stairs, gripping the handrail tightly as he scaled the slick steps. Just as he reached the top another massive wave slammed into the ship, sending a wall of water over the side and through the bulkhead directly at him. He was instantly soaked, the ice cold seawater chilling him to the bone. A foot of water sloshed around the deck, rapidly pouring inside and over Preston’s boots, submerging them in the frigid brine. His attention was snapped back to the present by a man outside screaming at him to get back from the door before he slammed it shut.

Unsure of what to make of the whole incident, Preston and the other men who’d gathered began to make their way back to their quarters, his soaked boots squelching against the floor. As soon as he returned to his quarters he stripped them off, seawater pouring out. The ice cold water combined with taking his clothes off left him shivering as he tried to reorder his space and clean up some of the pools of water left over. What a horrible few minutes that’d been, he thought as he hopped back into his bed, still slightly damp. Preston drifted back to sleep, exhaustion enough to overcome the dingy smell of sweat and seawater filling his room.

The alarm sounded much sooner than Preston had hoped for. After what had felt like five minutes of sleep, he forced himself out of bed to get ready for what would surely be a long day. His nose shriveled, the stench of the ocean seemingly having gotten worse overnight. The salty, fishy aroma was much stronger than if he was just out on deck. He’d have to deep clean his quarters later. With a deep breath he centered himself before heading to the showers. Preston grabbed the soap, eager to scrub the smell off him. He lathered his muscular upper body, struggling to reach most of his back with his bulky arms. Next up was his stomach, then ass, and then he bent over to get his legs. That was when he froze.

His feet were absolutely covered in thick, dark hairs. A large patch across the tops of both, with small tufts on each toe. Preston stared for a moment before trying to splash water in his eyes. Surely he was just delirious from the night before. But no, the hair remained. His already massive feet looked ridiculous with this much hair on them, and they’d been smooth the day before! He could hardly believe what he was seeing, feeling the coarse hairs and making sure nobody saw him doing so. The hot water cascaded over his back as he stood there hunched over, unsure of what to do. Can you shave your feet? He asked himself. Before he could continue that train of thought, he was interrupted by an itch on his ankle. 

Just above where the fur on his feet stopped, a new dark hair popped out of his skin. It pressed out, curling as it lengthened. It was quickly joined by another, and then more and more hairs followed, pushing out of his ankle, slowly moving up his calf. Preston was dumbfounded, staring with mouth agape as a forest emerged on his leg. The same itch appeared on his other leg moments later, and he visually confirmed that the same dark hairs were cropping up all over his lower legs. He was horrified; what kind of cruel joke was this? At least, that’s what his head was thinking. His body had a different reaction, with his formerly flaccid cock nearing full mast in response. Preston quickly glanced around to make sure no one could see him sporting a full erection, but the sensation of the hairs beginning to pop up across his thighs had him leaking precum in moments. The mat of hair grew denser as he watched, his defined quads disappearing in seconds beneath thick dark hairs that wove together. To his own horror, he was unable to keep himself from it any longer. He grabbed his stiff cock and began to stroke it, his other hand rubbing through the thickening pelt on his legs. In seconds he was overcome by the sensation, a moan escaping his lips as for a brief moment he could feel each individual shaft of hair breaking through his skin, bursting forth and tangling into the others in his developing masculine pelt. An instant later he was coating the wall in a massive load, waves of pleasure echoing through him.

As the high quickly wore off, the horror of his situation returned. Preston was disgusted with himself, with his body for betraying him like this. He looked down at his hairy legs with disdain, the thick fur plastered against his skin. At that moment he realized with a panic that he’d been in the shower for far too long, and quickly shut off the water. Dealing with his legs would have to wait, he was late for his duties. Luckily, he thought, his uniform hid the damage, and he could focus on his job for the remainder of the day.

The storm had long passed, and the day was sweltering outside. Preston was out on deck for most of it, ordering various seamen around and monitoring them. His white shirt was stained with sweat early on, clinging to his wide back as a translucent covering only. With how much multitasking he was handling, Preston nearly forgot about the incident that morning. His body, however, did not. Underneath his shirt, his massive pecs began to itch just a bit, unnoticed by the working man. In the center of his chest a few sparse hairs began to push out. They were softer, wispier than the hair on his legs, but still dark enough to stand out against his formerly smooth skin. The hairs grew in number, amassing in the valley between muscles before spreading over the globes. They grew upwards, spreading out along his collarbone, before shooting down over his chiseled abs, growing darker as they neared his waistband. His toned, muscular body was only accentuated by the more gentle dusting of hair, and the sensation of the strands rubbing against his tight shirt was subconsciously driving him wild.

After a brutally long day, Preston retired back to his quarters. He kicked off his boots that still stunk of seawater and flopped back onto his bed, sweat-soaked shirt cold against his back. The stench of salt and sweat still hung in the air of his cabin, a thick musky aroma that he couldn’t escape, and it continued emanating from his boots. The sea hadn’t had its last laugh yet though, and as the man laid there, the forest of hair that had climbed his legs that morning slowly began to resume its conquest. The dark tendrils of hair spread from his thighs to his groin, closing in on his small trimmed bush. Like a spark finding its tinder the growth ignited his bush, dark hair exploding outwards from the base of his cock. The hairs grew thicker, curlier, and denser than before, weaving together into an impenetrable jungle of sweaty, musky fur. Follicles pumped out hairs in overdrive, spreading farther out over his groin, burying any skin beneath an inch of coarse hair. The growth pushed upwards, over his waistband as his bush continued to flourish, wiry hairs extruding outwards longer and longer. While one front of hair was surging up towards his navel, another worked down south. His pubes wrapped around his cock, climbing slightly up the shaft before moving down to his balls. The sack was quickly buried beneath a forest as thick hairs pushed out and coated them thoroughly. 

Preston could feel his cock beginning to tent against his pants as the hairs spread, a strong itch beginning to join them. An itch which immediately brought his mind back to the shower, and the hair. In a panic, Preston quickly undid the buttons on his damp white shirt, pulling open the front to reveal the light layer of hair that had grown in earlier. He stared at his fuzzy pecs before looking further down at the enormous tuft of hair that was pushing up over his underwear waistband. His jaw dropped once again; his manicured bush had wildly overgrown, and as he stared at it he could see more hairs popping out of his stomach. The thin trail of hair that led from his groin to his chest was thickening, growing darker as more and more hairs pushed out. The hairs grew outwards, widening the trail until it claimed his entire stomach, abs vanishing beneath an increasingly dense rug. The center stood out as the thickest, a dark line of curly hairs tangling together as they grew up to his chest. 

His cock throbbed in his pants as he watched the patch of hair on his chest erupt into a thick mat, hairs spiraling out around his nipples. What were once light fluffy hairs darkened and thickened, changed by the sea and his own testosterone into coarse, wiry strands that grew and grew without sign of stopping. The valley between his pecs vanished from sight as a jungle filled it, hairs tangling together as they pushed out inch after inch. Swirls of hair emerged across his pecs before those patterns were lost to the jungle as well, the rug puffing out further and further from his skin. The hair continued to pioneer new frontiers as they sprouted across his collarbone and higher, inching towards his shoulders. Preston cautiously rubbed his hand through the fur on his chest, sending an involuntary moan echoing in his room as his cock created a stain through his underwear and pants. 

Preston’s nose shriveled as an even harsher scent began to fill the room. The aroma of thick BO, sweat, and salty brine was noxious, and yet had his cock harder than he’d even remembered it being. Lowering his nose towards his pit, he knew he’d found the cause. He stripped off his shirt and raised his arm up, exposing the damp recess of his musclebound armpit. The rug on his chest was spreading towards it, lone hairs cropping up as it neared the sparse cluster of hairs that had always been there. The sweat covered skin itched as a single hair shot out, thick and wiry. Another followed, and then another. As Preston watched, his pit blossomed with hundreds of hairs, dark and curly they tangled together into a solid mass, one that would forever stick out even when his arms were at his side. 

The growing hairs trapped more and more sweat and stench in his pits as the tuft grew ever denser, the thick hairs plastered to his skin as they crawled outwards from his pit, finally connecting to the coat across his chest. He could feel the itching in his other pit as well, with the same explosive growth taking place. The hairs were not satisfied with that, however, and continued popping up across his shoulders, thickening the coat that had started to grow there. His arms were not spared either, as his bulky biceps and triceps tingled as hairs cropped up across them, spreading down from his shoulders to his muscled forearms, where an incredibly thick forest rapidly sprouted. A smooth gradient of hair took shape from heavy at his elbows to near carpetlike at his wrists, with dark hairs pushing out across the backs of his hands too. His fingers grew slightly thicker as hairs pushed out of the backs of them. Preston hardly noticed this as both hands were buried in his pits, fingers stroking through the coarse hair that now filled them. The part of his mind that had been disgusted that morning was getting quieter and quieter as he relished in the growth taking over his body.

As the coating of hair across Preston’s shoulders and arms thickened, the growth began to spread down across his back. A slight itch heralded the coming tide of fur, with brown hairs breaking through the skin in waves. Lone hairs quickly became small patches which knit into larger swathes of hair as the fur surged down his spine. Thick hairs erupted continuously across the wide expanse of his massive lats before wrapping around his sides to connect back to his chest hair. Even his neck was getting covered with hair as the growth radiated out. Preston was quickly becoming encased in a dense coating of hair, any space of bare skin vanishing beneath the testosterone fueled jungle that had him teetering on pure ecstasy. 

As his back was completely devoured by the growing fur, his perky ass was getting fuzzy. His round cheeks pushed out a uniform layer of thick hair, only to fill in even denser moments later as new follicles came online, pushing out thicker, darker hairs between the old ones. His asshole itched strongly as the thickest, darkest hairs yet erupted from the sensitive skin around his hole. His crack was suddenly filled with its own forest of dark hair, pushing his cheeks apart as more and more fur sprouted. Preston couldn’t help but to reach a hand back there, pushing through the dense jungle until he found his hairy hole. A glob of precum erupted from his cock as he pushed a finger inside, testing the waters before three more went in. 

Preston had lost himself to the pleasure of his second puberty. One hand braving the jungle around his hole and the other combing through the bush surrounding his leaking cock. The stench of the ocean only grew stronger as his body produced more sweat, the sea claiming it as its own. He finally grabbed his cock, finding it thicker than he remembered, feeling the prickly hairs along the shaft. A moan escaped his mouth as he began to stroke it, precum pouring down over his hand. 

Meanwhile, his chest hair had begun to spread upwards, coating his neck a thick stubble as hairs emerged across his jaw. Preston’s breathing grew heavier as he jerked off, the stubble spreading across his face. The thin fuzz on his upper lip quickly darkened as thick mature hairs pushed out. His cheeks were covered in a dark shadow as hairs filled in, climbing up to just under his eyes as his sideburns connected up with his crew cut hair. His hand picked up the pace, stroking faster and faster as his cock slowly grew longer and thicker. The stubble pressed out, a thick coat of hair lengthening as his follicles endeavored to hide his babyface for good. Preston continued stroking his cock, precum lubricating it as more hairs poked out of the shaft. His upper lip was fully coated by a mustache as the rest of the hairs on his face continued growing, thickening and darkening into a truly masculine beard. 

His breathing grew more frantic, stroking motion speeding up as Preston’s body grew closer and closer to release. He could feel his already jacked body swelling as muscles grew larger, his cock following suit pushing out another inch and thickening even more. His beard continued to sprout, growing towards his chest as the seamless fur coat across his body lengthened in unison. He felt his balls contract as it was time, a rush of pleasure sweeping across his body as thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, splattering against the ceiling of his room. Another pulse had more cum shoot out, landing all over his newly hairy torso. Preston groaned loudly as one last blast of cum spewed from his cock, getting tangled in his new beard and coating part of his face and bed. 

Preston slowly stroked his cock as the last vestiges of his load dribbled out over his hand. He pulled his other out from his hole and felt the sticky mess he’d left in his chest hair. He was panting heavily as waves of pleasure echoed through his hirsute body, every follicle stimulating him as he wriggled on his bed. He gazed down at his new form in disbelief. He couldn’t understand what had happened that day, but the part of him that had been horrified was long gone.

He cleaned himself and his room up before heading to bed. The next morning he donned his uniform, white shirt contrasting with his dark body hair, and headed out to duty. Walking through the halls of the ship he passed by officers he’d remember being in awe of when first boarding the ship, but now they simply nodded their heads at him as they passed. Preston looked like them now, built like a tank and coated head to toe in a thick coat of hair. The ship and the sea had molded him like all the others aboard, and he couldn’t have been more satisfied with his deployment. 

Sorry for such a long wait, hope you all like this one! We're almost at 2,000 followers which is absolutely insane to me. If there's something you think I should do to celebrate that milestone let me know!

[bigwishes]

Forced Freak

Tyson was a uni drop out, nothing special about him other than his pretty face and dedication to his diet. He had no real hobbies and no real friends. The only reason people paid him any real attention was because of his body. However guys got pretty turned off after a one night stand with him when they'd wake up and Tyson would have written them critiques about how to improve their bodies and performance in the bedroom.

Tyson was the worst kind of gym bro, not because he had no real personality, but because he was an asshole with no real personality, in fact when he wasn't coming home from the gym, taking selfies in the mirror or scrolling on grinder for someone to bounce on his waist he spent a large portion of his time staring in the mirror admiring his own perfection.

"fuck yeah, I'm probably the hottest guy alive" he'd say as he rubbed his own crotch.

His arrogant attitude had essentially transformed him into a self obsessed autosexual, whilst he enjoyed sex and having a guy put in all the work whilst he laid back in pleasure he still preferred a night to himself and his mirror.

Tyson flexed his arm one last time, admiring the perfection before him before he turned off his alarm and got up to go to the gym.

"well, I'll see you when I get home handsome" he said winking at his own reflection and snapping his underwear band.

He threw on the folded red tank top and black gym shorts he had lying on his dresser, the ones he had steamed the night before. As he walked out the door he picked up his glass from his morning water and placed it neatly in the dishwasher before turning it on and leaving for the gym.

Upon arriving at the gym Tyson walked into the welcome area where he found 3 tall bodybuilders lined up at the key scanner. Tyson rolled his eyes and tried to avoid contact with them, he hated those freaks. The guys who willingly chose to inflate themselves with disgusting amounts of muscle. Who could barely fit in their cars and he huffed and sweat like bovine beasts when they got on the treadmill.

Tyson quickly got impatient and began tapping his foot as the 3 meatheads were holding up the line.

"are you beasts gonna scan in or am I just waiting here all day"

The three turned their heads to them almost in unison

"yoo you think we are beasts huhu" one flexed his enormous bicep that dwarfed Tyson's head

"hey Ty, what up lil dude. Wanna hit bench with us today? we we can help you grow that chest"

Tyson was disgusted at the thought of working out with the three of them and smelling their terrible stench or listening to them heaving for air.

"no thanks, its hard to improve upon perfection" Tyson said with a smirk

"aw come on dude, you can always improve and get bigger, you aint even close to your limit"

"and I dont want to be" Tyson said with a disgusted frown and one raised eyebrow

There was a loud ding and the three bodybuilders began waddling and shuffling their way through the electronic gate into the gym, having to turn sideways slightly to get their hulking frames in the turn gate.

"This is what I mean" laughed Tyson

"haha, can't blame us for being absolute units man"

"But doesn't it annoy the fuck out of you being like that?"

"no way bro, being this big is fucking awesome"

the three bodybuilders all began laughing and flexing

"I'm sorry I really dont see how turning myself into a...freak would be awesome"

There was a dead silence as the three bodybuilders stopped laughing and turned to him.

"that's a bit of a harsh word bro"

"yeah man don't diss the hobby coz you aint into it"

Tyson smirked flicking as he polished his fitness watch with the edge of his jumper "dude I dont think anyone is into it"

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean"

"umm being so big you have no style because you cant fit into anything, constantly covered in sweat marks, you reek after just a few minutes of exercise, you gulp down water like an elephant who hasn't drunk in a year, can barely fit in your cars and take up so much space, plus I like when guys find me attractive and aren't grossed out by my monstrous body" Tyson turned his back placing his gym bag in the locker completely unaware that the three men he had just insulted looked so red their heads could pop with anger.

"I'LL LET YOU KNOW MY HUSBAND LOOOOVVVEEESSS MY SIZE" the bodybuilder in the middle yelled through his teeth

"whoooaa jayce" the two others said in unison as they grabbed him by the chest and stopped him taking a step forward

"don't shoot the messenger buddy but Im pretty sure your husband wouldn't be disappointed if you lost 30-40lsb of muscle, pretty sure he'd enjoy date night without sitting across from a behemoth stuffing himself so full of protein like a slob"

Jayce threw his arms up in the air and pushed his two friends off of him turning around and walking away.

Tyson ignored the interaction implying pulling his towel and drink bottle out of his gym bag.

"You know what you need Ty..."

"and what's that Mark?" Tyson tiredly asked rolling his eyes

"A real good bulk, make ya real big, that'll change your mind" Mark smirked looking at his friend who was smiling back.

"whatever" Tyson groaned as he walked off into the gym.

---

A few hours had passed and Tyson was in the changing room admiring himself after his workout. It was enough to pump him to that perfect spot where he looked just slightly bigger and was a little sore, but not enough to make him sweat or stimulate the sort of growth a lot of gym guys were after.

Tyson flexed one bicep and ran his other hand down his thigh feeling himself get hard.

"Oh yeah handsome, just wait till I get you in my bed" He smirked at his own reflection.

Just then he heard the sound to the changing rooms open, his hand quickly shot up from his thigh, not wanting anyone to see his moment of lust.

He watched in the mirror as Jayce rounded the corner, his massive and wide shoulders causing him to bump into subway tiled wall. A massive smile lit up on Jayce's face as he saw Tyson standing there.

"Yep" Jayce yelled out

Dylan quickly followed behind and began walking towards Tyson, not that he thought much of it.

"Grab his left Dylan?"

"No worried Jayce"

Tyson was shocked as the two hulking bodybuilders suddenly grabbed hold of his arms and used what felt like all of their strength to sandwich him between them.

"h-HEY WHAT THE FUCK GET OFF" Tyson struggled and squirmed to get out of there grip but it felt like he was being pressed between two stone walls, he was unable to do anything other than pathetically kick his legs.

Just then Tyson heard the door to the changing rooms lock as Mark rounded the corner.

"Mark!, tell your fucking boys to let me go!"

The three bodybuilder's laughed as Mark walked closer holding a strange metal container in his hand that resembled a protein shaker.

"Hey lil dude" Said Mark with a big smirk across his face

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THREE WANT" Tyson snapped.

"to prove you wrong man" Jayce whispered

'w-what" Tyson continued to flounder and squirm to no avail

"you said being a bodybuilder sucked, well we are gonna prove you wrong" Dylan smirked tightly squeezing Tyson's arms

"h-how, Im not gonna start bodybuilding because you three threaten me"

"oh there is no threat bud, we have got something we want to try but dont know about the side effects wanna test it"

"ARE YOU GONNA JAB MY ASS FULL OF ROIDS" Tyson squeaked pathetically

"no dude, of course not" Said Mark

"we already know the side effects to roids" laughed Jayce

Mark grabbed onto Tyson's perfect hair and forcefully pulled his head back, Tyson couldn't see but he felt Jayce wrap his giant muscular arm around his pinning his between Jayce's bulky bicep and forearm and grabbing his cheeks forcing his jaw open.

"bottoms up pretty boy" Mark said as he flicked the cap off the contained with his thumb and shoved the mouth piece into Tyson's mouth.

"MMMMM -MMMM -MMMMMMM!!!!!!" Tyson tried to yell but his mouth was full of a strange thick liquid.

Mark dropped the contained and grabbed Tyson's nose still forcing the container to his lips

"gotta drink if you wanna breathe buddy"

Tyson couldn't hold it any longer

GULP...GULP...GULP.....GULP

Tyson sucked down what was in his mouth and what continued to pour from the container, when the last drop was drunk and all he could taste was air the three bodybuilders all let go in unison and Tyson dropped to the ground gasping for air.

"How long does it take to work Mark?"

"errr container says a few minutes for a start and a week for full effects"

Tyson couldn't concentrate on what the three were talking about, his body began to feel like it was being super heated, like his muscles and bones were being fried into pudy.

Tyson's hand began to tremble, as he looked at it pressed against the cold tiled floor he noticed his thumb enlarging, getting longer and thicker, it spread to all his fingers and his hand, at first he thought it was an allergic reaction but it wasn't puffy or fat, it was hard solid and defined, like all the muscles in his hands were suddenly expanding, he watched as his handed swelled up to the size of dinner plates as veins in his arms and forearms pumped in sync with his heart beat.

His forearms stared growing outwards and he felt his already tight and pumped biceps ache as they swelled even bigger. Seeing his reflection in the mirror he looked like a bad art project as different parts of his body were swelling with size and different times, his shoulders got wider as his calves got bigger, his pecs inflated as his feet grew out of his shoes, his abs bloated into a semi roid gut as his quads quickly filled with blood, and his ass pumped up into a big meaty globe as his traps crept up his back swallowing his necks.

after just a few minutes the three bodybuilders were stunned looking down at the sweaty bulky mess that was Tyson on the floor of the changing room.

Tyson had watched the whole thing in the mirror but still he couldn't recognise himself, what had happened, what they did to him.

He looked like one of them, a bodybuilder.

"w-what did you do to me" Tyson moaned, out of breath and out of energy

"damn, he got huge so quick, and he still has a week to go?"

"please, no, no bigger, turn me back"

the three bodybuilders began to have a conversation around Tyson like he wasn't even there as he tried to pick himself up off the floor. A few minutes passed and Tyson finally stood up. He felt uncomfortable, muscles he didn't even know where near each other rubbed up against each other like every aspect of his body was fighting for space.

Tyson looked at himself horrified in the mirror at the big bulky freak he had become.

"oh fuck..m..my perfect body" he turned to the three men behind him "please, please you gotta turn me back"

"you still got a week of growin left bud" Mark replied

"PLEASE I CAN'T GET BIGGER"

Jayce smirked trying to contain his laughter

"Look dude, we said we were gonna show you how being a bodybuilder is awesome, let it go for a week and we'll check back in and if you still hate it, we'll turn you back"

Tyson turned back to his reflection and flexed, freaked out by his bicep being larger than his own head.

"see, its already awesome, see you later dude"

The three bodybuilders started walking out of the changing room

"no WAIT!!"

Tyson ran over to his bag feeling the weight of his new body with every step and feeling his hard muscles bounce. He leant over and swung his bag over his shoulder. He watched as the door closed behind the three and he ran to catch up. Every step was a chore, it was like an entire workout for just one leg to hold up the weight of his new massive body.

By the time he reached the door Tyson doubled over gasping for air, he placed his giant meaty hand on the wall and slid down the the floor, he had only run a few feet but it felt like he had just done and three hours of cardio without a break, he felt the sweat running down his back and struggled to come up with a reason anyone would want to be this big, why guys would dedicate their lives to become titans.

it took 15 minutes, for Tyson to catch his breath and stand up again and by the time that happened the three he was after were already gone, he walked through the gym defeated hoping nobody would recognise him. He made it to the turn gate and as he went to go through he felt a hard pressing against his shoulders. Not at all used to his new size Tyson hadn't adjusted the angle that he approached the gate and found himself stuck between the two steel bars. Tyson pushed with his back leg but didn't realise the power behind his colossal quads as he easily pushed himself out but he couldn't stop the moment and he came tumbling forward face first onto the floor in front and multiple gym attendants.

"woah, you okay big guy" one of them asked,

Tyson looked up and saw the other two doing their best not to laugh.

"yeah I'm fine!" Tyson tried to get up as fast as he could but the sheer weight of his frame meant it was an awkward step by step process that took almost a whole minute.

Tyson quickly raced out the doors as fast as his could but once again misjudged his giant muscles and his two shoulders slammed into the automatic doors not realising they weren't wide enough for him. A loud bang rang out and Tyson looked back as the glass automatic doors wobbled and shook, and ounce more pressure and they would have surely crashed down around him.

Tyson waddled through the car park desperate to get to his car. Swinging open the door he quickly realised why he had never seen a bodybuilder in a sleek sports car, he didn't fit, just one leg stepped in and there wasn't any more room for him to squeeze in. He tried everything, moving the seat back, moving the wheel up, but still he didn't fit. After about 10 minutes of doing everything he could think of to get in he just decided to force his way in.

Sliding into the car he felt cramped, and when he closed the driver's door it bounced off his arm and swung back open denting the car next to him. Tyson tried again leaning all the way into his car and shutting the door. It shut but as he sat back up he found himself on an awkward angle to the wheel, he tried to adjust himself to roll down the window so he could stick his arm out and get more space but as he placed his arm down on the leather seat to push his own body out the way he heard a loud tearing. His clothes didn't feel loser and he couldn't see what had torn but it sounded bad...

When Tyson arrived home he squeezed himself out of his car, it felt like being freed from a sardine can but as he turned around to shut his door he had found the source of the tearing noise from earlier, in the centre of the seat, directly under where he was, was now a large split right down the leather, seats that cost over a thousand dollars to fix split apart like paper, and that wasn't the worst of it, he looked at the lower back of the seat to see how the leather had warped and swollen from the amount of sweat that had been pressed against it.

"AW MAN" Tyson moaned slammed his car door, not realising the force his arms were able to put behind it and as the door lodged into place his hand carried the momentum behind it straight into the metal of the car leaving a large dent from his palm.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME"

Tyson stormed over to his front door just wanting the day to end. He pulled up his keys to the front door and fumbled for a few minutes as he struggled to sort though them with his massive meaty fingers, finally he got in the door and shut it behind him as gently as he could which still resulted in a slam.

His stomach let out a loud groan, he had never felt so hungry so sudden in his life, Tyson tried to walk to the kitchen but realised it was more of a waddle has his massive muscular thighs slammed into each other. Arriving in front of his fridge he opened it up and grabbed one of his already made meals out and placed it in the microwave to heat up. He watched in spinning round and heard his stomach grumble as the 2 minutes felt like an entirety. Finally he heard the beep and opened up the microwave to devour his meal. What normally would have left him feeling full for hours didn't even make a dent in his hunger. Tyson opened up his fridge and moved on to his next meal without even heating it up, then another, then a protein shake to wash it down, then another meal and a couple apples, along with a banana or two, and of course he had to pull some of the muffins out of the freezer to defrost to have a bit later.

Tyson sat on his couch, feeling groggy and finally full. He looked around him, plates, protein shakers, wrappers and plastic containers were spread out all over his lounge room from the floor to the coffee table. He felt so heavy he didn't want to get up, he just wanted to pass out on his couch and go to sleep. As his eyes began to drift close...

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

The loudest belch he had ever heard forced him to jolt awake.

"aw fuc-uuuuUUURRPPP, this place is a mess"

Tyson finally realised he had trashed his lounge room in his feeding frenzy, he got up to try and clean but he didn't get very far. His body was so massive it was hard to move between his furniture and it was hard for him to constantly bend down to pick stuff up. On his second trip back from the kitchen to clean the last of the mess he finally noticed where he had been sitting, and the enormous sweat patch pressed into the fabric.

He pulled his tight tank top out from his body realising it looked like he had never washed it in his life.

"god, I need a fucking shower"

He made his way down the hall to the bathroom where he was shocked by his own reflection. He knew he had been turned into a hulking behemoth but, he looked like a completely different person now. His tank top was tight and clung to his body as his pecs hung out the sides. It was covered in sweat patches and strains from spilt protein shakes and food. His face was covered in a coat of sweat and his hair was oiler than he'd ever seen before. Tyson's gut churned as he let out another belch. He suddenly felt a tightness in his pants and he got hard.

"what the fuck..."

Tyson lifted up one arm to flex his bicep, he watched the sweat running down from his pits to his lats, he swallowed a quick gulp of air expecting maybe a small burp but was greeted with a massive room shaking belch. Tyson couldn't help it, he got rock solid staring at his sweaty body and hearing his own manly belching.

He worked his hand down awkwardly to his dick and started to pleasure himself.

He couldn't work it out, he missed his perfect body, he missed his old self, he was grossed out by being such a freak but god he was too horny to not please himself.

Right before his big moment he felt a wave of heat surge out into his body, his clothes felt tighter and suddenly the left strap of his tank top snapped as his shoulder, pec and arm practically doubled in size.

"AAH NO, NO NOT AGAIN"

Tyson watched as his dirty tank was torn to shreds by his growing body. His shorts felt tighter and tighter, soon he felt the sound of ripping fabric. As he turned to the side to inspect his growing legs he saw as his muscled ass split his pants in the back and the fabric quickly tore through making his shorts look like a bad loin clothe prop from a Halloween costume.

"OH FUCK NO, STOP, STOP AHHHH"

Tyson could only watch as his body continued to rapidly grow in the mirror...

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

3 weeks later

Tyson leant back on the workout bench groaning and gasping for air. It was the most he had ever lifted, not that he wanted to get bigger but it was the only thing he could do with his day at this point.

He heard the noise of 3 guys cheering as Mark, Jayce and Dyaln approached him.

"HEY BIG MAN" Said Mark

"oh great, what do you guys want"

"relax big guy, just wanted to bring you a snack" Dylan laughed as he pulled out a paper bag of drive through crispy chicken and handed it to Tyson.

"Dont forget to wash it down" said Jayce handing him a protein shake

Tyson didn't have the will power to hold back, his new muscle and size burnt so much fuel from simple existing he was practically starving constantly. He immediately reached into the bag and started eating as much as he could as fast as he could, washing it down with a swig of the protein shake, only taking breaks to gasp for air.

A river of chocolate protein ran down his cheek and dripped onto his XXXL tank top, which looked more like a medium crop top on him.

A young handsome gym attendant walked over to the group with a smile on his face.

"hey guys, just a reminder, you can't eat like that in here save it for outside okay" He smiled as he looked straight into Tyson's eyes.

Tyson's mind was racing, this guy was the most handsome guy he had ever seen in his life, we wanted to apologise for being such a slob, hell, he wanted to ask the guy on a date.

Tyson rubbed the crumbs and protein from his mouth away with the back of his hand and opened his mouth. Immediately he gritted his teeth and almost by instinct at this point cocked the side of his mouth open.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPP!!

Tyson couldn't help but belch and burp as he struggled to get a word out.

"bro..that's nasty" the gym attendant laughed as he walked away.

Mark, Jayce and Dylan all erupted with laughter.

"DUUUUUUDDEEEE" yelled Dylan

"You aren't gonna get a date like that dude I tell you that" laughed Jayce

"They probably wouldn't date him even if he didn't burp every couple of minutes, I mean who wants to date a bodybuilder freak right guys" Mark laughed as he rubbed Tyson's shoulders

"Yeah, you're right Mark, nobody wants a freak like Tyson" Dylan chuckled.

Tyson couldn't control it, the sound of their laughter, the way the three called him a freak and a slob. His dick got hard and he felt as a mixture of pre and cum leaked into his underwear.

They were never going to change him back, he was going to be stuck as this good for nothing muscle pig, forever....

he threw himself back down on the bench..

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP

[bigwishes]

6k Celebration

I know its a bit late I've been very busy the past few weeks however I wanted to just do something small to celebrate hitting 6k followers! its a very big milestone and I appreciate everyone who has hit the follow button, so I currently have another big story in the works but will be pausing it for a little bit for this quick game.

RECYCLED WISHES

Hello ladz, I seem to have run into a small problem. Three guys have made wishes but have changed their minds last minute and want to get out of what they asked for. The magic hasn't taken hold yet but its also too late to reverse anything, Instead I can get them out of their wishes by simply swapping them with one of you.

But where is the fun in just telling you all the details? where is the risk? where is the reward? no, I think instead I'll just introduce you to the bodies on offer and you can all call dips.

---- NOTE: please send in an ASK not a dm for this game, there are only 3 options so it is first come first serve. Anons will be ignored.

----

Option 1: Kaleb

Option 2: Dylan

Option 3: Mike

[bigwishes]

Dylan looks delicious! I’d love to call dibs!

Of course, and with the blink of an eye you find yourself as Dylan taking a mirror selfie.

"HOW GREAT" you think to yourself, a big muscled stud with a great bulge, surely his wish will make you even better looking, even bigger, even greater.

You suddenly feel as your new 7inch member twitches and comes to life, bouncing almost like it was pleasuring itself. An incredible sensation washes out from your pelvis making you feel lighter than air and you watch as your new dick grows, 8 inches, 9inches, 10inches, with each surge of pleasure you watch as it gets bigger, thicker until it can barely hold its own weight. You swear this thing hangs down to you knee. You let out a moan as it unloads the biggest load you've ever seen all over the floor of your new bathroom, and again and again.

You watch as it doesn't end, a constant wave of pleasure washing over you and releasing. You are so over taken that you have to sit down on the edge of the bath. It is so powerful almost too much, but you couldn't stop it even if you tried. You fall back into the bathtub moaning feeling your muscles as your body autopilots. As you rub your muscles you feel them, become fuller, more plump. Almost soft.

You are too engrossed in pleasure to even realise what is happening to you.

FWOOOMP***

You feel the space in the bathtub become tighter, but you are in too much pleasure to notice what has become of you.

Grown into a big beefy bear, you can hardly even stand up. You are constantly trapped in permanent never ending pleasure as your dick continues to squirt load after load endlessly.

Before you made the swap Dylan had spent the past 16 days in a row working 12 hour shifts, he just wanted a break and made a simple wish "To get bigger and experience incredible joy and pleasure", once he figured out what was going to happen to him he wanted out, but I'm sure you'll be fine in his place.

[bigwishes]

LIKE OR REBLOG IF YOU WANT TO TURN INTO A SWEATY, BELCHING BODYBUILDER OVERNIGHT!