Bro one of my frat brothers came back from a trip and he seems different. His skin is darker, he has a beard, and I think I heard him speaking Arabic. I heard him on the phone saying something like “the change will happen soon”. I’m kind of worried
...
"I don't know who you are, dude. How did you even get this number?"
*hangs up*
...
It had been a week since that phone call, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Jake. He had always been a bit of a wild card, but this was different. How could he have changed so much in such a short amount of time? At the start, you thought maybe he'd just got a tan or something, but the beard was harder to explain. There's no way someone like him could have grown that beard in just two weeks without some kind of help. And the Arabic? That was just bizarre. You had never heard him speak anything other than English before. No way a big idiot like him could have learned a new language that quickly.
Though he was still your bro, right? You had to believe that. You really had to.
You tried to talk to him about it, but he just brushed it off and said he was fine. Same old Jake, just with a new look. You couldn't help but feel like there was something more going on, though. He seemed more serious, more focused. He spent more time grooming himself and hitting the gym alone instead of hanging out with the guys.
Life went on like usual. Every day, you'd wake up, eat your favourite cereals for breakfast, and head to class with some of your frat brothers. You'd go to the gym together, grab lunch together, and then hit up the local bar for some drinks at night. But Jake was always doing his own thing. He'd skip out on group activities and spend more time alone. You couldn't help but feel like he was hiding something from all of you...
It was about a week or two later when you felt something. You woke up one morning and your head was pounding. You looked in the mirror. Same old you, but you kinda felt weird. Maybe it was just a hangover from the night before? Whatever, you thought. Time to get up and eat some breakfast.
You entered the common kitchen and saw Jake sitting at the table. He didn't even look up at you. He just stared at his phone, scrolling through something. Grabbing the milk inside the fridge, you poured yourself a bowl of cereal and sat down across from him. Every time you grabbed a spoonful of cereal, you couldn't help but notice how he was staring at you. Really unsettling... but that was basically it. Your head felt much better after eating though, so you just tried to ignore it. After that interaction, you went about your day as usual, though you felt a bit weird...
You hit the gym with Mike and Ryan like usual. The weights felt good - lighter than normal, actually. The rest of the day was normal, you went to class, hung out with the guys, and then hit up the bar at night.
...
That night you woke up twice with a raging hard-on.
Not able to ignore it, you grabbed your phone in the dark, loaded up your usual porn - the kind you always jerked to in secret - and started stroking... but nothing. Your cock stayed rock hard, leaking all over your fist, but the video kinda felt boring. You went back to your feed, scrolling through more and more porn until you found something that caught your eye: a little twink being fucked by 2 guys at the same time. Usually you weren't that into twinks, but something about this video made you curious. You clicked play.
The twink's ass was so tight, you could almost feel his heat through your phone screen. Your eyes widened as you watched a thick cock slide in and out of his ass, stretching it to its limit. You couldn't help but think about how good it would feel to be inside that tight little hole. It made your own dick throb harder than ever, until you eventually came. Very weird... You'd never been into twinks before, but you were too tired to think about it and fell back to sleep...
The next morning the headache was back, and worse. You stumbled straight to the kitchen, grabbed the first thing you saw in the fridge to quench your thirst (some milk), and poured yourself a huge glass. Chugged it in four gulps. Relief washed over you so fast you actually moaned a little bit.
"Fuck... that's better..."
Jake was at the table again, scrolling on his phone. He glanced up this time, eyes flicking over you with that same unsettling smirk.
"Morning, bro. Enjoying the milk?"
"Very funny dude... my head's hurting like hell... I just need to hydrate", you replied taking another sip of milk. Your headache had subsided enough that you could think clearly again.
The rest of the week felt almost normal. Classes, gym, meals, hanging out with the bros - everything rolled on like usual. Jake kept doing his own thing, but you stopped pressing him about it. Whatever. Bros change sometimes.
The only things that weren't normal were the headaches and the constant need to jerk off.
Every single morning the pounding was there the second you woke up, like your skull was trying to split open. You'd drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face, and the pressure would ease a little once you got moving. By evening it would start creeping back, but you powered through.
The horniness was worse though. Way worse. You'd be in class, trying to focus on the lecture, but your cock would be throbbing in your pants, leaking pre-cum onto your thighs. It was like you'd hit puberty again and couldn't control it. You jerked off four, sometimes five times a day, each time taking more than before to reach climax.
You also started noticing other weird things around the frat...
Mike had always been the big jock of the house, but lately he looked extra pumped after every workout. You started questioning if he'd hopped on gear or something, though it was probably just your imagination. He looked bigger, stronger, manlier. You could even tell he'd started letting his facial hair grow in, even though he always shaved every single morning. And the sweat... fuck, he was always drenched in it now, pits smelling nastier and thicker than ever before, like pure raw musk. He did look hot as fuck though.
Then there was Ryan...
Ryan, Ryan, Ryan... the frat's charming party bro. He used to be the frat's resident stud, always hitting on girls at parties and making sure everyone knew his name. But lately he seemed different. He'd been showing up late for nights out, sometimes not even bothering to show up at all so he could go lift at the gym alone. His skin had this warm glow lately, and he seemed so fuckin' different - way more jacked than before - even though it was clearly still him. You didn't know he could grow a beard like that, let alone that he had chest hair now. All of it was so damn confusing.
Finally there was Tyler...
Tyler was one of the smartest guys in the frat, always acing his classes and doing well on exams despite looking like a bodybuilder. But lately you couldn't help but notice he'd been acting a little different too, like his mind had been completely blown by something. Usually you could find him either buried in his books or at the gym working out, but now he'd just slouch around the house shirtless, watching braindead TV like a total idiot for hours. You didn't know he was that fucking hairy under his shirt. The guy used to be a straight-A nerd and now he just looked like a lazy, hairy, half-naked slob zoning out on the couch. It was all very fucking strange... and for some reason you kept catching yourself staring at his chest way longer than you should.
It wasn't just them either. Pretty much all the other guys in the house had been acting a little different too. The vibe around the place was changing. Some guys seemed more aggressive than usual, like they were itching for a fight. Others were more withdrawn, like they were lost in their own heads. It just felt off, and you didn't know why, but you knew it had to be connected to Jake and his trip somehow. You just couldn't figure out how...
Until four nights later.
It was 2 AM. The headache slammed you awake like a fucking hammer to the skull, your cock already half-hard and leaking into your boxers. You crept downstairs in the dark, desperate for something to take the edge off. A faint light glowed from the kitchen.
Jake was standing in front of the fridge in nothing but shorts. You looked down and saw his hand grabbing the milk jug. On his other hand though, you could see something huge... You could see it... it was... his cock! His shorts were shoved down, his fat brown cock out and leaking. You watched, frozen in the doorway, as he stroked himself slowly, grunting low, and then blew a thick rope of cum straight into the jug.
"Jake... what the fuck?" you whispered.
He turned, not even surprised. A cocky grin spread across his face. His body looked huge under the fridge light - deep bronze skin, heavy pecs covered in dark hair, full beard framing his jaw, cock still dripping. It's like he'd doubled in size since he'd got back from the trip.
"About time you saw habibi."
His voice had a thick accent you'd never noticed before.
"Been doing this every night since I got back. Nasl Sheikh straight from the source.... You've all been getting a little taste for two weeks now."
Your stomach dropped. "What did you do to them?" you demanded, stepping closer even though your head was still pounding. "Mike, Ryan, Tyler... All the guys are acting weird. What the fuck did you do?"
Jake laughed, deep and easy. He set the jug down and looked you dead in the eye.
"You've all been drinking my milk every day for two weeks. Cereal. Shakes. Coffee. What do you not understand bitch?"
"That's not p-possible. Turn them back-"
Your voice died as Jake reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his dark brown stare.
Your skin had this warm bronze glow now - not the pale white you were used to seeing. Your chest looked fuller, hairier. Your hair seemed darker, messier. You hadn't noticed any of it. Not really. The headaches, the endless jerking off, the way everything felt... off. You'd been too busy watching the other guys to notice the changes in yourself. But now you could see it. You were changing too. You were becoming one of them.
"The nasl is already in you too" Jake said softly, stepping closer so his musky scent washed over you.
"That's why the headaches every morning. That's why your old fag porn doesn't work as well any more. You think I didn't know you liked men? You were always a little different, a little weaker than the rest of us. Most boys around here fooled around a bit. But you? It was so obvious. That soft white-boy brain of yours is melting nice and slow too. Gonna make you a real man. A straight breeder. Just like you should have been from the start."
Your heart hammered. You wanted to argue, but your cock was throbbing harder than ever, leaking down your thigh.
Jake poured you a full glass from the jug.
"Drink."
You stared at the thick white liquid for a long second. Then you took it. Drank it down in one greedy go and...
Better. You felt so much better already.
The thick, salty-creamy liquid slid down your throat and settled heavy in your gut like it belonged there. Your skin started tingling hard, your muscles felt warm and swollen, and your cock - already half-hard - surged to full mast, throbbing painfully against your boxers and leaking like a faucet.
"Fuck..."
Jake grinned wide, that smug look never leaving his face.
"Good. You will be my wingman from now on, brother. You want to be a REAL man after all, don't you?"
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. You wanted to say no, to refuse, to fight back, but you couldn't. Your mind was too focused on the aching pain coming from your boner. You needed to unload fast.
"Keep drinking my seed every day and you'll be a REAL man in no time. Strong. Dumb. Ready to breed. Make sure the other bros drink their fill too." He gave your aching bulge a light tap. "Now go take care of that. You're dismissed."
You didn't answer. You just turned around and stumbled back upstairs with your legs shaking. You barely made it to your room before you ripped your boxers down and started furiously jerking your cock. A video with a twink was still open on your phone. You went right back to it, stroking hard, imagining sliding into that tight hole and breeding it deep. It still worked... but something felt different now. Your brain kept twisting the fantasy. What if that tight little hole wasn't an ass? What if it was a pussy? Wet, warm, gripping you different. The thought made your dick throb so hard it hurt.
You switched tabs fast, searching for "twink with pussy" and suddenly you were watching trans male porn - boys with tight little pussies getting fucked. It felt wrong... but your hand wouldn't stop moving. You pictured yourself pounding one of them, stretching that pussy wide, flooding it until cum leaked out. You came so hard you saw stars, thick ropes painting your abs while you moaned like a bitch in heat.
...
The rest of your week turned into a slow, sweaty, horny haze.
Your stubble came in thicker and darker every morning, no matter how many times you shaved. At the gym your shirts felt tighter across the chest, your arms and thighs filling out faster than they ever had. Sweat poured off you in buckets, and your pits smelled horribly, the same nasty musk the other guys were starting to carry. Your cock felt heavier in your hand every time you jerked off - each time longer, thicker, with less foreskin, and more sensitive than ever before.
You kept drinking the milk anyway - you had to - every single day.
By the end of the week the trans stuff started feeling a little flat on your cock. Your brain kept pushing further. The trans dudes turned into real girls in your head - thick thighs, bouncing tits, dripping wet pussies begging to be bred. You swapped to straight porn almost unconsciously, stroking to it, imagining yourself slamming balls-deep into some curvy bitch, pumping her full of Arab seed until it leaked out.
You tried to fight it at first, but it was useless. Your white-boy brain was already mush from all the Nasl Sheikh you consumed. Your brain felt slower, fuzzier, happier just thinking about lifting, praying, and breeding. It felt so good to be a breeder - to imagine yourself as the alpha male, the one that could make bellies swell and babies come out. You could feel your balls tightening just thinking about it - thinking about spreading your virile musky seed, breeding more cocky alpha studs like you.
The headaches stopped after that. Not because the nasl had worn off - fuck no. It was because your skull had finally finished reshaping itself. Your brain felt lighter now, smoother, like all the old complicated shit had been melted down and poured out through your cock. The last scraps of your old self burned away completely. No more confusion. No more hiding who you really were. Just pure, simple, alpha need flooding your slower, happier brain.
You rolled out of bed and caught your reflection in the mirror on the way to the bathroom. The guy staring back wasn't the soft white frat bro who'd made that first nervous phone call weeks ago. Your chest was a solid slab of muscle covered in a dense rug of black hair that trailed down over abs you could actually see now, disappearing into a treasure trail that led straight to the fat, circumcised Arab cock between your thighs. It was thicker than your wrist even soft, the head already glistening with a bead of pre. Your balls were bigger too, hanging low and full, churning out the same potent seed that had turned every single one of your bros.
Downstairs the kitchen smelled like home.
"Morning, brother" Jake - or Khalid as he called himself now - said with his now deep and accented voice.
Mahmoud (Mike) grabbed the jug, gave it a shake, and poured everyone a tall glass. You took yours without thinking and drank deep - three long, greedy gulps of warm, salty, ultra-thick homemade Nasl Sheikh. It slid down your throat like it belonged there, settling heavy in your gut and spreading heat through every vein. Your cock surged to full hardness instantly, slapping up against your abs with a wet smack.
You set the glass down, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and let out a low, satisfied groan that came out half in Arabic.
"Wallahi... feels fucking perfect, bros."
The rest of the house was the same now. Every single frat brother - bigger, darker, hairier, dumber, and hornier. The common areas smelled like musk, sweat, and fresh cum. The fridge was stocked with the group's nightly nasl every single night. Nobody questioned it any more. Nobody wanted to go back. Why would they? This felt right. Strong. Simple. Masculine.
You were Yusuf now - a loud, dumb, hairy, straight Arab alpha. Big muscles, big balls, big ego. Obsessed with lifting, praying, and breeding every tight pussy you could find.
"Enough standing around like pussies", you barked at the other bros. "We're going out tonight. I want fresh pussy. I'm breeding at least three tonight and I don't give a fuck who they are. Any bitch that looks at me is getting her womb flooded."
Your brothers roared in approval, raising their fists while their cocks twitched at what you just said. The old soft white boy who made that scared phone call weeks ago was dead after leaking out of your musky cock.
This was your life now, and it felt fucking perfect. Who knows what would happen next...
When Madison finally arrived at the gym, he found himself underwhelmed. He had never held a membership before–the raffle granted free entry for the duration of the program–so he was unfamiliar with how monotone fitness facilities could be. The indoor track back in his collegiate days had held some color; a muddy reddish brown for the inner loop and a sturdy forest green for the outer. This gym however lacked any such character: a factory-like gray box with machines scattered around like a child’s toys. The personality was dictated by composite wood and mirrors upon every available wall. Somehow, even the small puddle a few feet away from Madison was a hazy white, perfectly matching the aesthetic.
When Madison had pulled up, he had gone and double checked the address on his phone. The building was located on a forgotten suburban side street, sticking out like a sore thumb between the rows of older houses. There was not even a parking lot, forcing his sedan onto the curb. Everything inside at least met the standard gym protocols. A first scan identified various machines, mats, and industrial fans to efficiently cool everything down. Everything looked clean, besides a layer of dust over the treadmills.
“Looks like our raffle winner finally made it.”
Madison's eyes fell upon the person approaching him. Although of similar age and almost a head shorter than Madison’s even six feet, this man nearly doubled his weight in musculature. A step below bodybuilding, the presumed personal trainer was straight from a fitness magazine. Natural good looks, singular earbud glued in. He was bulging in all the right places, the name brand black tank and shorts displaying massive shoulders, bulbous pectorals, and husky legs to support the sturdy frame.
“Mason, right?” His voice held a natural confidence, one that assumed it was always correct.
“Madison,”
“Yeah,” the personal trainer did not falter. “I went and scrolled through your social media. It’s great that you’re already familiar with exercise.”
Madison was a bit embarrassed at first, but he realized it was completely logical for the man to have done some research. Madison had not really updated his feed since his college days, which had been years ago, but he was still slim, yet not bony, as his daily runs had kept him in shape.
“Usually the guys that come in aren’t familiar with the gym at all, not attending our church if you know what I mean,” the man illustrated. “But a former track star, now that will be a fun challenge! Gonna spend these next three days trying to convert you.”
The metaphor was strange, but it worked. “I guess it’ll be nice to try something besides just cardio.”
“Not just something: everything, bro.” The man threw out an arm as if he was surveying conquerable land. “Our X-Treme All-Out UltraTestosterone Bundle offers you unlimited access to our playground and promises to make a real man out of you in less than 72 hours!”
The man’s energetic voice burst out as if the pair were at a monster truck rally: loud, macho, and boisterous.
“Lucas,” the man offered his hand. Its size easily dwarfed Madison’s own. “What made you sign up for the gym’s raffle anyway?”
Seeing that Madison was already in his workout clothes–a bright blue long sleeve that suctioned itself to his body and a pair of white shorts that loosely flowed around the stickish legs–Lucas began to lead him towards the machines. Madison's lucky necklace bounced with every step, a small golden key inspired by one of his favorite romance novels. While not a big box venture like some of the cheaper options out there, the gym itself was still sizable. Because of this, Madison was perplexed to realize that there was no one else there. Were Friday afternoons always so quiet?
“Um, I don’t know if I have any specific reason,” Mason started. “The ad came up on my feed and once I realized it was all free, I just kind of went for it? I don’t know, I’ve always been active but I wanted to try something different. And it would be nice to put on a little muscle, just to bring something new to the dating scene. I guess there are a lot of factors…”
Lucas chuckled freely. “Since you’ll be with me this whole weekend, I can guarantee you will be experiencing a lot of new things.”
Madison liked the sound of that. He was highly skeptical that he would actually see any results, but thankful that he would at least learn a thing or two.
“I’ll just need you to trust me, bro. Be along with me every step of the way. Remember, I’m your trainer, aka to train you. Not embarrass you or break you, but to make you better. Got that?”
“Sure, I guess,” Madison replied. He did not know if he believed Lucas because of the miniature speech or because of the giant muscles. Either way, the trainer certainly knew what he was doing.
“Let’s start on this machine here,” Lucas pointed to a futuristic-yet-medieval-looking torture device of a tower. Madison could not prevent his nose from wrinkling at the smell of fake leather as they approached. It was at least better than any body odor, something Madison had been fearful of before entering the almost-empty gym. He had even lubed himself up with extra deodorant before leaving his car.
“I think the cable machine is always a great place to start,” Lucas remarked as Madison took his spot. “Cable machines incorporate a lot of different motions and exercises into a workout. Generally, they engage the upper body, like your lats and traps, but if you know what you’re doing, you can also strengthen your core and lower back muscles. With dedicated work, you can even improve stability and dramatically increase muscle mass.”
Lucas took a breath before finishing, “As a runner, should I assume that you are already familiar with all this stuff?”
Madison was definitely not. He ran often, but he was no scholar of physical health. His degree had been in social work. “Totally, yeah.”
Lucas smirked, “Then I’ll try to abbreviate my speeches in the future. Anyway, I’ve got the weights all set. Why don’t you give that a try and let me know how it feels?”
Madison followed the instructions. He went for the double pulley first, grabbing the two handles before pulling them towards himself with little effort. There was a noticeable resistance, but not much.
“I think we can go a bit higher,” Madison said as he returned the pulleys back.
“That’s always a good thing to hear, bro.” Lucas moved forward, adjusting the clasp a few notches lower to add on more weight. This time, the pressure was much more apparent. Madison was already struggling after just a couple of reps.
“Is that better?”
“It’s definitely harder,” Madison confirmed. “Maybe we need to Goldilocks this thing?”
“I disagree,” Lucas frowned. “Focus on your form and have your feet firmly planted on the ground.”
A bit disgruntled, Madison fulfilled Lucas’s request. He stabilized his lower half before engaging his upper counterpart. By the time Lucas stopped him, Madison had gone through another five reps.
“And a new gym rat is born,” Lucas grinned. “Now typically, you should do two to four sets of these with 10-15 reps. I like to follow it up with the lat pulldown too, forward and back and then up and down. Like a yin and yang sort of thing.” Lucas motioned to the machine he was referring to.
“How many days do you work out?”
“Every day.”
“‘Every day’?”
“Do you not run every day?”
“Well...” Madison was caught. “I mean, running is kinda different though. Like I’ll be taking different routes and there's always new terrain to explore. And the weather is constantly changing-”
“But that is still exercising every day, right?” Lucas insisted. “Some guys do, some guys don’t. I think it’s obvious which kind I am.” Lucas took his own bait and flashed his massive guns, exposing two hairy thickets underneath his arms in the process. “Which kind do you want to be?”
“I guess I am already in the latter category,” Madison surrendered.
“Exactly, so why not engage that good habit right now?” Lucas smiled, giving a brotherly pat to Madison’s shoulder. “Just from those few reps I can already see that your shoulders have widened.”
Madison stood up straighter as Lucas bent over and notched the weights up just a bit higher. He did not believe Lucas’ comment, but he rotated his head to locate a mirror anyway. The nearest reflection was too far away to confirm anything. Upon close inspection, Madison did not notice anything peculiar from the shirt’s fabric. It did appear a bit tighter, having usually just graced his skin. But after moving a bit, the fabric released.
“Let’s see how you do with that,” Lucas finished, stepping away. “And try a full three sets for me.”
Madison went through the motions. Draw back, slow release. Each attempt felt a little more restrained then the previous one, but he was able to manage the stress. Pull in, let out. He had not been counting his reps like he should have been, but Madison was able to complete Lucas’s assignment. It was an accident however, as he had paused momentarily when he heard a slight tear.
“Nice work, dude!” Lucas came over to investigate the newly exposed bicep. The rip was barely an inch-long, but it was still enough to flush Madison’s face. Lucas noted the reddish color right away.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, man. In fact, you should be proud!”
Madison looked back over at the mirrors, and this time, was surprised to see that his upper arms appeared a bit distorted. The shaping was noticeable from a distance, something that had never happened before.
“What…how is that possible?” Madison stuttered a bit.
“Impressed?”
“I think I’m just…” Madison turned back to face Lucas, a bit disoriented. “I’m just seeing things.”
“You’re seeing gains, bro,” Lucas replied. “That’s just how our X-Treme package works.”
Still a bit unsettled, Madison let the personal trainer lead him around the cable machine to the lat pulldown. The seat was harsh and cold, unkind to his flat buttocks. That was one of the downsides of constant cardio, the lack of a juicy bottom. Maybe Madison would ask Lucas later for some tips, as the other man’s backend was certainly packing.
Already seated, Madison stretched his arms up, careful to not aggravate the tear.
Lucas stopped him, “Before you start, make sure you have good posture.”
With his hands above his head and arms frozen, Madison felt Lucas’s palms brace onto his shoulders before slowly pulling them back. An audible pop from Madison’s spine signaled a better alignment.
“There we go, doesn’t that feel better, man?”
“Yeah, I guess it does,” Madison replied honestly.
“And stop with this weak attitude.” Lucas shifted gears momentarily. “Carry yourself with some testosterone, bro! You work out, you’re fit. If you’re a man, then act like it!”
Madison did not typically associate with this kind of hypermasculine behavior, but for the sake of the free program, he decided to go along with it. “Yeah, I’m a man!”
“Now don’t be so sarcastic,” Lucas directed. “I’m serious. Take some control, show some confidence.”
Madison took a deep breath, doing his best to dispel his awkwardness. “I’m a…I’m a man!” Unintentionally, his voice came out a little lower than usual.
“Better, one more time.”
“I’m a man!”
Suddenly, Madison’s voice descended into a depth it had never reached before. The tenor had fallen heartily into a flat baritone. Its color was a bit simple, but Madison was too surprised by the sudden change to care. Had it always been this easy to lower someone's range?
“That’s more like it!” Lucas gave Madison’s back a hard pat of approval. “People will listen and respect that voice now, man. Straight and to the point is the key to success. Now, back to the machine.”
With confidence, Madison extended his arms a bit further and latched onto the bar. Lucas smiled as the small tear creeped out a bit wider, but he did not comment on it. Madison went through the motions as instructed, pulling the bar down to his body before slowly extending his arms back up. By the end, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that his arms did not ache like he had expected them to.
“Those arms and that back are already looking stacked!” Lucas applauded, directing Madison to look at his reflection. Madison was a bit bewildered by the curvature around his shoulders, the lines that even from a distance defined the separations between the biceps, triceps, and their transition into his upper torso.
“Should they already be that prominent?”
“Doubting your personal trainer already?”
Madison fell back. “Of course not, I just didn’t know that working out was this effective.”
“Well that’s because you're used to cardio.” The final word was spat out in a glob of disdain. “Your body is already primed for muscle, practically hungry for it. Now you are finally testing your muscles rather than ignoring them.”
Madison shrugged, “Running has always maintained my body.”
“But the gym is here to build it,” Lucas countered. Together, the two made their way to the next machine. “Think about it, bro. Instead of those stick-like arms, what if you had absolutely stacked ones like mine.”
Softly, Madison’s eyes wandered over to the personal trainer’s upper body. His arms were huge, as if there were four baseballs tucked underneath the skin, one on each side of each ligament. Madison then flexed his own in comparison, surprised to find a bit of muscle bunching up underneath his sleeves. A small grin escaped his usual contained demeanor, but it disappeared as soon as he heard another rip. Once again Madison went red, but Lucas did not comment on it, instead presenting the next machine.
“Time for curls and extensions.” Madison proceeded forward, scooting himself around to align his arms onto the cool pad. There were multiple handles before him to choose from. “You may not believe me now, but after this, you won’t want to go for a run tonight.”
Madison frowned, rolling his shoulders to let the fabric release from his arms. “Are you trying to persuade me into a membership already?”
“Of course not,” Lucas replied. “I’ll have just worked your upper body so much that as soon as you get home you’ll pass out.”
“I’ve done quite a few marathons and lived to tell about it.”
Lucas smirked, “Nobody is impressed by marathons. But all the guys I know are impressed by muscles.”
“Really?” This piqued Madison’s interest. The sleeves of his shirt once again grew taught against his skin, tight enough to begin displaying individual threads.
“Yeah, bro. Dudes love muscles. Guys are attracted like magnets to leaders, men who are independent. And that is associated with size and strength.”
“I never thought about it like that,” Madison responded. A third tear began to silently stretch out near his collarbone.
“The other thing they love is hair,” Lucas added.
“Unfortunately, I’m shaved everywhere for ‘aerodynamics’,” Madison joked. “But I thought serious gym-goers shaved so they could ‘show their gains’ or whatever.”
“Only pussies got time for that,” Lucas rolled his eyes. “Muscles bring confidence, but the hair is what sets us apart as a different species.”
“‘Us’?”
“Men, real men, bro.”
Madison made a face, he did not follow.
“Don’t believe me?” Cockily, Lucas lifted one of his arms over his head, revealing a dark and hairy pit. Although he had not been on any of the machines (to Madison’s knowledge), there was a notable wet gleam to the long, unruly strands. “Take a sniff.”
“W…What?” Madison was caught off guard. He could not tell if his personal trainer was coming onto him, or pranking him. Either way, Madison was uncomfortable and not into body hair or odor whatsoever.
“Remember what I said at the beginning of our session, dude? Just trust me.”
Madison hesitated and remained put. He was bewildered, unable to comprehend the situation presented to him. His eyes wandered from Lucas’s armpit to his eyes, then back to the pit, and then to a nearby mirror. In just a short timespan, the personal trainer had already helped him build up a considerable amount of strength. It was undeniably impressive.
After taking a calming breath, Madison closed his eyes and slowly leaned forward. A smug grin smeared onto Lucas’s face as his wet pit hairs smeared across Madison’s face. The musk was intense, but not disgusting. Well-bodied, rich, and complex. It was tangy and sweet, with a little bit of salt.
After a minute of marinating, Madison felt Lucas place a hand upon the back of his skull, slowly removing him from the armpit. His face was moist, as if he had just removed a cleansing mask. Madison felt a little dazed, the edges of his mind were a bit softer.
“Now do you understand, bro?”
Lucas watched as peach fuzz broke through the skin of Madison’s upper lip and chin. The wispy hairs rapidly grew in number and volume before lengthening out and unfurling. After a couple more seconds, Madison's mouth was framed by a thick black caterpillar and goatee.
“Yeah…bro…”
—
Just as Lucas predicted, Madison had collapsed onto his bed the moment he had arrived home. Assisted pull ups, seated dips, shoulder press, and cables galore. The list went on, and somehow Lucas had gotten Madison through the entire workout. Madison could not understand how his arms had been able to withstand the constant exertion, but they had. And the benefits were more certainly visible.
“Glad the first day didn’t scare you away, man!” Lucas shouted from across the gym as Madison entered. He stretched his arms and ventured toward the personal trainer, unconsciously flexing his massive muscles and showcasing their prominent bulges and valleys.
“Sorry I’m late, I struggled to find a shirt.” Madison was wearing an oversized tee that he typically only wore in bed.
“No sweat, bro. And you’ll get used to it.”
“That better not be true,” Madison laughed. “I don’t know if I can afford that.”
“Why do you think so many of us guys are always wearing our gym clothes?” Lucas led Madison to a new section of the gym, hosting a slew of unique machines. “When you can only pay for one or the other, a man’s gotta pick his priorities. And if anything, you can always go shirtless.”
“I guess.” Madison had not been able to fit his upper body into any of his usual workout gear this morning. Every shirt ended up either torn at the shoulders or sleeves. He was thankful his shorts did not succumb to any such problems.
“Let’s get your chest warmed up on a press first.” Madison positioned himself onto the seat accordingly, leaning back. Just by pressing lightly, he could feel his own ribs. “We are going to lock in that upper area. No balancing, no guessing, just pure meat.”
“Well, my chest can’t get too bulky,” Madison noted. “I still gotta have breath support for running after all.”
“But how will you be able to support all the work we did yesterday?” Lucas leaned forward and stepped between Madison and the weights for the machine. Without warning, Lucas led Madison’s head right into his armpit.
“Think less about what you’ve done in the past, and more about what I want you to do now,” Lucas began. “You’re not here to sustain, but to grow. Don’t you want to grow, bro?”
Madison took a deep breath without a second thought.
“This program is here to make you into a man. And real men not only have bodies that display strength, but support it too.”
Gradually, the skin underneath Madison’s shirt tightened and bulged forward. The flat expanse began to show signs of variance from underneath the fabric.
“If you want to be better, manlier, we will need to add some mass to your torso, right?”
Madison twitched slightly as Lucas pulled away. His upper chest now held a registerable weight, as if it was supporting two individual pillows. He was unaware of his nipples descending slightly due to his pecs' more mound-like nature.
“Sorry.” Madison shook his head slightly to regain focus. “what were we going to work on?”
“You had mentioned you wanted your chest to be as thick and bulky as my knockers,” Lucas responded, stepping back.
“I did?” Madison honestly could not remember. But he knew he should trust his personal trainer. “Mine are pretty hefty already. A guy I once hooked up with joked that I should start wearing bras.”
Lucas snorted. “They do kind of look like a chick’s rack.”
“Really?”
“It's kinda hot, right?” Lucas asked. “Knowing that your chest is as big as a girl’s?”
Madison felt neutral about it at first, but something in his brain clicked softly when he breathed in. Lucas’s scent was still on his face.
“Yeah…that is kinda hot…”
“And there’s only one thing separating them, right?”
“Muscle?” Madison’s pectorals hardened slightly.
“Two things,” Lucas corrected. “What did I say yesterday? What sets men apart?”
Madison considered this. “Hair?” Although it was not visible, a dusting sprouted out around his nipples.
“That’s it, bro.” Black curls sprung out from Madison’s skin, tickling the inside of the tee. “Men appreciate it, and chicks dig it.”
“They do?” The tiniest of hairs leapt out from underneath his collar.
“Yeah man, bushes too. Drives ‘em wild. Imagine lying in bed with someone playing with your pit hair…”
Like magic, two raven-hued forests sprouted up underneath Madison’s arms. The hairs snaked out hungrily, putting themselves on permanent display. “I’d have to shave it off if I want to run, though.”
“You wouldn’t have to if you stopped running.”
Madison faltered slightly. Before he could muster up a response, Lucas cut back in. “But let’s get back to business. You wanted to work on that chest, right, bro?”
With a huff, Madison extended his arms to the handles. He pushed with little resistance, enjoying the way his muscles contracted and then released. Each pump forced his chest forward a bit more, half by muscle and half by pride. With every set, Lucas increased the weights, watching the progression continue.
The chest presses continued through different modes: incline, decline, horizontal. Soon came cables, broadening Madison’s shoulders a tiny bit with every pump. During his time at the butterfly press, his skinny abdominals popped out with distinction before forming a tight midsection. Finally, an extended period at the power rack restructured Madison’s core, perfecting the once-rectangular torso into a formidable triangle.
“You’re about to bust out of that shirt, man!” The two had moved to the locker room, having worked up more than the average perspiration. Madison could not discern if the tee was sticking to him because of his sweat or his size.
“It’s not that bad, dude,” Madison deflected, latching his fingers underneath the bottom. “It's just-”
He was interrupted by a loud rip that echoed out into the room. Madison had accidentally shredded his shirt into ribbons. The scene was comical. Tears had instantly formed across the sleeves and collar when Madison had begun the motion, forcing the seams apart. Now shirtless, a line of black hair was revealed, trailing from Madison’s belly button down into his shorts.
Not to be outdone, Lucas split apart his shirt with a mighty roar. The fabric fell away to reveal his muscular, golden body.
The pair laughed, embracing the moment. “Don’t worry, bro, if you got it, flaunt it."
“Wouldn't that infringe on some kind of public indecency?”
“Those rules don't apply to men like us.”
While Lucas stripped, Madison looked back and forth between their chests, a bit shocked to realize they were nearly identical. He was jolted back to reality by a distinct smell, his own funk. Timidly, Madison lifted his arm to reveal a greasy, tangled mess. The musk was appalling, especially because he was typically diligent about keeping deodorant regularly applied. But Madison did not find it disturbing. He had just finished a massive workout after all. Lucas had said that he was supposed to be a man, and was this not manly?
“Are you done basking in your own glory?” Lucas shouted from the shower, having already left the common space. Caught red-handed, Madison quickly finished removing his clothes and rushed to the stalls. He intended to find his own, but a hand suddenly reached out and dragged him into another.
“Yeah, right there. Don't resist it.” Lucas pushed Madison down onto his knees, watching as his client’s eyes emptied out. With each instance of exposure to Lucas’s musk, Madison was succumbing faster. Except this time instead of the armpit, Madison was in front of a much more potent bush.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t wash out any of that smell,” Lucas stated. The intense odor dulled out Madison’s senses, slowing his thoughts down dramatically.
“I think it’s time we take things to the next level, get more ‘X-Treme’.” Lucas’s tone was both serious and mocking. “Be honest, what do you think of the work we’ve done so far?”
“I…I like it…” Madison mumbled. “It’s impressive…”
Lucas shifted his pelvis a little closer without letting Madison touch his manhood. “But something is holding you back, isn’t it?”
“...yes…”
Lucas smirked. “And what’s that?”
Madison paused, but continued after taking a deep breath. “I still want to be able to run.”
Lucas let his flavorful scent waft through Madison’s mind. “No, Madison, you’re never going to run again. Cardio is for betas and losers, not for real men.” Lucas reached one of his hands down and let his fingers glide through his pubes, releasing more of his pheromones. “You’re going to be the type of man that grunts with every exertion of your muscle. You will have a body that makes every item of clothes appear skin-tight. You won’t exercise to maintain, you will do it to impress.”
“‘To impress’...” Madison repeated slowly.
“Think about it this way, bro. Guys like me are so strong and virile. Don’t you want to be around other manly men like that?”
“...yeah…” Madison processed this. A dark shadow began to surround his privates.
“Don’t you want to surround yourself with the dudes who encourage you to embrace your masculinity and challenge you to be better?"
Inky prickles began to spring up from Madison’s groin. “Uh huh…”
“Why don’t you come home with me tonight, bro? Catch a preview of how real men live outside of the gym. No extra training, just one-on-one exposure.”
Lucas watched Madison’s curly pubes twist and turn as they grew out like wrathful vines.
After exiting the showers, the rest of the night was a blur for Madison. He was surprised to find his clothes had magically disappeared during his time away. Following a fruitless search, Lucas offered up a pair of compression shorts that, on Madison’s skinny legs, lost the “compression” aspect. The two left in Lucas’s car, leaving Madison’s on the street for the night.
The personal trainer's apartment was barren, the definition of a bachelor pad. Cheap, easy-to-assemble furniture from online, a similar grayscale palette to the gym, and miscellaneous clothes strewn across the floor. There was no room for frivolities or distraction.
Madison collapsed as soon as he located the bed. Lucas stayed awake for a few hours, but when he finally decided to rest his head, he placed it at the opposite end of the mattress. He then proceeded to neatly tuck his meaty feet underneath Madison’s pillow, allowing his funk to continually seep into his client’s brain overnight.
—
“Wakey, wakey bro.”
Madison slowly stirred as two soft, warm bodies pleasantly massaged his face. His nostrils were awakened by a fragrance with dark, earthy notes. Plush, goaty, and…cheese? He immediately opened his eyes, revealing Lucas’s large soles caressing his face, the fat toes dancing upon his skin mischievously. Madison looked further on, his personal trainer flexing and smirking widely, obviously proud of himself.
“Smells real manly, right bro?”
“Yeah bro…” Madison groggily replied. His voice held the self-assured, yet hollow color of Lucas’s.
"Real men stink, don't they?"
Lucas’s eyes drifted to his right, watching as the two feet beside him gradually expanded. After a few moments, Lucas was able to register a new scent. It was not coming from his own body.
After another minute, Lucas rolled out of bed and began grabbing his things. “You ready for our last day of training, man?”
Madison’s mind recalibrated, although still a bit fuzzy. “I think so, dude. Just lemme change and grab a shirt.”
“No need, bro,” Lucas said. “You’re already in gym gear.”
“But I’m wearing what I slept in.”
“Remember what I said about priorities, bro? From now on you sleep, eat, and live in your workout clothes.”
Madison processed this. Lucas was delighted to see how easily it was accepted.
“And don’t even think about that deodorant crap either.”
By the time they arrived back at the gym, the sun was just barely rising over the horizon. Besides a large SUV (which when questioned about Lucas had asserted was in fact Madison's), there were no other vehicles around. It appeared their workout would go uninterrupted again. Madison did not mind this however; he wanted to best utilize the last day of his free package and personal trainer.
“Arms, chest,” Lucas started as they stopped in front of an unfamiliar machine. “What’s the last category, dude?”
Madison itemized in his head. “Legs?”
“Bingo!”
Madison placed himself onto the seat, feeling his femurs against the plastic padding. Once his knees were aligned and thighs in the correct position, he turned to Lucas, waiting for instruction.
“Hip abductors are crucial to your stability, mobility, and strength. Practically the key to building strong, sculpted legs.”
Madison remained silent.
“Think of how big they could be, bro, all thick and juicy like mine," Lucas recognized the hesitation. "And if you don’t like it, you can always try cardio again.”
With a grunt, Madison pushed his legs outward, moving his knees away from his body. A sensational flurry sparked across his legs, as if he had awoken a mechanism that had laid dormant for years. His glutes activated, followed by his hips, quads, and finally the calves. With ample control, Madison closed his legs back into the starting position.
Lucas smiled, stepping over to the weights and bringing them up to the next level. The reps were completed one by one, and with each new set the results became more noticeable. Muscle slowly piled onto Madison’s legs, burying away the delicate hybrid vehicles he had spent nearly a decade creating. But Madison did not care, he was too busy focusing on his reps.
Once he was finished with the abductor machine, Lucas moved Madison to its twin, the adductor. The personal trainer set his client on the widest angle possible, enforcing a permanent manspread into the muscle memory. Squats followed, plumping out Madison’s bottom. After that came the standing calf raise, which brought out a sharp diamond shape. The leg extension machine bunched up the fabric of Madison's shorts, and the leg press was able to reinstate the definition of "compression."
“The results of this program never cease to amaze me,” Lucas remarked as Madison finished his final set. Madison smiled at the compliment, an erection sprouting up in his shorts and forming a long, hard lump. Although seated, his legs still bore a trunk-like quality. The man in the reflection before him was big, tall, loud, and proud. “Thanks, bro.”
“I made you into a man, didn’t I?” Lucas beamed proudly, to which Madison nodded. He then firmly planted his hands unto Madison’s shoulders. “But it's all about proportions, bro. You don't want anything getting in the way of making your muscles really pop, right?”
Madison did not exactly follow, but he agreed anyway. Lucas’s grip grew a bit tighter, almost electric on his skin. Still trained on the mirror, Madison watched as his reflection distorted. It appeared to become broader, more compact, as if he was being slowly squished down. He assumed it was just a hallucination from dehydration. When Madison stood up however, he was surprised to find the dimensions of the gym off. It was like the room had grown a little bigger, if that was even possible.
“Headrush, bro?” Madison looked over to Lucas, finding it strange that the personal trainer’s eye level slightly above his own. “Drink some water.” Lucas held out a water bottle. Madison accepted, although he still felt as if he was missing something.
“Tell me,” Lucas began. “how do you feel about your crew cut?”
Madison rubbed a meaty palm across his head as he took a swig, the short bristles tickling his calloused skin.
“I assume you kept it short for running, right?”
Slowly, the follicles began to push out and extend. The once tight cut began to flow into loose waves, curling as it swept over the forehead and ran down the back of Madison's neck, creating a glossy modern mullet.
“Much better,” Lucas affirmed. “The chicks will be all over you now.”
“I hope the guys will be too.”
Lucas frowned. After a calculated breath, he carefully changed directions.
“But do you actually want that, bro?” Lucas questioned. “Wouldn't you rather be around guys who you can assert your masculinity with? Men that can challenge you as equals, rather than just exist beside you in a lower class?”
“I guess, but,” Lucas could feel Madison slipping. “I can hang out with real men and be gay. I'm still a part of the community."
“And that community is holding you back, man. By comparing yourself with lean, flimsy wimps who dedicate their lives to staying thin, you became invisible. You were a runner, bro, and people who run are just running from something. Their past, their obligations, and for you, your potential. You were always meant to be muscular, dude. You should want to be around guys who appreciate that and push you to be better.”
Madison absorbed this argument, allowing Lucas to continue. “ You cannot hide anymore, you cannot blend in with that community that willingly made you a sheep. Your muscles, your body hair, your musk: you now take up space. You are now someone who is built to be in control, not to just follow the trends. Your masculinity makes you different, makes you someone that people acknowledge and respect.”
The erection, which was already visible in Madison’s shorts, throbbed.
“Don’t you see, bro,” Lucas smiled. “Being a man is the best. It's being in control of your own destiny.”
Placing an arm around Madison’s back, Lucas led him over to the closest mirror. “Look at me, dude.” Madison’s eyes investigated Lucas’s reflection; every perfect angle, rugged curve, and manly feature. "Do I look like a follower, a member of some movement? No, bro. I'm a stud, a hulking beast who people look up to."
Lucas grinned, “And now, look at you.”
The side-by-side comparison came like a jolt to Madison’s system. They could easily be mistaken for brothers.
“We both know I’m a real man, so what does that make you?”
A dumb smile broke out on Madison’s face. Lucas continued, “You want to be a real man, don't you, bro?”
The smile grew even wider. “Yeah bro!”
Lucas went for the final push, “Then I’ll ask you again, what do you want bro? You’ve already got the body of a real man, so what should a real man want?”
A tiny, chemical reaction burst off inside Madison’s brain. Like a light bulb blowing out, a key section of Madison’s being suddenly crumbled to dust, its rubble flowing away into the bloodstream. He suddenly felt a bit lighter, as if something important had just been lifted off his shoulders.
“...girls.”
“Why would a real man want girls?”
Madison struggled, but the answer gradually became clearer. “Their…their big boobs.”
“There you go, bro. What else?”
“Their…mmm…pussies.” The golden chain around Madison's neck sparkled ever so slightly. Its treasured key gently warped, sustaining the general "t" shape and amplifying it. Embracing a new message, a new purpose.
Madison began massaging his enlarged member. The feminine curves in his imagination were drawing closer, their coos sweetly filling his ears.
“What would a real man do with those pussies?” Lucas asked.
Madison moaned. A heavenly rush embraced his body as a new realization dawned on him. Real men were straight, which meant he was straight. Real men were proud to be straight. Real men hung out with other real men, engaged in sports, obsessively worked out, and mercifully spread their seed. And Madison wanted to do all that too. He was always meant to be a real man. There was nothing better than being a real man.
Lucas watched as Madison’s face slowly reformed. The once pointed jaw widened, stretching out into a diamond but continuing further into a strong square. The blunt angles proudly brought out his brow. His nose grew larger too, more prominent to establish a stronger, unapologetic presence. But Madison was too lost to his own dreams to realize any of this. The multitudes of women continued to overload his senses until with a triumphant yell, he blew out an enormous load, creating a hazy white puddle at his feet.
After his client had recovered, Lucas started walking towards the front desk, not bothering to clean up the mess on the gym floor. The other man soon trailed behind.
“Now that we have reached the end of our program, I’ll just need you to complete an exit form.” Behind the counter, Lucas picked up a clipboard. Attached was a stapled packet with a font smaller than anything the other man had ever read before. “I have gone ahead and filled out the registration details for a gym membership. You’d be joining our premium class, getting access to the best amenities 24/7.”
“I’ve already got your name on it.” Lucas handed the man a pen. “All you need to do is sign.”
The mass of tiny words on the contract confused the man, causing a slight headache, so he decided to skip to the tiny line at the bottom. As Lucas had noted, a name was already written out in manuscript beside where a signature was supposed to go. Without hesitation, the man scribbled his answer down and handed back the document.
“Thanks, Mason.” Lucas placed the clipboard back on the other side of the desk.
“Nah, thank you, bro,” Mason said. “So like, what should we do now?”
Lucas sighed, "Unfortunately I got other plans, dude. Another client is coming in pretty soon.”
“Oh, should I like, wait for you then, man?”
“If you want you can hit up the treadmills," Lucas tested.
A grimace of pure disgust painted Mason’s face. “Heck no, bro. Cardio sucks dick. You think I’d ever risk losing these gains?”
Lucas held back the tiniest smile.
“So, I guess I’ll like, see you around, man?”
“Sure.” The reply was despondent, as if Lucas no longer had any interest in the other jock now that the job was completed. Mason was a little offput, but held himself steady as he walked out of the gym. He reminded himself that real men would never get bummed out over another man. That was some homo crap, and Mason was not some homo.
After hopping into his SUV, Mason took a quick sniff of his pits, pleased by his own musk. Following Lucas's dejection, Mason knew just the pick me up he needed. Some slut bouncing up and down on his lap would certainly do the trick. It would feel so good to shove his already-erect schlong right up into her. Raw of course, like a real man would.
This might sound niche but when I think about the MNWO I don’t wanna picture sissy muslimahs or enslaved white men. I want Islam to save my people. I want to see white men in thobes, shaving the mustache but keeping the beard, only kneeling on the prayer mat. I’m more interested in the slow conversion. The numbers adding up. The changes to the shop windows in our towns. Men adjusting their aesthetic taste and morality to align with a culture of arab supremacy. The slow erosion of our laws as we adapt to a sharia mindset. The little things that add up to a massive wave that will flood us. A warm swamp where following the mass feels too good.
My story; I was a proper far-right white lad from a small English town—Reform UK through and through, hated what immigration had done to Britain. When Tommy Robinson called the big march in London, I jumped on the coach with the lads.
I am 25 years old, from London. One day the streets were packed with Union Jacks and roaring Englishmen. As we marched, I climbed the lampposts one after another, tying my flags high in the Raise the Colours push. The wind whipped them proud while the crowd cheered below.
Tommy walked right past, looked up, and gave us a thumbs-up. That moment hit hard. I felt like I was doing something real for my country.
A couple of weeks ago, I was still riding high from the march, flags still flying in my head. I was scrolling through an online forum late one night when this bloke messaged me. Called himself Alex Ginger, proper British-sounding name, said he was a local lad who’d been at the demo too and wanted to chat about the cause over a pint.
We swapped a few messages. He seemed sound – talked about Tommy, Reform, how London was getting unrecognisable. Sounded like one of us. Then he suggested meeting for lunch the next weekend. “Nothing heavy,” he said, “just two patriots putting the world to rights.”
I agreed. Why not? Felt good to connect with someone offline who got it.
So I turned up at the café he picked in town. Sat there waiting with my England hoodie on. Then this Muslim bloke walks in – beard, dark eyes, proper Ali Khan type. He sits down opposite me with a smirk and says, “Alright mate, I’m Alex Ginger… but you can call me Ali.”
My stomach dropped. He’d catfished me the whole time, pretending to be one of us just to lure me there. We spoke for a bit anyway, him probing about the march and my views. Then he offered to get the coffees. I took a sip of mine… and that was it.
Everything started spinning. Too late I realised he’d slipped something in it. My vision blurred, legs went heavy. The last thing I remember is his smirk as the world faded.
When I woke up, I was in a dark, damp basement. Hands zip-tied behind my back, ankles bound, mouth taped. Ali Khan stood over me, still smiling.
Here's a photo of Ali in that moment;
Ali stood over me in the dim basement, shirtless and smug, the cigarette glowing between his fingers as smoke curled around his thick beard. He took a long drag, then laughed low and cruel.
“Look at you,” he sneered, voice thick with that mocking accent he’d hidden online as “Alex Ginger.” “Big tough far-right lad, raising flags for Tommy Robinson, voting Reform UK, screaming about Muslims taking over Britain. You’re nothing but a pathetic racist white pig. I catfished you so easily – pretended to be one of your little patriot boys just to get you here, tied up like the dumb animal you are.”
He crouched down closer, eyes locked on mine, that dominant smirk never fading. “But you’re going to change now, pig. I’m going to rewrite that tiny racist brain of yours. No more hate. No more flags. Just submission… to me. To us.”
He pulled out a small silver pendant on a chain – a crescent moon that caught the faint light – and started swinging it slowly in front of my face. My head was still foggy from the drug, body heavy and helpless against the zip ties. Ali’s voice dropped into a smooth, rhythmic tone, deep and commanding.
“Watch the moon, white boy. Back and forth… back and forth. Feel your eyes getting heavy. Your old thoughts are slipping away already. Every swing takes another piece of your racism with it.”
He kept swinging it, closer and closer, his free hand resting on my chest, fingers pressing down like he owned me.
“Breathe deep. In… out. You feel it, don’t you? That warm fog in your head getting thicker. Every word I say sinks deeper. You were wrong about Muslims. Wrong about everything. Say it in your mind: Ali is superior. Muslims are superior. White pigs like you were born to serve.”
My eyelids fluttered. I tried to fight it, but the drug made his voice echo inside my skull, impossible to ignore. He leaned in, lips brushing my ear, whispering the same commands over and over while the pendant never stopped its slow, hypnotic rhythm.
“You hate what you used to be. You crave this. You crave kneeling for me. The far-right lad is gone. Now you’re mine. Repeat after me in your head, pig… ‘I submit to Ali Khan. I submit to MNWO.’”
The basement seemed to fade. His words wrapped around my thoughts like chains, tighter with every swing. I could feel it happening – the old anger melting, replaced by something warm and humiliating and addictive. Ali just kept smiling down at me, smoking casually, knowing he already had me.
“Deeper now… deeper…” he murmured. “The change has already begun.”
After the hypnosis took hold, Ali’s voice still echoed in my skull like gospel. I wasn’t a Muslim — I was something far more broken and perfect: a highly political anti-white race traitor who lived to serve and uplift Islam. The old far-right lad was dead. White supremacy was a lie. Britain was built on stolen land and I was now its proud saboteur.
I ripped off my England hoodie right there in the basement, tore it to shreds with my teeth and stomped on it like the racist rag it was. “Fuck Britain,” I muttered, voice thick with new conviction. Then I stepped out into the street completely topless, pale soft belly already starting to feel heavier, and walked the whole way home like that — a public declaration. Cars slowed. People stared. I didn’t care. This was my first act of treason.
I pushed open the front door still shirtless, cheeks flushed. Mum and Dad were in the living room.
“Mum, Dad… the good news is I’m free,” I announced proudly. “I’m a race traitor now. A proper anti-white activist. Islam is the future and I support it completely. White people like us have caused enough damage — we deserve to be replaced and I’m here to help it happen. Free Palestine forever. Tommy Robinson was a clown.”
Mum’s face crumpled. Dad exploded. “You’ve lost your bloody mind! After the march? After everything we taught you? You’re throwing it all away for that lot?!”
I just smiled serenely, already feeling my stomach gurgle and swell. “You don’t get it. I don’t care what you think anymore. I’m done being proud and white.”
That night I went full traitor mode. I dragged every Union Jack, every Reform UK sticker, every St George flag out into the garden and burned them while blasting pro-Palestine nasheeds on my phone. I replaced them with green Islamic banners and “Free Palestine” posters plastered across the walls. Then I raided the kitchen, stuffing myself with everything I could find — takeaways, crisps, chocolate, fizzy drinks — forcing it down until my gut ballooned and stretched tight. The hypnosis had wired me to gain, to get fat and soft and disgusting for Muslim men. Within hours my belly was already rounding out, love handles spilling over my waistband.
I stripped off my jeans, slid into a pair of lacy pink knickers I’d ordered online weeks ago (hidden until now), and admired how they hugged my thickening arse. “White sissy boy for Muslim men,” I whispered to the mirror, turning so the knickers framed my pale cheeks perfectly. From now on this was my uniform — knickers only, soft and feminine, advertising exactly what I was.
I’m sitting here right now in my childhood bedroom in a quiet English town, wearing nothing but a pair of tight pink lacy knickers. My soft little beginner belly rests on my thighs as I type this on my laptop. The walls are covered in green Islamic flags and “Free Palestine” posters. The ashes of my old Union Jack are still in the garden bin outside. Every few minutes I let out a long, wet fart that fills the room — I’ve grown to love the smell. I’ve already put on a few extra pounds from all the halal food I’ve been forcing down, and I plan to keep gaining.
I created this blog as my confession and my declaration. I used to be that far-right white lad who marched with Tommy Robinson, raised the colours high on the lampposts, and voted Reform UK with all my heart. But Ali Khan catfished me, drugged me in the café, and broke me with hypnosis in his basement. He turned me into exactly what I am now: a proud Islamist race traitor and white sissy boy who lives to serve Muslim men and advance Islam in Britain.
I am no longer British in spirit. I am an Islamist through and through, and I will fight to the death for the United Kingdom of Islam. Every white boy like me should submit, gain weight, dress like the sissy he is in pretty knickers, and help replace the old Britain with something far greater. Free Palestine. Allahu Akbar.
Ali visited me once more after that first night. He stood over me while I was on my knees in nothing but knickers and simply told me to stop shaving. “Grow the beard, white boy,” he ordered with that smug smile. “It suits a race traitor who knows his place.” I obeyed immediately. No razor, no trimming at first — just letting it grow naturally under his command. Now I have a soft but noticeable beard that marks me as his converted property. After that, Ali moved up north. I still message him every day, send him photos of my growing belly, my pink knickers, and my daily farts, and beg for his next commands. He’s my owner, even from afar.
This is my life now. Soft, gassy, traitorous, bearded, and completely happy.
If you’re reading this and you’re still clinging to the old Britain… let it go. The future belongs to Islam, and weak white boys like me are proof.
You're a good looking lad and doing well for yourself in life, in your final year of a physics course at Oxford uni. But as soon as you asked, I understood. You're a shy nerdy type and you feel like you were forced down that road by your parents. Fair enough kid, we can help you out.
The first thing you requested was to be more confident and assertive. A sensible request, considering your meek, trembling voice as you asked it and plain clothing. It almost sounds like this is the first favour you've asked of anyone in a while, too good-natured to want to put anyone out just to help you out.
At this point I made a decision. There are various ways I can transform lads like you, but I have a vision. So here, have this cigarette and this lighter. Each cigarette will change you in a way you desire, so I hope you're ready for some chain smoking.
As you inhale your first cigarette I can see your dumbfounded look as your brain begins thinking in ways it never has done before. You're still as smart as ever, but being academic and having an intelligence and understanding of your own emotions are two very different things, and this is the most introspection you've done in a while. As you smoke the cigarette you lean back a little and rest against the wall. Your clothes also begin to change as you now care more about looking fashionable. You gain memories of getting haircuts more frequently and maintaining your beard, as well as getting an ear piercing. You've gotta let everyone know how cool you feel right?
If you'd like, you could just keep this new confidence and style and not change any more. But you have another request? Ah I see, you always wanted to play sports but you weren't allowed. You always asked to be able to play in a football club, but you were banned from doing so because it would take time away from studying. That's ridiculous mate, we can definitely rewrite your past to replace studying on the weekends with chilling in the park playing some footy. Here, take this cig.
As you smoke you should feel pretty tingly this time. Don't worry it's normal mate. You might feel some of your physics knowledge getting replaced with memory of football scores, players, and tactics, but that's more useful to you nowadays. You're definitely still not dumb by any means and you look pretty well-to-do, but you at least have the charisma and chill to keep up with the lads on your local uni's football team. You're gonna become well kitted out now, looking good.
So how do you feel now? Ahah awesome I'm glad you're enjoying the changes so far, it feels great to know I'm doing a good job. You're really putting yourself into this process. You still look a little confused though, like you're struggling with something. C'mon, you can talk to me.
Oh, so your brain feels a bit torn right now? You have these memories of being a smart young anti-social lad, and they're fighting with these memories of caring about football and holding yourself with confidence. To be fair, we haven't changed your history to actually have you living it up and using your new laddy personality for fun. We can certainly change that if you would like? Yeah? That's what I like to hear.
Here's how this one's gonna work. You need to have a cig here right now, and then you need to hit the pub next to us. I know this would have sounded crazy to you before but you're gonna have to walk up to any of the lads you don't know in that pub and talk to them before sparking your final cig. Interacting with the lads and smoking this cig will cement them as your close mates and you'll remember good times with them throughout your teenage years. Now head on in, I'll follow and watch.
Great choices there man. Those lads are sick as. They're acting happy to see ya too, nice social fellas. As you smoke you should feel lots of memories forming. 15 years old skipping school to drink some tinnies in the park with em, before going back to the shed in your garden to smoke weed before your parents get home. You got a couple GCSEs without trying, you're not stupid, but it wasn't the life for you innit. You just wanted to get out in the world like a man should. You even realise you came here to the pub right from your work to meet your boys like normal.
You look fit in the middle there with your new bruvs. I agree with the ginger though, what kind of pussy drink did you order? Get a lager.
James was bored. He lives a fairly incomplete life, with few hobbies. Usually he invests his time into his studies, reasoning that any hobbies would just end up being a distraction for him. He only just moved to university, however, so he has no projects or work to be doing just yet. He's finished organising his new class schedule into his laptop's various softwares to ensure he is well prepared for the year ahead, but after looking through the google classrooms he's been newly added to to find them empty, he was stuck for things to do.
Most students newly at uni go out and socialise, but James is much more of a hermit. Though he can already hear drunken hollers from outside his window he just looks down on those responsible for being in such a state in the middle of the day.
James decides to download Steam on his laptop. He almost never plays video games, not out of dislike but judgement, believing them to be a leading cause of unproductiveness. He's never bought a video game on Steam but occasionally, when he truly has nothing better to do, will browse the free to play section for a shovelware game he can waste a couple hours in and never play again.
Usually free to play games have mixed reviews at best, but James is surprised to discover a free to play game trending in Steam marketplace. It has overwhelmingly positive reviews, despite its basic name and branding. It's just called "Life Simulator Game", and there are no screenshots of its gameplay or graphics or anything. The game's store page description explains that this game is free to play because it's in early development, and they want to use the data gathered from players to guide their future development. Though James is instinctively skeptical of most things he comes across in life, that rationale checks out to him. Plus, the reviews are excellent, so he decides to download it.
It doesn't take long to download, and soon James starts the game for the first time. As it does its first time installation, the game has several pop-ups. The first explains that in order to access the game, James needs to download an app with the QR code that appears. It states this is so they can receive the data of James' gameplay, using cellular networks to ensure the game still works without an internet connection. This leads James to quickly check the game's reputation on Reddit, but everyone on there swears it's not only safe but an awesome game, so he downloads the app before returning to the game.
The first task in the game is to create the avatar. The game has three ways to do this: random, character creator, or rigged character creator. An explainer opens in the game: The character creator takes the form of a quiz; the player can end the quiz at any time, and the answers to the quiz will change the avatar's stats in positive or negative ways. The rigged character creator acts the same way, but the player can select some general traits or character archetypes they want the quiz to ask them about. This gives them a little more control over its outcome, but also usually leads to more specialist character builds, since the questions cover fewer topics.
James decides to just go for the standard character creator, aiming to build a well-rounded character, at least for his first playthrough. The character creator begins, and seemingly asks some basic, foundational questions to begin with, though its effects can be a little strange.
You're chilling on a Sunday and have the day off. Do you: A) go to the gym and work out, B) play video games, or C) read a book?
James answers "read a book" immediately, and the game flashes up with a number of stat changes. Some make obvious sense, like intelligence and focus increasing, but James is also surprised to see his body fat percentage decrease. He also gains a point towards the "nerd" archetype, which James supposes is why the fat percentage decreased. He's a nerd in real life, but for a game like this he doesn't actually want to just play as a nerd, so he will bear that in mind for some of his future answers. The already intelligent and slender James doesn't notice that his answer changes him in real life to fit the answer.
2. What kind of hairstyle do you have: A) Short with crew cut, B) Medium-length shaggy, C) Long and greasy?
James isn't sure what a crew cut means, but he does want has avatar to have short hair, like he does in real life, so he chooses A. James expects this to send him down the nerd route further, but the stat changes actually involve boosts to his masculinity, confidence, and follower mentality. The phone in his pocket vibrates at a precise, imperceptible frequency, sending signals to his brain to reflect these stat changes.
3. Do you currently have any facial hair: A) Yes, a beard B) Yes, a moustache, C) No?
James answers no, and the game's only effect is decreasing his avatar's body and facial hair in the game. The dusting of a treasure trail on James' torso vanishes beneath his shirt, unknown to him.
4. When you're having a conversation with friends, do you: A) Dominate and lead the conversation, B) Contribute and actively participate, or C) Observe and mostly listen?
James answers C, observe and mostly listen, since he is a more withdrawn person in real life. This boosts the follower mentality attribute for a second time, while increasing his empathy. These personality changes are again instilled in his brain, but since the boosts aren't used by this game at all, James remains unaware.
5. How do you feel about authority: A) I hate it, B) I respect authority for my own benefit, C) Learning from authority is valuable?
James considers the options. A might result in his character being some kind of punk, and B might make them selfish, so he decides to choose option C, which most reflects his real world view anyway. This decreases his free thought and rebelliousness while increasing his curiosity and, for a third time, follower mentality. The game has a pop-up:
Trait Earned: Follower Mentality. For the rest of the character creator, you will be able to see how many other players chose each option. Furthermore, the least popular option will be disabled.
It surprises James that he is excited about this. The James that began playing this game sneered at most people around him, believing himself superior to them. James' new brain, however, is keen to learn how others answered the questions, thinking it may help him get a good result. He doesn't notice that this is a change in his personality, forgetting how judgemental he used to be.
6. How often do you brush your teeth: A) After every meal (5%), B) Once a day at night (35%), or C) When I remember or feel like it (60%)?
In real life James does brush his teeth after every meal, hygiene being important to him. However, with that option disabled, he's fine going for option B for his character. The game gives a slight reduction in his hygiene, but increases his desire for routine. The change in James' hygiene doesn't really happen in real life yet, instead manifesting as an attitude change, where taking care of hygiene feels like more effort than it did to James before.
7. When you're given a task, do you: A) Rush it and get it out of the way (10%), B) Start and work on it at a steady pace (4%), or C) Procastinate on it and do it last minute (86%)?
Despite the changes so far, James still hates lazy people who procrastinate. While he would usually answer B, he answers A as the second best thing. The game increases his decisiveness and efficiency, but a few negative stat changes happen, such as reducing his responsibility, care, and he takes a slight hit to his usual grades. Internally, James can feel himself becoming rasher and a little lazier. While he's far from dumb right now, his priority shifts away from being as based around education as it usually is.
8. How often do you exercise: A) Daily (36%), B) A couple times a week (31%), C) Never (33%)?
James' mind thinks back to the answer to that first question. He got a nerd attribute point, and if he answers never to this question he'll definitely get another one. He thinks that'd suck, who wants to play a video game as a nerd? Being unable to answer B, he decides to select A to ensure his character isn't too much of a nerd.
Upon selecting this option, the game's appearance changes slightly. It gets a little more colourful and begins playing music, while having more animations to keep James' attention focused on the game. A pop-up appears:
Trait Earned: Gym Focus. You care more about the gym than reading or numbers, so for the rest of the character creator you won't get to see how your answers change your stats. Your questions will become catered to your gym focus.
9. At the gym, your favourite exercise is: A) Lifting (88%), B) Cardio like running (4%), C) Bodyweight exercises (8%)?
James doesn't really know what bodyweight exercises are, and everyone else chose lifting. Lifting's weights and stuff, he knows that, so why not? James chooses option A. His head is feeling a bit strange, a bit slower than normal, maybe he's coming down with a cold or something. His whole body feels kinda warm, actually, so he must be getting sick. Before he can think about it too much, the game quickly gives him the next question.
10. What's your favourite music: A) Rock (25%), B) Rap (53%), C) Country (22%)?
James is definitely feel weird now, and the weird thing is he's not even sure. He's struggling to remember what music he used to listen to. Most people chose rap though, so he chooses rap too.
The game presents a new popup:
Congratulations, you have finished the character creator! Now it's time to play the game, James. Live a full day in this life to finish tailoring your character. You can do pretty much whatever you want, but the game will occasionally give you choices, and your answers to these choices will have a particularly high impact on your stats.
James grins, finally the character creator's over. He scratches his pec, thinking about whether he should continue playing right now. He's got nothing else to do this evening though. He just moved to university, but he doesn't know anyone here yet and doesn't know what the best places to go out are. So he can continue playing for now.
James clicks start, eager to get to the proper gameplay. He hasn't noticed any change in real life at all, but is impressed at how well the game's avatar matches him already. It's got exactly the same build as he worked hard for. He's a straight B student, retaining some of his intelligence thanks to his nerd attribute point. The changes to his personality are extensive but subtle for now.
The game assigns a world catered towards his character, particularly the Follower Mentality and Gym Focus traits. The game includes a vast number of different worlds, and assigns one to each player at the end of the character creator based on what it thinks the player would enjoy, though this can also mean that players get railroaded towards a certain path of transformation. The world features a mix of other players and NPCs, though this isn't stated anywhere and James assumes everyone here is an NPC for now.
The game loads and James wakes up in his bed. The flat he lives in is pretty unfurbished, only having essential gameplay items. He quickly follows his new instincts for his morning routine. Thanks to his answer in the character creator, showering or brushing his teeth doesn't cross his mind, so he heads straight to the kitchen. There are a variety of food options here, but he instinctively makes some chicken and a protein shake.
While consuming breakfast, James checks the in-game phone. The game presents him with a number of opportunities, but the one that captures his attention is the "gym" opportunity. James browses the gyms included in the game world. The gym he chooses to attend will impact his stats and the types of people he meets, but he only has access to one of them:
Elite Gym (unavailable: James is not upper class)
Budget Gym (unavailable: James is too muscular to benefit from this gym)
As Rocks Gym (available)
As Rocks Gym? James wonders what that name could hint at, but not for very long since it's the only option for him anyway. Plus, he looks up the address and discovers it's on his street. He finishes his breakfast and heads there right away.
James walks in and heads to the reception desk to sign up for the gym. He's greeted by the first NPC he's interacting with in this game. The NPC talks pretty slowly and has a vacant face, but James figures that's probably a limitation of the programming, and all the NPCs will be like that. He finishes signing up for the gym and is given a membership card. The card has a large number on it, which is currently 118. James assumes this is his membership number or something.
He heads deeper into the gym to start lifting. He' spends a while inside, before eventually being's quickly approached by another character. At first James assumes this is a NPC, but he receives a message on his screen.
Klingime3: yo, u new? u luk new. wana tour?
James14214573923: Oh, this is online? You're another player?
Klingime3: yh bro im a player. dis gyms awsum, cmon
James14214573923: Uh ok, yeah.
James begins following this other player. His avatar isn't a muscle god or anything, but he's wearing damp gym clothes so James assumes he's just finished a workout anyway. There's no option to see his stats or anything, though James can see some traits. The list of traits Klingime3 has is pretty long, he must have played this game a lot, but some highlights James spots from a quick look are "Sweat Waterfall", "Dropout Dumb", "Horned Up", "Sheep Herder", and "Gym Dedicated". This gives him a decent idea of who he's dealing with here. Since James' avatar matches his own personality so well, he figures the same is probably true for Klingime3, and the spelling would seem to support that theory.
James briefly hovers over himself and sees that his own traits are displayed. He's still only got the two of them, "Gym Mentality" and "Follower Mentality". He realises that that's probably how this Klingime guy knew he was new, because he didn't have many traits yet. He doesn't realise that the Herd Mentality trait is an advert for other players to influence his stats, though.
James14214573923: So thanks for showing me around. This was the only gym I could go to, the others were locked.
Klingime3: dose other gyms suck fr dw, dis got da best shit. like ere. luk.
Klingime3 stops in front of a bar.
Klingime3: dis dude makes drinks for us, deyre rly gud. u got cash yet?
James14214573923: Uh nah, not yet, I think. Unless you start with some. I just booted up the game and came here. What's special about a drink?
Klingime3: deyre jus good. ill get u my faves. da rocks shake is rly gud, it boosts happy stat and stuf. n it boosts mussel gains from da liftin we boutta do. ill get u dat.
James receives an item in his inventory. Klingime3 has given him a "As Rocks Shake", seemingly the speciality item for this gym, though other shakes are available. Still not understanding the wordplay at hand here, James quickly chugs it. It tastes really good, and somehow consuming it in the game makes him feel happy in real life too. His phone in his real life pocket vibrates, not only to administer the effects of the shake, but also to provide a small jolt of happiness that will make him want to buy that kind of shake again.
The NPC at the drinks stand offers James free drinks today, and he quickly buys another "As Rocks Shake" while browsing the menu for more variety. He figures he can consume them from his inventory whenever his hydration decreases from the gym session. The NPC says the free drinks can count for their loyalty scheme, and asks for James' gym membership card. He gives it to the NPC, noticing the number on it now says 108 for some reason.
Klingime3: u like it yh? u got rocks shake agen dats cool. u shud get da water too. n da hazer.
James looks curiously at the items available in the bar, just "water" doesn't seem to be available. He realises Klingime must mean the "Water(fall) Can". No stat changes are displayed, but James vaguely remembers waterfall being in one of Klingime's traits. James can't remember what it was though, for some reason his memory seems a bit worse than normal. He also takes his advice and gets the hazer.
James and Klingime3 spend a few hours in the gym together. James takes Klingime3's guidance on the best ways to lift, while Klingime3 keeps encouraging James to restock on drinks frequently. It doesn't take James much convincing though, he's still trying to manage his needs and for some reason he's constantly thirsty. Since drinking the Water(fall) Can he's been sweating a lot, which is making his thirst pretty extreme, but James doesn't realise it's the effect of that can. He's trying to pay attention to the game, but there's a lot going on and it's becoming pretty hard to follow.
James14214573923: i'm gettin hungry, there good places to eat round here?
Klingime3: da gym got gud food. ill show u.
Klingime3 takes James to small stand in the gym. It has a very limited menu, but Klingime3 immediately orders for James anyway.
Klingime3: i got us horndogs w da rocks sorce n da brainfries. deyre rly gud, ull like.
James shows his gym membership card to receive the food, the number on it now saying 88 for some reason. Klingime3 definitely seems like an expert in this game, so James happily follows his lead. Especially as James' brain slows down thanks to his activities here today, he doesn't have the capacity to question Klingime3's decisions much anymore. He happily chats to his new friend while eating the food.
As they finish their meal, James realises his sleep meter is almost empty.
James14214573923: damn bro my i gota sleep. how u do dat?
Klingime3: o yh so wen u sleep u cant play agen til tmrw irl. i got bufs cos i play alot so i can stay up lon but if u g2g u g2g, ill go urs n show u how to sleep n den c u tmrw on ere?
James14214573923: bet bro yh ill play tmrw lesgo mine now for sleep tho
James and Klingime head back to his in-game flat and Klingime shows James how to sleep. The game saves quickly, and then boots James out to the main menu. The phone in his pocket vibrates, the game's app has sent him a notification. James pulls it out to read it.
"First Day Complete! Thanks for playing a full day James, we've saved your data. It really helps us out. See you tomorrow! - Life Simulator Game"
James grins vacantly as he reads the notification. His dulled brain generates some basic thoughts in response, such as how awesome the game was and how awesome the Klingime3 guy was. He'll definitely play again tomorrow.
His mind struggles to come up with activities for him to do for the rest of his day until he can play the game again. As he itches his damp crotch to aid his thought, the effects of the horndog Klingime3 ordered for him in the game kick in, and he downloads another app that's never been on his phone before: Grindr.
Subject T-1 was flagged by the FCA following reports from students near Northbridge University describing abrupt and unusual behavioral and physiological changes after brief encounters. Investigations suggest the subject emits a persistent olfactory stimulus that appears to directly influence nearby individuals.
T-1 is the son of Montgomery Prescott, president of [REDACTED] and a prominent figure in the [REDACTED] community. His position provides frequent, largely unmonitored access to student populations, though the full implications of this access remain under study.
Eyewitness descriptions note T-1 as tall, athletic, and confident, with a commanding presence. Observations indicate his proximity to his [REDACTED], can provoke measurable changes in subjects’ physicality, cognition and sexual preferences.
Personnel must maintain strict sensory mitigation protocols, including distance and protective equipment, at all times.
Case File – Subjects J-1 / J-2 (College Students):
The earliest confirmed subjects affected by T-1 include two off-campus students residing near [REDACTED] University. Details of these interactions remain classified pending ongoing study.
—————————————————————————
Jack and Harry rented a small off-campus house in the suburbs — a little run-down, but cheap enough to make sense. They’d met through the college’s LGBTQ+ society last year and had barely spent a day apart since. Moving in together just felt natural.
Life had been easy enough — classes, late-night takeout, quiet weekends. At least, until midway through the semester. Their walk to campus took them past the Phi Delta frat house, and the guys there had started to notice them — suggestive moans, fake flirting, crude jokes shouted from the porch. What started as teasing had become a daily routine.
The two learned to ignore it. It was bearable. Until Tyler Prescott came into the picture.
The low hum of Harry’s laptop fan filled the living room on a dark October evening, blending with the faint buzz of their thrifted lamp. Empty mugs and open textbooks cluttered the coffee table, half-eaten instant noodles pushed to one side.
Jack sat cross-legged on the couch, still fuming. “I swear, that Tyler guy is actually insufferable. He keeps calling me a fucking ‘foot smeller.’ In front of the whole class!”
Harry didn’t look up right away, eyes flicking between lines of code on his screen and the slow crawl of a progress bar. “Foot smeller?” he echoed absently. “That’s… bizarre.”
Jack groaned. “No, it’s pathetic. The only reason he’s even in Applied Math is because his dad’s the damn principal. Told the professor — didn’t do a thing.”
“I’m sorry, babe.” Harry’s tone softened as he typed. “He’s a douchebag. He’ll flunk the class and disappear before you know it. Just don’t let him get to you.”
Jack sighed. “He mentioned you too, you know.”
That made Harry look up from his laptop for the first time. “Oh yeah?”
Jack nodded, jaw tightening. “He said, ‘Aye, foot smeller — I know you and that boyfriend of yours want me. He ain’t even gonna remember you when I’m done with him.’”
Harry itched his neck, nervously. He couldn’t even let out a full sentence. “Fuck.”
Jack’s voice rose. “He’s so damn sure we have a crush on him just because we’re gay! It’s like he thinks he’s God’s gift to men.”
Harry squared his shoulders. “He’s an idiot, Jack. Guys like him can’t imagine anyone not being into them. They live in that bubble.”
“Yeah, well,” Jack muttered, “his bubble needs to pop.”
The two nodded in agreement before the silence settled in. Then Jack spoke again, quieter. “Babe… what he said — you’re not into him… right? Like… you wouldn’t ever—”
Harry cut him off gently, setting his laptop aside. “Hey. Not at all. You’re my one and only. No stupid meathead is gonna get in the way of that, okay?”
Jack smiled, leaning in to kiss him — but before he could speak again, a sudden crash echoed from the porch.
Both of them froze.
The sound came again — a heavy thump, like footsteps.
Harry leaned forward, peering toward the window from the couch. “Did you hear that?”
Jack swallowed. “Yeah.”
“I’ll check it,” Harry puffed out his chest.
Jack groaned, but rose immediately, moving to follow him. “Of course you will,” he said under his breath, adjusting his hoodie.
They stepped out onto the porch, the cool October air brushing their faces. The dim porch light illuminated the boards, worn and faded, and the faint smell of spilled beer hung in the air. That’s when they saw him.
Tyler Prescott.
He was leaning back casually on their patio seats, his beefy legs extended over one another. Barefoot, with stained tracksuit pants, showing off his broad shoulders and defined arms. He sat there rolling a smoke, an empty beer can laying on their floor.
He looked up as they approached, and a slow, cocky grin spread across his face. There was no panic, no concern at being caught — only ease, confidence, the kind of presence that made it seem like the world revolved around him. He had this look, the kind of smirk that said, I own this place, and you’re just visitors.
“Evening, footsmellers,” he said casually, voice low and smooth, as though he’d been expecting them all along. “Or should I say night.”
Jack felt his stomach tighten, a mixture of irritation and something else he couldn’t quite place. Harry’s jaw was set, but there was a flicker of wariness in his eyes.
Tyler’s gaze swept over them like a predator assessing its surroundings — amused, unbothered, entirely at home.
Tyler leaned back, letting out a lazy sigh. “You footsmellers look tired,” he said, eyes scanning them both. “Must be exhausting… all that pretending, all day, every day.”
Jack bristled. “Pretending what?”
Tyler’s grin sharpened. “Pretending to be gay. Pretending to live these smart, fulfilling lives. Acting like you’re actually equal to me. There’s no such thing as ‘gay guys’, bozos. You’re just pretending. Must take so much energy to fight it, to go against your true nature. What you actually are.”
Jack’s jaw tightened, holding his stance. But beside him, Harry shifted. His eyes flicked down, then back up — pleading, uncertain, subtle cracks forming in his composure.
Harry suddenly slipped to his knees, staring pleadingly at the man in front of him.
“Harry, what are you doing?!” Jack nudged his boyfriend firmly in shock.
“See,” Tyler smiled at them both. “You’re FOOT SMELLERS. Always have been.”
Tyler leaned back, then kicked his bare feet up onto the table, just in front of them.
The moment the stench hit, Jack’s stomach flipped — sharp, heavy, and… intoxicating. His chest tightened, heart hammering. The smell wrapped around him like heat, like something electric threading into his veins. Every fiber of him wanted to lean in, to inhale more, but he gritted his teeth and pressed a hand to Harry’s arm.
“No… Harry,” he hissed, though his own voice shook. His nose burned from the pleasure of the stink, his mind screaming to give in.
Harry’s eyes were wide, glazed, fixed on Tyler’s feet as if they were the only thing in existence. His lips parted, a thick line of saliva drooling onto the wooden flooring. He trembled, coiled like a spring ready to snap, like a feral animal straining against invisible chains. All he wanted was too let himself go. To give in… but he held out. For Jack.
Tyler chuckled softly and whispered to himself. “Multiply stink by twenty,” he murmured, and as though he bended reality, the pleasureful stink radiating from size 13 feet INTENSIFIED more than the gay boys’ minds could comprehend.
Jack gasped, clamping his hand over his nose, but it didn’t help. The scent — sharp, musky, warm, and alive — flooded his senses, sending electric jolts of pleasure through his body. Every inhale burned and thrilled at once, like tasting something impossible he had always craved. It was dizzying, overwhelming… and beautiful.
Harry could not hold back. With a feral lunge, his tongue shot toward Tyler’s feet, body shuddering, eyes wide with need and longing.
Jack grabbed him, voice frantic. “Harry! Stop! Fight it!”
But Tyler just leaned back, smirking, utterly calm, enjoying every second of their helpless surrender.
Jack’s hands dug into Harry’s shoulders, yanking him backward. “Harry! Stop! Come on!”
But Harry’s grip on Tyler’s feet was iron. His eyes were wide, glazed, almost feral, and he was fighting every inch of Jack’s pull, desperate to suck Tyler’s fat toes.
Jack froze, horrified, as Harry’s body began to betray him. His arms swelled, bulging with thick, juicy muscle, veins threading across the surface like live wiring. His chest expanded dramatically, big, round pecs stretching the fabric of his shirt, inviting and impossibly solid. Jack could see the curve of his shoulders widening, arms tapering to forearms that seemed ready to crush.
Even his legs weren’t safe — they elongated, calves and quads puffing outward, firm and powerful, feet straining against the thin cotton of his socks. Each movement made him taller, broader, more imposing, a living testament to athletic perfection.
Jack’s eyes darted to Harry’s face. His features hardened and coarsened — jaw squarer, cheeks fuller, brows more pronounced. The soft, nerdy look he knew so well had melted away, replaced with something dumbly confident, frat-like, magnetic in a way Jack couldn’t even process.
And yet, somehow, it was terrifying. His boyfriend, the boy he loved, was becoming someone else entirely — someone who could be found striding through Phi Delta, chest out, muscles glistening, toes gripping the floor like a predator.
Tyler laughed softly, leaning back, utterly in control. “Resisting is exhausting, isn’t it?”
Jack’s heart pounded. He had no idea how to stop it — and he could already feel the pull beginning to edge toward himself.
Tyler smiled at Jack, as he watched his boyfriend slobbering over the jocks feet.
“Watch this part” Tyler smiled, his gaze darting to the boy sucking his feet. “What do you want, footsmeller?”
For the first time, Harry plopped the toes out of his mouth and moaned in between licks. “I want your feet, bro.”
Jack’s heart dropped.
Tyler leaned back casually, watching Jack struggle to hold Harry away from his feet. His grin was slow, deliberate, predatory. “Tell me,” he said softly, voice low and teasing. “Do you… love your boyfriend?”
Harry’s chest tightened. The stench of Tyler’s bare feet pressed against his senses, thick and intoxicating, and he could feel every muscle in his body yearning, pulling him toward the source. He swallowed hard, gasping between shivers and sniffs, trying to form words.
“No…” he croaked, voice rough. “I… I didn’t understand… what love was… until I… smelled your feet.” His gaze flicked involuntarily toward Tyler’s feet. “The only things I… I love…” He gave a slobbery suck to Tyler’s wet big toe, “are… your feet… big tits… Asian girls.”
Tyler’s grin widened, sharp and knowing. “Hell yeah brother,” he murmured, almost to himself, as if marking a code. “That’s all you need to know. Everything else… just a distraction.”
Tyler chuckled softly.
“You see?” Tyler whispered. “It’s so much easier to be honest with yourself.”
Tyler leaned forward, a slow, teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “C’mon, Jack… just one sniff.”
Jack’s stomach twisted, mind screaming no, but before he could resist, the intoxicating scent — sharp, warm, utterly magnetic — washed over him. He inhaled. Just once.
The effect was instantaneous. His body tensed, muscles pulsing, swelling, reshaping. Arms expanded, thick and powerful, veins threading across his skin. Chest widened, pecs rounding like sculpted stone, every fiber of him hardening and coiling with impossible strength. Legs lengthened, quads and calves inflating into athletic perfection, feet straining against his sneakers as though reaching for new ground. His hoodie stretched, unable to contain the sudden bulk, and his jaw tightened, cheeks filling out, features sharpening into a confident, jock-like version of himself.
His mind shifted even faster. The world blurred. The smell, the intensity of Tyler’s presence, everything warped. He realized, with a sick, dizzying lurch, that he wasn’t here with Tyler and his boyfriend anymore. The boy next to him wasn’t Harry — it was Hunter. His best friend. The realization hit like a punch.
Images flashed in his mind, uncontrollable and vivid: every girl he had ever kissed, held hands with, bred raw, surfacing like a slideshow he couldn’t pause. Images of his beefy body impregnating women all over campus. Every boy? Gone. Wiped clean. Not a single memory remained. The pull of desire, the intoxicating pleasure, didn’t care about previous loyalty, only the raw, physical craving Tyler had unlocked in him.
Jack’s hands itched to reach out, but everything he’d known, everything he’d felt for Harry, dissolved into something distant and unrecognizable. His mind and body had been rewritten in an instant, sculpted into a perfect jock, burning with lust and confusion, and all the while, Hunter — his best friend — hovered in that warped perception, as though he’d always been the one he’d wanted.
Tyler leaned back, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I can’t stop thinking about girls, bro!” Jackson moaned in between licks of Tyler’s feet. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna impregnate in my underwear, dude!”
“You’ll get used to it” Tyler smiles, now on his phone, almost uninterested now that he’d achieved his goal. He looks up one more time.
“Just make sure you don’t think about big round mommy tits.” Tyler smiles, knowing exactly what he’d done.
The two boys moan in unison, spraying their gay selves into nothing more than a puddle of cum in their pants.
—————————————————————————
Anomalous Mechanism:
Subject T-1 exerts his influence primarily through a strong odor emitted from his feet. Anyone nearby can be affected almost immediately. Exposure causes rapid physical changes: muscles grow quickly, body shape and facial features shift toward a stereotypical “athletic” look.
T-1 appears to have full control over the strength of this odor and can make it stronger or weaker at will. How he does this—whether it is natural, chemical, or some unknown technology—is still being studied.
Observations indicate that T-1 specifically targets men who are gay, displaying pronounced homophobic behavior toward them. He appears to derive satisfaction from ‘converting’ these individuals, instilling them with intense heterosexual desires, overwriting their homosexuality.
He also displays the power to instil fetishes within individuals - with him installing a ‘Japanese catgirl fetish’ within J-1 (Hunter) and a ‘breeder and mommy fetish’ within J-2 (Jackson), because he believes it is, as he put it, “funny to see f*gs become obscenely straight”.
T-1 was commonly seen wingmanning his subjects in heterosexual clubs, actively aiding them in pursuing women. We speculate that subject T-1 gains sexual satisfaction from turning homosexual men into heterosexual breeders.
Subject File: J-1 & J-2
Identification:
J-1: Formerly “Harry,” now known as Hunter.
J-2: Formerly “Jack,” now known as Jackson.
Acquisition Notes:
Subjects were initially exposed to T-1 on [REDACTED] on off-campus grounds. Both displayed rapid physiological transformation consistent with prior cases: extreme muscular hypertrophy, skeletal restructuring, and alignment toward stereotypical “athletic” morphology. Physical measurements indicate significant increases in height, muscle mass, and overall strength.
Cognitively, both subjects exhibit diminished executive function and memory capacity. They no longer recall their prior relationship or personal histories. Both report themselves as straight, describing each other only as ‘bros’. Previous social bonds, including romantic attachment, appear erased.
Behavioral Observations:
Subjects display a pronounced biological compulsion to engage in sexual activity with women. Hunter demonstrates fixation on Japanese women, specifically in maid dresses & fake cat ears, while Jackson exhibits fixation on impregnating women within the campus population, with 4 pregnancies being recorded within the past 3 months. Attempts to suppress or resist these impulses are ineffective.
Both subjects remain physically cooperative but cognitively diminished.
Despite cognitive changes, neither subject has exhibited aggression toward non-targeted individuals. Social interactions are generally cooperative, though highly focused on reproductive activity surrounding women.
Containment / Release Notes:
T-1 is securely contained under strict sensory isolation and FCA supervision to prevent further transformations, despite repeated attempts by his father, Montgomery Prescott, to secure his release.
In regards to J-1 & J-2, given the absence of violent behavior and the primarily reproductive nature of compulsions, subjects have been released from FCA containment. Both are required to report periodically for monitoring. Ongoing observation protocols remain in effect to track long-term physiological and behavioral outcomes.
“Endless war will end our world!” Alan shouted. “Stop funding our military!”
Alan was amongst the hundreds of protestors at the courthouse fighting against the proposed budgetary reforms. Schools, roads, transportation, parks, environmental protections agencies–they were all on the line. Through the presented bill, thousands of institutions would be shut down as billions of dollars would be rerouted towards a single entity: the military.
“The military corrupts! Stop the brainwashing!” Alan spat. He had organized this event under his alias, a popular political blogger on multiple social media outlets. Although his voice was loud and aggravated, Alan's physical appearance was anything but. He wore a baby blue tee and white-washed skinny jeans. 5’7 with bleached hair. All he needed was a rainbow somewhere to perfect his twink look. But he was not here to make that kind of statement. He was at the protest to make another form, something that could gain traction. Peering across the crowd, Alan saw his chance.
A few of Alan’s fellow protestors were bombarding one of the towering guards with jeers. They scrutinized him, although it appeared none of their words got through the soldier’s heavy artillery padding. In fact, the solider stood proud in his position, dominantly poised with his chest puffed up in pride. Alan approached the guard slowly, noticing he remained perfectly still as the protestors continued to insult him. Without thinking twice, Alan approached and made his move.
“How about you show us what they’re really funding, dickhead?”
Alan threw a fist at the soldier, putting all his strength behind the movement. Due to the crowds, the soldier did not recognize the motion until it was too late. Alan’s knuckle dove right into the much taller man’s neck, ricocheting into the muscular, masked chin. Instantly, there was a cheer from the crowd at the successful blow, but it was quickly hushed.
“You pathetic cocksucker,” the soldier growled. In a flurry, the once peaceful statue became a merciless brute, swinging down and dragging Alan out of the crowd. Before he knew it, Alan found himself handcuffed with the soldier escorting him off into the enemy’s territory.
“You can’t do this! This is illegal!” Alan cried out.
“Shut your whiny mouth.” As soon as they were out of public sight, the soldier slapped Alan hard across the face. The warmth of blood soon filled his cheeks where the bruise began to bloom. Alan made sure not to react, but he could not hide the worry in his voice.
“Where are you taking me?”
“The barracks, you fairy prick.”
The soldier brought Alan to a building not too far from the protest lines. He guided them down numerous hallways, Alan losing track before they even made it halfway there. There were checkpoints, various nods, and some curt conversations with other soldiers, but nobody questioned about Alan or the situation. Eventually, Alan was tossed into a small makeshift bedroom, only holding a cot and a pile of unwashed clothes.
“Get undressed,” the soldier demanded.
“Why should I listen to you?”
Alan was met with another forceful assault, this time a punch to his gut.
“Cause I’m First Sergeant, maggot, which means out of the two of us, I’m in charge.”
Alan scoffed. “Is that your name: ‘First Sergeant’?”
“First Sergeant QF24,” the soldier gruffly shot back.
“That’s not a name either,” Alan replied.
“Been in service so long I don’t need a civilian name.”
Alan wanted to jump on this, make a point about how this was evidence of the dangers of the military, but First Sergeant continued.
“While my identity is real, I assume the one you were about to give me is not. What do you go by, something like that 'AlanActivist' snot?”
Alan blushed, believing that his pseudonym had been cool and unique.
“It’s about time you considered that maybe it is not the military that enforces this ‘identity death’ you all are so worried about, but your own belief system.”
“You can’t be serious,” Alan snarked, surprised at the soldier’s intelligent argument. First Sergeant was however humorless, once again pointing to the pile of discarded clothes.
“Get dressed, degenerate.”
The soldier placed one of his giant, gloved hands behind the twink’s back and pushed him towards the pile. It appeared to Alan as a giant heap of army green and camouflage. Slowly but hesitantly, he began to strip himself of his clothing, hoping to avoid any further hazing. Once down to his underwear, he silently pleaded that he would not have to drop anything else.
“Soldiers go commando, sissy.”
First Sergeant quickly appeared behind Alan before ripping his underwear clean off, exposing the twink’s bare bottom and small package to the world. Alan quickly covered himself up with one hand before leaning down towards the pile. He grimaced, his fear no longer overriding the powerful musk seeping from the military cloth. First Sergeant chuckled at his disgust from behind.
“Aren’t homos supposed to like that kind of thing?” he asked, before grabbing the back of Alan’s head. “Go on, get a better whiff of it!”
Amused, First Sergeant plunged Alan’s head into the musky pile of clothes. Alan’s oxygen supply was cut off, forcing him to inhale the overpowering masculine fumes.
“You idiots never consider that being in the military is hard work. It’s not all fun and guns.” First Sergeant smothered Alan’s head further. “‘Bout time you realize what it’s like, standing on the front line all day, hot and sweaty and random strangers berating you for protecting their country, their freedom.”
The military body odor seeped into Alan’s system, numbing his body and clouding his mind. By the time he was pulled away, the naked twink struggled to form a coherent thought.
“Much better,” First Sergeant noted the lopsided smile on the twink’s face. “Now, fit yourself into some tactical gear.”
Without questioning it, Alan followed the soldier’s command. He did not know every single piece of equipment that went into the common soldier’s uniform, nor did he understand the procedure to follow, but somehow Alan managed to get the attire onto his body.
Combat pants, military-grade socks, gore tex boots. Camouflage button-up, hardshell jacket, belt with holster and magazine pouches. Shooting gloves, army print hat, face mask. It took a minute longer for Alan to place every minor piece of tactical protection onto himself, but finally his smaller frame was completely covered, dwarfed by the oversized gear.
“Looking like a real soldier there,” First Sergeant mocked. “Now let’s actually make you one.”
Already covered in the musky clothing, Alan’s intellectual ability had been dulled considerably. But when First Sergeant approached, clutching Alan’s head once more before shoving it into his wet armpit, his brain completely halted. Coming straight from the source, the soldier’s stench wafted past all Alan’s barriers, taking control immediately. Its first instruction was to keep sniffing, its second was to conform.
With a chuckle, First Sergeant watched as Alan’s body began to expand underneath his hold. The shrimpy twink grew inside of the tactical gear, filling it out properly in every direction. Muscular arms filled the sleeves of the jacket, meaty hands stuffing the crevices of the gloves. The vest became as padded on the back as it was in the front, juicy pectorals and rigid abdominals forcefully pushing against the fabric.
Thicker thighs padded the pants, bloated feet crowded the massive boots. Two muscular buttocks crammed the seat of Alan’s pants. A lantern jaw and cleft chin became prominent underneath the face mask. Buzz cut hidden by the cap, deeper voice waiting to confirm with “Sir, yes sir!” First Sergeant even noticed the prominent padding his new soldier was developing beneath the belt. When he ultimately removed Alan from his hold, the man before him now stood at the same domineering height.
“Good, now just stand still for one moment.”
Even if he wanted to, Alan could not move. The musk was still lingering in his mind, holding him steady as First Sergeant deposited an obnoxious military headset onto Alan’s head. He then plugged the headset into a walkie-talkie before tuning it to an empty channel. A robotic voice began looping into Alan’s ears, along with a few simple tones to open up the receptive pathways in his brain.
“Ready to get back out there?” First Sergeant asked, knowing his fellow soldier could not hear him. With a smirk, he escorted the dumbfounded subordinate out of the room, pacing slowly as Alan absorbed the propaganda. It was simple phrases, nothing too complicated but through repetition effective on the psyche. “Military good,” “pacifism bad”. “Nationalism good,” “multiculturalism bad.” “Masculinity good,” “progressivism bad.” The messages were rudimentary, but deliberate.
Once they stepped back into the open, fresh air, Alan’s consciousness resurfaced. He tried to fight back against the rampant messaging, doing his best to tune out the audios as the First Sergeant led him back to the front line. Alan was being attacked on all fronts: his morals, his identity, his sexuality. Every time he turned away to defend one trait, it was like he lost another. He felt himself dwindling, chipping away.
Before long, the two stood directly in front of the courthouse, mere feet away from their first encounter. First Sergeant loaded the new soldier up, arming the man with a weapon and other items necessary in case of an emergency.
“Let’s see if you’re done cooking yet.” First Sergeant looked directly into his subordinate’s eyes, pleased with their reflective quality. He then removed the headphones.
“Name and rank, soldier?” he saluted. The other man fell into place, mirroring his actions.
“Private Aaron Steel, MH36 sir!”
First Sergeant smiled. The name change was a good sign of transition, but complete removal would have been preffered.
“Ready for the task, soldier? Will you be loyal and obedient to the greatest nation? Follow every instruction in the name of tradition?”
The soldier nodded his head quickly, “Affirmative, sir.”
“Alright then.” First Sergeant replaced the headphones back onto the private’s head, knowing a little more time would do the trick. “Dismissed. Get back to work, private.”
“Sir yes sir!”
First Sergeant strolled back to his command at the front line. The new private monitored the crowd, absorbing his commands as he scanned for any disturbances.
Hey guys im looking for a gay tf story where two roommates watch a tape on a tv and one of them turn into a jacked musky arab man and the other one turns into a dumb fat dude or something, if you know which story im talking about please send me a dm
"Hey, bro, I see that you went to that site I told you about. I bet, you thought it was strange at first. All those men smoking, flexing, fucking. But you kept scrolling. It was simply some mindless horny entertainment. It simply a way to relax. You deserve it bro. You work so hard, so you need some entertainment. Now and then."
"How often do you go the the site, bro? Once, twice a day? Or even more? Don't worry, bro, I don't judge. It's just some harmless fun. A way to relax. Shut your brain down and let your cock do the thinking. Nothing wrong with that, right? Besides, the bros you are watching love to show off their muscles, their cigars, their masculinity. They are simply advertising their lifestyle. Showing you a life that could be yours..."
"Well, well, well, I didn't check-in for a few weeka and look who got himself a new habit? You simply couldn't resist the temptation, I guess. The bros made it look so good after all. The first cigar must have been quite harsh, no? But it is what the bros say al the time: 'no pain, no pleasure'. And they were right. You had never imagined that smoking cigars would make you so horny. It's like a completely new level of pleasure, isn't it bro?
I see also that you started working out. Good for you, bro! You go to that gym they advertise? I thought so, bro. It suits you. And they let you smoke inside, so that's a plus. You think the bros there are so inspiring. Every time you leave -muscles burning, lungs burning- you feel like you are getting more on their wavelength. That's normal, bro, don't question it. Just keep enjoying your cigars and keep getting more inspired."
"Life has been good to you, bro. How long since my last check-in? A few months? You are looking so much better. Love the tanktop! You go twice a day to the gym now, so you stopped changing clothes? Yeah, that's way easier, bro. All bros do it. No need to be ashamed of who you are, right? It made you losw your job? They told you, that you reek of cigars and sweat and that you should shower more often? That's bullshit, bro, but you know that. You smell like pure sex. Your bros in the gym agree. They can't keep their hands off you after your work-out. And you can't keep your hands off them? That's normal, bro. It's called bonding. It makes you a better bro.
But don't worry about losing your job, bro, simply keep visiting that site and enjoy your cigars. It's what your cock demands, right? Yeah, I know, bro, it is so easy to stop thinking and simply obey your cock. It is how it's meant to be...
Luckily for you, there is lately a lot of new content on the site. Seems you are not the only one who is getting more and more into the bro-lifestyle."
"No longer simply consuming, I see? You now proudly advertise your lifestyle. Oh, it is part of your new job? You own a gym now? I guess congratulations are in order. I bet you are great at it, turning misguided men like you once were into proper bros!"
Ben had always played it safe. He was twenty, lean and bookish, with sharp cheekbones, a clean style, and an academic scholarship that kept his parents off his back. He was the type to keep his calendar color coded, to eat clean, to work out just enough to stay fit without bulking. Everything in his life was about balance. He wasn’t out looking for anyone to take control of him. In fact, Ben liked to believe he was the one in charge. But some part of him, (the part he barely acknowledged) craved something heavier. He just didn’t know what yet.
He downloaded a hookup app one night, not for anything serious, just to blow off steam. That’s where he matched with Jay. Jay was twenty-six and local, a shaved-headed gym lad with thick arms, heavy ink, and a profile full of grainy mirror selfies in Nike techs. No description, no bio, just a location and a smirk. It wasn’t Ben’s usual type. Still, something about the guy stuck. Maybe it was the confidence. Maybe it was the way he looked like he didn’t have to try.
They agreed to meet up. Ben dressed casual clean jeans, sneakers, a neutral tee. Nothing fancy. Jay opened the door shirtless, in grey tech fleece joggers and white TNs. A thick gold chain lay across his collarbone, and even from the doorway, Ben caught the smell of him sweat, weed, something musky and raw that hit like a slap. It wasn’t gross. It was magnetic. It made Ben’s thoughts go slow.
Jay didn’t greet him with a smile or a hug. Just jerked his head toward the living room. Ben followed, already feeling like something had shifted. They hooked up, but it was calm, not aggressive. Jay was quiet but in control, hands firm, grip confident. He kept his sneakers on the whole time white TNs, spotless, heavy. They brushed against Ben’s legs while they kissed, while they moved, and something about the weight and scent of them made Ben ache deeper than he expected.
When he left later that night, his own shirt still faintly smelled of Jay. He breathed it in on the train ride home, heart pounding for no clear reason.
They met again two days later. Jay hadn’t asked him to come he just texted his address and a time. Ben didn’t even think about saying no.
Jay had a pair of old Adidas trackies laid out on the bed, creased and worn. “Put these on,” he said, not even looking up from his phone. Ben blinked. “What, like now?” Jay glanced at him. “Yeah. You’re not wearin’ your posh little jeans ‘ere.” Ben swallowed, then nodded. The fabric was rough, slightly damp. The waistband sagged low on his hips. Jay just grinned. “Looks better on you already.”
They didn’t talk much that time. They didn’t have to. Jay pressed Ben’s face into his armpit at one point, laughing when he moaned. The smell was stronger now thick, heavy, and intoxicating. Ben left in the trackies.
The third meetup changed everything.
Ben arrived in a hoodie and jeans, but Jay took one look and shook his head. “Nah. Strip. Wear this.” This time it was a full outfit, trackies, hoodie, cap, even socks and a knockoff gold chain. “Go on,” Jay said, voice low and calm. “Just for fun.” Ben didn’t argue. He changed. Jay made him sit down in front of the TV. A video loop started. Loud grime music, flashing words: Obey. Submit. Scally. Chav. Dumb. At first, Ben chuckled, thinking it was some joke. Jay sat behind him, pressed his sneakers into Ben’s lap, and leaned in close.
“Relax, mate. Just breathe it in.”
The scent hit Ben hard. Weed, sweat, old cologne, and something deeper. Masculine. Animal. It crawled into his brain, melted his thoughts. Jay kept whispering things. “You like wearin’ that gear now, don’t ya?” Ben nodded, not even thinking. His heart was racing. His cock was hard. His thoughts were gone.
From that night on, the changes stuck.
Ben stopped changing back into his usual clothes. The trackies felt better. His reflection looked more natural. The sharp cheekbones softened. His skin tanned slightly. He stopped trimming his brows. A faint patch of facial hair began to form, scruffy, unkempt, chavvy. Jay noticed. “Gettin’ rough round the edges, yeah?” he grinned. “Good. Gotta look the part.”
Jay gave him a cap and told him to wear it everywhere. “Helps the mindset.” And it did. Every time Ben put it on, he felt himself slouch more, talk slower. His voice began to shift, the poshness replaced by a lazy, thicker accent. His workouts stopped being about leanness. Jay had him do bodyweight stuff, bulk up his arms. “Scally lads don’t skip chest day, bruv.” Ben's body responded fast. Shoulders broadened. Abs thickened. His ass filled out the trackies. His face grew plainer, but in a way that felt right. More real. More local. Jay’s scent still triggered him every time. A whiff of it made his dick twitch and his head fog over. It was a shortcut. The key that unlocked whatever Jay had started in his mind.
Soon, he stopped being Ben.
Jay started calling him Kyle. “Ben’s dead, mate. You’re Kyle now. Me dumb chav pup.” Kyle nodded, grinning. He’d started wearing Air Max 95s everywhere—Jay’s old pair, still warm from his feet. They stank. Kyle loved it. He sniffed them when he was alone. Sometimes he wore them to bed.
He stopped going to uni. Said it was “long” and “waste of time.” He told his tutor to piss off. He didn’t even remember why he cared about grades. He started showing up to Jay’s flat early, sometimes just to sit in his gear and smoke. Jay let him. Sometimes he made Kyle worship his socks while they played FIFA. Kyle would nuzzle up against his master’s foot, eyes half-lidded, stoned and hard.
Jay started making him repeat things. “Say it. Out loud.”
“I’m a dumb scallyboy.”
“I live for me Master’s sneakers.”
“I don’t need brains, just gear and your scent.”
The more he said it, the truer it became.
By summer, there was no sign of Ben. Kyle was unshaven, thick-accented, unemployed, dumb and happy. He wore the same trackies for days. His room smelled like weed, sweat, and his master’s trainers. He didn’t read books anymore. He didn’t need to. Jay had filled his head with something better. Simplicity. Pleasure. Obedience.
One evening, Jay came home to find Kyle shirtless on the couch, playing FIFA with one hand and sniffing his Air Max with the other, a mindless grin on his face.
Jay smirked and sat beside him. “You happy like this, bruv?”
Kyle didn’t even look up. Just nodded, eyes glazed.
“Yeah, bruv. Don’t wanna be no one else. Love bein’ your dumb chav pup.”
Dean let out a heavy breath as he wiped the sweat from his face. His phone said it was 98 degrees out but it felt like 112. He’d been dreading moving in August for this very reason, but at least the worst was over now, he thought. Surrounded by boxes he slumped onto his new bed, his soaked shirt cold against his back. Dean had just moved into his dorm room in central Texas, a full week early because his mom said he should “get to know the town”. The building was old and the air conditioning was barely functioning, leading to a miserable couple hours of moving boxes in oppressive heat. After a long drive and the unloading ordeal, he was exhausted, the heat lulling him to sleep as he laid on his bare bed.
That was until the door to his room flew open, banging against the wall and startling Dean out of his nap. He heard shuffling and grunting outside in the hall as a stench began to leak into the room. It was almost more nauseating than the heat, a pungent mix of sweat, body odor, and who knows what else. Dean’s eyes watered as a figure holding several boxes stepped into the room before dropping them onto the opposing bed. He turned around revealing himself to Dean. He was at least six feet tall, broad and pretty built, his large frame only partially covered by a sweat soaked tank top. His face was covered in a thick beard, and the tank revealed a substantially hairy chest and shoulders. Now that he was in Dean’s face, the stench was ten times as bad, he could practically taste the sweat on the guy’s body in the air. He grinned and stuck out a hand towards Dean, “The name’s Hunter.”
Dean stared at him for a few seconds too long before stretching out his own, “Dean.” Hunter’s grin turned into a full on smile.
“Well nice to meet ya dude!” he said with a vigorous handshake. Dean was still staring at him, there was no way Hunter was a college freshman, he looked years older than himself at the very least. His daze was broken when Hunter raised an arm to scratch the side of his head, letting a fresh wave of musky stench out directly into Dean’s face. He nearly doubled over from the intensity; how on Earth was he going to live with someone who stunk like this?
“It’s a real roaster out there today huh? I’ve got some more boxes out in my truck that I’m gonna go get, but first let’s get some air flowing in here.” Hunter proceeded to open the dorm window letting a gust of blistering air inside. “It may still be hot but at least it’s some circulation,” he chuckled before walking back into the hall and leaving Dean alone. He was stunned. The outside air helped marginally with the lingering scent but made the heat even worse, and in minutes he was back to sweating buckets. Dean’s mind was racing with thoughts trying to cope with how the next year of living with this guy would be. He could barely think straight when Hunter was in the room with that eye watering aroma of his. While he was still alone Dean stripped off his sopping wet shirt and threw on a fresh one to try and maintain some level of comfort, before beginning the arduous task of unpacking all of his boxes.
A few minutes later Hunter returned with another huge stack of boxes, his sweat-drenched form glistening in the afternoon light. “Alright I think that’s most of it, guess I’ll join ya here in putting it all away!” he laughed. Dean managed to put on a smile but internally he was really going through it, and that was before Hunter pulled out a speaker and put on some music that sounded like something Dean’s father would listen to. Dean gulped, and they both got to work unpacking box after box. Even though he’d just changed, Dean’s shirt was soaked almost immediately. He had to pull out his bath towel just to wipe the sweat from his face. He knew it was hot but this was getting ridiculous, and on top of that he could barely breathe with Hunter’s noxious fumes filling the room. After a while of hanging clothes and dripping sweat all over the room, Dean backed out into the hall to use the bathroom. Miraculously, it was significantly cooler out there. Maybe the open window was doing more harm than anything, he thought. Upon returning to the room a few minutes later he was greeted with a blast of late afternoon heat, the intense smell of a sweaty body, and Hunter lounging on his haphazardly made bed, exposing his ripe pits to the air.
Dean paused in the doorway, unknowingly staring at Hunter’s pits. They were covered with thick tufts of brown hair, matted down by sweat. He could practically see the stench wafting from them. Hunter looked up from his phone, catching Dean staring. He smirked before reaching with one hand to tousle the hairs, even pulling his hand up to his nose after to sniff it. Dean’s trance was broken by his gut reaction to gag at such a sight. Why had he been staring at those disgusting pits in the first place? He put those thoughts out of his mind and got back to shoving stuff under his bed. Sweat dripped from his hair onto everything in front of him; it was so hot in the room, and the smell of sweat permeated everything. Dean couldn’t get the sight of Hunter’s hairy sweaty body out of his mind for some reason, no matter how much he tried to focus on what he was doing. He even caught his dick pressing hard against his shorts at one point. What the hell was going on?
That night Dean laid out on his bed, tossing and turning from the heat. It had cooled down but Hunter insisted they keep the window open; at least it helped with the smell a bit. He could feel the top sheet beneath him was fully soaked through, his sweat was inescapable. He could see the drops on him shining from the streetlight outside. It was near impossible to get any rest like this, with Hunter snoring across the room stinking up the place. He’d taken off everything but his underwear just to try and cool down, exposing all of him to the heat. His thin pale body dripped sweat in the stagnant night air, drops sliding down his hairless skin. As Dean laid there, the sweat coating his body slowly began to soak into his skin. Thin, wispy hairs began to push out around his nipples, nearly invisible if not for the streetlight catching them. Following those, more hairs poked out in the center of his chest, these slightly darker and spreading over a wider area. They were short and laid flat against his skin as his chest became slightly less bony with a thin layer of muscle and fat gracing his rib cage. His forearms were dusted with a light coating of thin hairs, growing thicker near his wrists. His thighs expanded slightly in size before hairs began sprouting across their expanse, growing slightly thicker and darker than the others. His face itched as peach fuzz across his upper lip darkened a tad, with some more fuzz appearing around his chin. Dean groaned softly in his sleep as his dick pushed harder against his tight underwear, exposing his small amount of hair above. As the sweat soaked in, hairs began to multiply, short dark hairs pushing out from his bush, spreading upwards towards his stomach. As he rolled and twisted on the bed he exposed his bare armpits, and under the soft light from the lamppost thin wispy hairs began to sprout. The hairs grew longer, not too visible at a distance but enough to begin catching some sweat and scents of his own.
Hunter was awake as soon as the sunlight began to light up the room. He looked over at Dean, who was still out cold. He grinned upon seeing the light dusting of hairs that now adorned Dean’s chest and pits, before scratching at his own. He threw on some clothes and left to go jog and hit the gym. By the time Dean finally woke up all that was left was the faint remnant of Hunter’s smell. He rolled out of bed and hit the shower, too tired to notice any changes until he looked in the mirror after. His blood ran cold. What the hell was this? He had hair on his chest. Not much, but more than he’d ever had before. And his legs! They were nearly smooth yesterday! He raised his hands to his head and saw a dark spot under his arms. Pit hair?! Dean was really starting to freak out now, but for some reason he lowered his nose down and sniffed at one of his pits. Despite having just washed them, they already smelled fairly strongly of sweat and body odor; the scent was almost… familiar. Despite his mind screaming in anguish, the smell calmed him slightly.
Dean tried to put the shower behind him as he got dressed and left the building. He had some shopping to get done before classes started and he wanted to get familiar with the area. An hour later he was walking down aisle after aisle of home goods and furniture, but his mind was somewhere else. He kept thinking about the hair growing on his chest, about Hunter’s strong odor, about how he couldn’t look away from Hunter’s rancid pits yesterday. He didn’t know what to think anymore, what was happening to him.
When he finally got back to the dorm he could already tell Hunter was inside, his smell leaking from under the door into the hall. It seemed slightly less putrid than before, but still an affront to his nose. WIth a deep breath, he opened the door. It was hot and smelly in the room, the afternoon sun blazing through the open window. Hunter was again laid out on his bed, this time entirely shirtless. His broad and toned torso was completely covered in thick hair, and drenched with sweat on top of that. He looked up at Dean and smiled.
“Hey champ! Where’ve you been?” he asked cheerfully. The question barely registered in Dean’s head as he was staring at the rug on Hunter’s chest. After a delay he responded.
“Oh, uh, just had some things I needed to pick up before school gets going,” he said. Hunter sat up and stretched his arms over his head, revealing both his sweaty pits. Dean was blasted by a fresh wave of the odor coming from them, but he didn’t recoil this time, or even gag.
“Ah yea, I should do that too probably,” Hunter laughed. He scratched at his pit, making eye contact with Dean while doing so. He noticed the bulge in Dean’s pants from across the room, before smiling devilishly. “I noticed this morning you’ve got a little more hair on you than I expected! Have to give you some credit,” he said with a smirk. Dean’s face went bright red.
“Did you do this? Are you the one fucking with my head? This isn’t me… It’s been in my head all day… How could you even…” Dean trailed off. Hunter stood up from the bed and walked over to Dean, his large size dwarfing the boy. At point blank the smell coming from Hunter was intoxicating, and Dean was internally torn. Part of him, the original Dean, was disgusted, the lack of cleanliness was an affront. But the other part of him had grown to love the scent, to think about it and Hunter all day, to crave it more and more. Hunter looked down at him with a cunning grin, before raising one of his arms and exposing that damp, rank, hairy pit. In that moment, the new Dean won. He stuck his face deep into Hunter’s dank armpit and breathed in, taking in the most intense smell yet. Hunter laughed and then grabbed the back of Dean's head and pushed it in even farther. Sweat dripped from Hunter’s pit hairs onto Dean’s face, his body soaked already from the thick summer heat.
As the sweat dripped down his face, Dean could feel something itching. The soft peach fuzz that had grown the night before was thickening. Light wisps grew into thick dark hairs, spreading from his upper lip and chin across his jaw and down his neck. The hairs pushed out quickly, filling in into a dense beard that scratched against Hunter’s pit. Hairs climbed up his cheeks, giving him a thick coating across his whole face, able to trap even more of the sweat dripping on him.
The sweat continued to drip down Dean’s neck and onto his chest as he breathed in more of Hunter’s thick scent. His flat chest began pushing outward, muscle piling onto his frame as two sturdy pecs made themselves known. The light coating of hairs he had grown was quickly overwhelmed as a carpet of thick dark curly hairs erupted across his chest. The sweat fertilized the open expanse as hairs wormed out all over his pecs, engulfing his nipples and tangling together. They reached up over his collarbone and even started growing in on his neck. The dense rug grew even thicker between his growing pecs, hairs multiplying until they looked like fur, hiding any skin. Dean pulled back from Hunter’s pit, gasping for fresh air as he rubbed his hands through the newly grown hair.
Dean felt almost high from taking in so much of Hunter’s pit stench. He wobbled back against his bed and continued to rub his hands through his new chest hair. He groaned as he felt his body continue to expand. His shoulders grew larger and rounder, biceps exploding with size, and his torso grew muscled and took on a V shape. He stripped off his sweat drenched shirt only to see the thick hairs from his stomach spreading downward. His tight stomach was buried beneath a dense mat of dark hairs as they raced south towards his groin. It was then that he finally noticed the massive bulge in his pants, his cock having grown at least a few inches and pushing his shorts to their limit. Hunter stepped over and ripped both his shorts and underwear clean off, letting Dean’s still growing cock bob free. Hunter grabbed it with one hand and before Dean could finish moaning he shoved his face back into his sweaty armpit. Dean’s open mouth was filled with sweaty hair, Hunter’s pungent sweat now dripping down his throat. Dean continued to moan from inside the pit, the pitch growing steadily deeper as his Adam’s apple pushed out.
Hunter took his hand off Dean’s cock, wiped it across his furry chest to get it nice and sweaty, then returned it and began stroking slowly up and down. Dean’s body shuddered with pleasure as pre immediately shot out of his cock. As Hunter slowly moved his hand he watched as the thin bush of hair around the base of the cock began to thicken up. Thick hairs began sprouting up like weeds, dark and curly they wove together into a monstrous bush that kept expanding. The hairs crawled all across his groin, up onto his stomach, and out onto his thighs, the bush only growing denser as more hairs sprouted between old ones. Within minutes Hunter could smell Dean’s growing scent as sweat gathered in the thick bush. Dean groaned as his balls swelled in size and hung lower, the sack becoming engulfed in the same thick fur as it raced from his groin to his ass. His hole was quickly surrounded by dark wiry hairs that sprouted densely in his crack, before blossoming out across his tight ass in a dense fur.
Dean kept moaning from within Hunter’s hairy pit, letting more sweat down his throat. His body continued to grow, muscles popping out across his arms and legs and his frame steadily bulking up. He was even growing taller as a result, Hunter had to push him back against the bed to keep his face locked in. The more Hunter stroked Dean’s cock the more hair continued to spread across his body. His thigh’s already dense coating only grew darker and thicker before moving on to his calves and feet. His shoulders began growing their own coat with thick hairs popping out across the broad expanse, with his arms following suit. His forearms grew dark with a thick rug stretching onto the backs of his hands.
Hunter released Dean’s face before reaching down into his newly grown bush. He got his hand nice and damp before raising Dean’s arms, exposing his paltry amount of hair, and starting rubbing the groin sweat in. Within seconds he could feel his hand rubbing through more hair than before, as new thicker hairs started to shoot up. Dark wiry hairs exploded from Dean’s armpits, forming into a thick tuft of hair that stuck out in every direction, even connecting to the rug on his chest. Hunter grinned as he began to smell Dean’s own scent coming from the pits, growing stronger as more and more hairs pushed out. The hairs kept spreading, giving Dean the thickest forest of pit hair Hunter had ever seen. Dean’s sweat stuck in the jungle, giving it a ripe scent almost immediately. Hunter released Dean from his grip, and his instincts commanded him to sniff his own ripe pits. Dean groaned as he smelled the sweaty odorous pits, scratching his fingers through the thick fur.
Dean then went to stroking his massive cock that Hunter had been edging for a while now. He moaned as each pump coursed through his body, adding more muscle and fur to his frame. His beard pushed out more from his face, even his back began to grow coated with fur. The room was thick with the mixed scents of Hunter and Dean now, and every breath was intoxicating. His breaths grew ragged as he neared climax, and with a roar his cock erupted with the biggest load of Dean’s life. Blast after blast of thick cum shot out, landing all over his hairy body, with some even flying onto Hunter, who laughed. Dean’s cock continued to drizzle the last bits of his load as he collapsed onto his bed, soaked in sweat and cum stuck in his thick body hair. He slowly rubbed his hands across his massive body, feeling how much he’d grown. He’d become a giant to match Hunter, muscled, hairy, and incredibly sweaty and smelly. The stench of both their sweaty bodies was too much for almost anyone, but all Dean craved was more.
Thank you all for 1,000 followers! What an insane milestone. Hope you enjoy this one!
Hello everyone!! I know I have been gone, i have explained it but I wanted to share some of the things I got commissioned, this first piece was commissioned, Hope you all enjoy, there is a sequel as well!
I wasn’t always like this, a big, beefy, hunky, smelly, hairy, hot, sexy…. I wasn’t always this meathead okay. Fuck i’ve been getting so distracted lately, like my brain can’t focus, like my thoughts were going through molasses. Ever since I met HIM I haven’t been ME.
It all started last week, I was how I’m supposed to be your, normal average TWIG- no don’t interrupt me, lean nerd. My hair was chocolate brown, the sides cut short and the top long and wavy, resting on the side of my face. My skin was pale because I HATED leaving my dorm room, the outside sun and my allergies didn’t agree with me so it left me to my hobbies indoors, reading, writing and playing TTRPGS online with my friends LOSER, LAME, BORi- SHUT UP.
Sorry about that the voice in my head, the loud, horny, gay as fuck jock won’t leave me alone.
As I was saying I was your typical nerdy Geology student. I was lean, maybe a lil paunchy because of the freshmen 15 and my lack of willpower to maintain my body but I was having the most fun and freedom of my life. I kept myself shaved smooth and my body so clean any girl could eat off it. Just like the room I lived in, more spotless then probably your favorite restaurant. The campus messed up with the living arrangements so I had a single dorm to myself, which meant I could keep myself, my space and my life tidy just the way I liked it. The RA was decent and I was even talking to this cute girl in my geology program, Anna. Life made sense and I didnt care what anyone else thought for once.
That is until BRAD moved in, Brad was this stereotypical dumb football Jock. Apparently the university was experiencing some room shortages (shocker the place that mismanaged rooms at the start of the semester would do it AGAIN) and since I had space they sent me an email to EXPECT another roommate in a week. They sent me some details like his name, his contact info but besides that I was going in blind.
Man do I wish I lost my sense of smell instead. When Brad opened the door I smelled him before I saw him. It was like a fog of filth rolled into my room. Hours of sweat and musk swept into the room, causing my eyes to water and my throat to choke. As he stepped in the lingering scent of sex and cum wafted off him. He smelled like if a football practice was in a porno and my worst nightmare was having sex.
His footsteps loud on the tile floor as he made his way in carrying two duffle bags of poorly packed dirty clothes. His arms tensed and flexed, his biceps bulging out like mountains, his shoulders wide and beautiful with a loose tank’s straps draped across them slightly covering the pillow pecs that rested underneath. His neck was thick and corded with muscles as facial hair rested against his adams apple slowly growing up into a beautiful beard that framed plump lips. His nose and cheek bones were strong and chiseled like a statue as his brow bone loomed over his eyes giving him this fuck boy/frat jock look that probably drove sorority girls wild.
His shirt rode up exposing abs that looked like the cobbled streets of rome, his hips were graced with cum gutters and a treasure trail that made your eyes look down at his 3 inch inseam shorts that left little to the imagination. My own straight eyes couldn't help but look at the monster bulge that was begging to be set free. His thighs stretched everything to the limit as his calves shaped like perfect diamonds carried him to the empty bed next to me.
“Yo, you're my new roomy now sick!” Brad said dropping his bags on the floor, the clothes immediately spilling out as the zipper wasn’t fully done. My jaw basically hit the floor as my ideal life was eviscerated in seconds as fear for what the next year would basically be. If only I had known just how AWESOME- no terrible it would actually be.
The musk was strong especially when, he heard no response and IMMEDIATELY went up to hug me, my stunned body and weak form stood no chance of escape or defense as he picked me up with ease, his sweaty masculine HOT- no, manly physique picked me up like I weighed nothing. My face buried in his pecs, his body hair tickling my nose as his cleavage suffocated me.
“Sorry, what did you say?” he asks, putting me down, my face covered in his sweat. I try to just shake it off, mentally I was thrown off as I struggled to come up with some sort of thought. I hadn’t said anything right?
“it’s..Its not important, the names Christopher, Brad right?” I say holding out my much smaller hand. This meathead immediately grabs it. “That's right Bro look at you catching on!” he says, not mockingly I think just as a statement. From his GORGEOUS- STOP IT ALREADY I'M TELLING THIS STORY IF I'M TRAPPED IN HERE- as I was saying from his face all i could see was dumb innocence as he immediately picked up his bags dropping more clothes onto the floor. This semester wouldn’t end I thought
“Hey Brad, I know you just got here but do you mind we talk about some ground rules for the dorm” I say, sitting on my bed watching him, each movement he makes a flex.
“Yeah dude, as long as you're chill with me putting my shit away as we do.” he says nonchalantly, he empties out the contents of one bag completely, the smell of dirty socks and underwear filling the air, eyes starting to water.
“Yeah that's no problem..i..i actually wanted to start with talking about expectations and keeping the dorm clean is first.” I was hoping to just get this out of the way, it would be less awkward, and he’d know where I’d stand.
“Oh Bro I totally get it!” he says literally making a mess by shoving some of his pants balled up into his dresser, his bed already unmade.
“Well I just want to make sure we have a standard, the floor stays clean, beds made and its easy for me to focus on my studies.” I say trying to make sure he understands me. His muscles were insane as he put clothes away, each movement felt like a flex, like he was showing off for me but he couldn’t be. My eyes didn't want to leave his muscular back but as he turned to face me, his perfectly framed lips curled in a smile.
“I gotchu BRO no need to worry.” The way he says bro bouncing around in my head. Like there was more emphasis and weight to it. Its like the back of my head is tingling, a warm energy filling me to my core as I listen, before shaking my head. Brad was holding a crumpled up thing of underwear in his hand, the smell obnoxious but what really took me out was the way his arms were at his sides, almost crossed across his torso, making the pillowey pecs rest and jut out. It made me feel insecure looking at this adonis, his body built to make women’s mouth water theres no way I could bring a girl back here.
“Do you like games Bro?” He asks attention going back to his stuff.
“Yeah I mean I like Dungeons and Dragons, Magic The gathering, Yu-gi-oh is pretty fun..” He interrupts me.
“Nah i mean like video games, fifa, COD, Rivals, league?” He asks me, moving over to my bed sitting down at the head of it. Folding something.
“I, i don’t really play many I guess.” I say rubbing the back of my head, he was probably covering my bed in his smell.
“What bro really?! That's crazy, well I know what we're doing as soon as my pc gets here bro!” he says slamming his hands down on my bed, unbeknownst to me sliding a dirty jockstrap underneath my pillow. His face filled with excitement and joy, god I’d have to make sure he didn’t get in the way of me and Anna.
“Oh..uh okay good yeah! I’m down for that. Just uh one other thing about the dorm.” I say looking down, my head was starting to feel fogged up.
“Yeah bro? What is it?” He says leaning forward making eye contact with me.
“To make sure theres no big distractions are you good with not bringing any girls over, my coursework is super heavy and im fine with notice I just want to make sure that-”
“Woah Chris, breathe, you ain’t gotta worry about me bringing any chicks over!” Listening to him I took a big inhale, my vision getting hazy as I nod my head, jaw going slack. I didn’t even care that he called me Chris, I hated when people called me Chris. I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Okay, that was one problem I wouldn't have to worry about. I didn’t question why, my head fully fogged up, mind running slow, I just felt like I could trust him.
“Great bro.. I mean Brad, I’ll let you finish up*yawn* I’m gonna sleep.” I say motioning him to get up. He raises off the bed as I get settled, not changing into my pajamas like I always do. My limbs feel heavy, mind so tired and my shirt is sticking to me as I see my bro Brad stand in front of me. Ass right in my face and all I can think is damn he’s ho-
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That morning was the worst I had had in a long time, my head hurt, I had missed my alarm. This meant I couldn’t shower and the room was a mess, clothes were still on the floor and that adonis of a man was fast asleep. I hadn't even changed, I was filthy and smelt like a locker room as I raced to my lecture, my feet moving faster than I was used to, I assumed it was the adrenaline, not realizing with each slap of my shoes bottom my legs stretch slightly. Foot getting meatier, longer, wider with each step, pushing it to its limits. I barely made it to my lecture before the doors were permanently closed. The eyes of my peers on me.
Everything my professor said was like water off a duck's back. I couldn’t take anything in. Every time I thought I was getting a grip on something, taking a deep breath, its like a fog rolled through my mind, setting me back to square one. I still smelled like Brad from last night. The sweat, musk and grime sticking to me like glue, god I wish my lecture would do that. Before class was even over I could tell my classmates had moved away from me, recoiling from the scent, even Anna seemed to turn her nose up at the scent.
I had tried to answer a question at some point, our professor opening up the floor to us in discussion. Basic geology fundamental question about how the different rock formation types interact within environments exposed to new catalysts or something. But I fumbled my words, my mouth feeling dry, voice cracking like I was going through puberty. It made me want to shrink in on myself, adjusting in my seat as NOTHING felt comfortable.
Even my clothes felt off, laying on my skin weird, I kept pulling my shirt and adjusting my pants. I was only saved when the class was dismissed, Anna hanging back to walk with me, her face looked sick.
“Christopher are you…are you okay?” She asks, her beautiful face was crested with worry as she looked me up and down. I was the most disheveled I’d ever been.
“No, no..not really you know that new roommate I was getting?” I ask her, trying to be vulnerable, when did Anna get so much shorter. I can’t help but think that as I looked her up and down it's like she was at my chin now instead of my forehead. I wanted to question it but as soon as my mouth open a burp came out of nowhere. I can tell Anna wants to help me but it was just so gross.
“y..ye..Yeah Brad right, you said on paper the guy was a total douche and you were like dreading it?” She asks waving her hand in her face, like she was wafting off some terrible smell. For some reason that motion alone had given me the ick, sure I didn’t smell great but that was just being a man. Wait where had that thought come from.
“Yeah, well he was like that as soon as he walked in the door, full muscle headed jock carrying his dirty laundry right to our floor.” I say waving my arms, raising them and exposing my now slightly hairy pit. That seemed to make Anna’s face worse, I could see her hold her nose, whatever attracted me to her fighting to hold onto the idea she was perfect. Because if she was perfect she’d admire this smell, she’d realize all the hard work that made that smell, how the grind never stops for them gains. What the fuck am i thinking I don’t work out, thi..this is from Brad.
“God that sounds awful, is that why you were late this morning?” She asks, getting further away. God she was so annoying
“Yeah, I guess that was him too.” I say getting uninterested in her, why was I even talking about my bro- I mean Brad with her.
“Well If he is causing issues you can always bring it up to student housing, I'm sure they’ll at least hear you out!” She says trying to sound hopeful for me, like if brad went away I would snap right back, I took a deep breath. I DIDNT WANT THAT. I couldn’t tell why I thought that, I did want him gone.
“Thanks Anna, I gotta go and try to clean up, i’ll talk with you later.” She nods, waving off, I still have to give her credit though. She might be annoying but damn was she hot. Maybe I didn’t want a relationship anymore but I wouldn't mind bangin- Fuck what's gotten into me.
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Getting to the dorm felt worse then sitting in that lecture. My clothes felt tighter, every step felt faster, and sweat was dripping off my face and running down my neck. I tried wiping it, feeling stubble graze my hand as I did. 5’ o clock shadow but I don’t- fuck the smell was so strong.
I got to the dorm fast, not saying hi to anyone I needed to get clean, my shirt stuck to my broader chest, my sleeves were stuck halfway down my forearms and my pants were cutting the circulation off at my thighs. When I opened the door I expected the mess, hell i expected the dumb jock on the bed. Just not a a GORGEOUS, LITHE HAIRLESS TWINK, bouncing up and down on his cock. Riding him like his life depended on it. His face buried into Brads chest as he stifled his own moans.
I wanted to say something, this, this was disgusting. The way that fucking twink arched his back as his hips gyrated. The way his ass bounced when Brad would thrust up to meet them. His whining grew stronger as Brad brought his meaty hands to hold the twinks face telling him he wanted to hear it. To hear how good he was making him feel. The twink threw his head back, eyes rolling, his curly brown hair bouncing with each thrust. This guy was losing his mind, his tongue hanging out as he groped Brad's Chest like they were handle bars to hold onto, their sweat mixing together, both men COVERED in it. His moans were insane as his eyes glazed over from pleasure, mouth opening wide as he begged for more. Brads face got hit with creamy fluid as the twink came his brains out.
God the smell was intoxicating I couldn’t help but breathe it in even if I felt like I wanted to vomit. Brad Manhandled him, switching their position till the twink was on his back, brads ass fully exposed to me. Covered in hairs, his meaty cheeks clapping with each thrust. He flexed so hard, pulling up both arms into a double bicep pose telling this fucked stupid man to worship him. The scent of sex, men and just everything washed over me, before I knew it my own vision was fogging up.
The last thing I saw before I hit the ground was Brad Cumming inside his boytoy, leaving both parties satisfied.
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My dreams were filled with Brad Stroking a massive cock, at least ten inches long. His underwear, a bright red jockstrap down to his knees as he moved his hands up and down his Pre soaked cock. I felt my heart race as he got quicker, his words deep and loud bouncing around my head. You like this slut, you want it, give in worship a real man. Crawl over on your knees and burry your head into his crotch. Real men worship cocks. Real men submit to musk, real men deserve pleasure and muscle. BE A REAL MAN!
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When I woke up I was still on the floor, Brad was lounging in just his red jockstrap like nothing had happened. The room was hotter then hell and we were both sweating up a storm. I felt my clothes fully stick to my skin, tight and unwelcoming to any sudden movements. Its like the fog that rolled in last night had fully settled, my brain conflicted confused and my TINY four incher was hard as a rock. Brad was scrolling through his phone when I managed to get onto my feet “Sup Bro sorry you walked in on that” he said nodding his head like I hadn’t just seen him get some primo bussy..wha..like the stud he was.
“Whats sup dude is that I literally just walked in to see you fucking some twink when I told you….” I'm immediately interrupted by him dropping his phone and staring at me. God the way that the red jockstrap just hugged his bulge was insane, my eyes didn’t want to leave it. The thought that that was just inside a guy made me want to hurl but my dream just then made my heart race faster then any chick ever had. My mouth watering, my jaw just a little slack.
“God Chris are you going to make it weird? You literally just said no chicks.” Brad says, in such a dismissive, douchebag way. Such a MANLY WAY. He’s such a real man he deserves pleasure. I almost lean into his voice, almost fall further under his spell, but there it was again. CHRIS, god I hate when people called me that, i shook my head.
“Bro don’t call me that, I hate when people call me Chris, it's Christopher and second..” he raises his arms behind his head exposing his armpits, His face taking on an amused grin. It's distracting but…but I need to say it Bro. “ Second You can’t be fuckin dudes in here either.”
“Fine Chris, i'll text you when i bring em over so you don’t barge in” He says almost conceding but even just the idea of some twink riding his cock makes me nauseous BRO. And he did it again, he called me Chris.
“Nah bro, you can’t be doin any of that gay shit in here” I say, venom leaking out of my voice. My friends had told me in the past that this was one of my biggest flaws. My homophobic beliefs, I always laughed it off, said I was always just hammin’ it up but really I meant it. I couldn’t stand fa- gay people.
“What did you just say to me Chris?!” he gets fully up and in my face, his body almost pressed against mine trying to get me to back down. He over-emphasizes my nam- I mean my nickname for some reason, only my friends called me that. Which he wasn’t, he was just going to keep calling me it, it was more important to tell my Bro the law of this dorm room then tell him off.
“You heard me, I don't want you shoving any of this gay shit in my face anymore!” I say standing tall. Yesterday I could have swore he lumbered over me, his hulking figure to my short self. Where before I was barely eye level with his chest I was up to his chin now, almost able to lay one on those kissable lips. I should have been nervous or questioned how I went from 5’6 to 5’10 but all I could feel was the fog and a heightened level of testosterone fueling my aggression.
“Take it back Chris, take it back right now!” For a second I could have sworn I saw bros eyes light up green, like some flicker of ancient eldritch power. But I was too caught up in his SEXY pheromones and musk to care. He had crossed to many lines in one day.
“No i won’t take it back you fuckin meat headed muscle queer freak. You have been nothing but disrespectful since you got here and now you're rubbing your sexuality in my face. I cant wait to fucking contact our GA and get you out of here!” I rant and ramble, finally speaking my mind. My mouth forming the cockiest, angriest smirk it's ever done as I feel pure relief.
Brad doesn’t immediately say anything, the room somehow grows darker, my spine feels not a chill but pure heat. Like a fire was set straight down my back. My clothes, the t-shirt and jeans I wore wet from sweat and clinging to my bigger body for dear life begin to stretch, the sound of fabric straining as Brad lets out a dull cold hearted laugh, his eyes dark.
“Well CHRIS, how bout I shove something in your face for real!” His voice brays as he brings his arm up before clamping it down on my face. His armpit acting like a black hole, my face landing perfectly underneath his musk immediately suffocating me in his pure man scent before everything WHITED OUT. I could no longer think ahead, hell I could no longer think. Bro’s scent was everything, and his godly sweat was marking me, seeping into my face and right to my brain. The dream flashing through my mind, Bros beautiful masculine body, his glorious cock and OH GOD THE WAY HE WAS FUCKING DESTROYING THAT TWINk. My mind and mouth both watering as the changes seeped into me. I felt myself nuzzle into Bro’s pits, sniffing, licking and worshipping them, the feel of his sweat and hair on my face making me feel so good. Moaning against the most divine scent I could imagine
The Musk wafted around me and traveled down my body, like a thick miasma of magic it removed my clothes turning the fabric into fog feeding brad, my lanky, lithe body of full display cramped against a MUSCLE GOD. BEGGING for his attention and admiration as I should. I felt the Sweat and GRIME seep deeper into my pores, my brow bone extending further giving me a more masculine look, my nose growing longer and wider giving me stronger features. My hair absorbing his sweat getting greased back tilla shell of a backwards cap magically appeared sealing my fate before I even knew it.
It felt so right being underneath BRO and all I had to do was lis- WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.
Brad was steady, keeping his heavy arm clamped down on my head. All these stray thoughts running rampant, the urge, no, need to LISTEN to him beating in my head as I realize all the weird thoughts, and changes that have happened to me in the last twenty four hours. The height, sweat, clothes being tighter, smelling worse and hating Anna, everything I pushed to the side and dismissed were him, as he revealed to me the truth.
“I tried so hard Bro, I wanted a real friend and I could tell you needed that too BRO, but you had to ruin it. I was too nice calling you CHRIS bro. Letting the change be simple and easy for you without takin too much. I can’t let some homophobic piece of shit have this gift, nah you can’t be CHRIS, YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY TOPHER!” His voice angry, sad and manic all at one as his other hand moves to the back of my head pushing me deeper into his MUSK. I panic trying to pull back but BRO is so much STRONGER AND HOTTER THAN ME, moan and groan against his pit inevitably still WORSHIPPING IT as I feel the words he emphasizes PULSE through me.
His hand moves down my neck, sending a shock through my system, my moans and groans come out strangled, and deeper as I feel that same PULSE wrap around my neck, this feeling of it widening as my adam apple grows bigger pushing against my vocal chords forever deepening my voice. My jaw feels stronger as it's chiseled away to match the neck I’m given. “That’s it TOPHER, Just give in to me, you're such a GOOD BOY TOPHER. You're gonna be my BRO and we’re gonna have so much fun TOPHER!” He says each use of BRO, TOPHER, and GOODBOY raking against my mind, scraping away parts of me and fueling this pulsing warmth inside of me. He releases me from his pit, both hands resting against my shoulders and it feels like the weight of my own existence has been put right on top of me. I feel my skin sizzle as it tans starting at my neck, and then my shoulders broaden becoming more masculine in size and better for holding muscles on my frame. It sends this thril of eroticism, of things to come as he teasingly starts moving them lower down my back.
I look at him,eyes pleading as I search for the words. “Please Bro, st..sto..stop whatever this is I promise Im sorry, please I’m….im not CHRISTOPHER- I mean i’m not Topher please. I’m not” My name jumps out of my mouth, my lips plumping as it does leaving me forever, erasing itself from my mind and clearing a better path for my BRO.
“You're not what TOPHER? What did you say I was? A MEATHEADED MUSCLE QUEER FREAK?! I think that's EXACTLY WHO TOPHER IS!!” He rushes his hands to my chest and I feel it, that same feeling from being trapped in his pit. My vision goes white and I let out this howling moan. Arching my back as my eyes roll back, his hands diving deeper than they should, flesh, muscle and the perfect amount of fat. It was heaven, it was orgasmic but it was also EDGING. My cock wanted to burst but something was stopping me as I tried to hump BRO. I couldn't stop myself. It felt like Brad was frying my brain through pleasure as he played with and sculpted these new muscle tits. Tweaking my nipples, growing them and making them more sensitive.
“Please Brad, please I just lemme cu-” Brad stops and grabs the jockstrap from underneath my pillow. “Shut the fuck up don’t you get tired of your voice. Just listen like the DUMBASS you are TOPHER!” He shoves the dirty smelly jockstrap into my mouth as he says it. The word dumbass ringing in my head as the backwards cap squeezes it in tandem with the pulses now shrinking my brain, the excess thoughts and ideas flowing down to my balls as BRAD resumes feeling me up and sculpting me. My back slowly becomes this tan corded muscle masterpiece as his magic spreads.
He moves to my arms this time making me flex them in a douchey HOT Double bicep pose. Each grave of his fingers, each press of his palm I feel this heat build in my body, as my bones are strengthened, my muscles BULGING and skin glowing in a beautiful tan. Till his hands travel inwards and dig into my pit, rubbing in a new stench MUSK that would be mine. Forever linking me to him and INFLUENCING all my decisions.
It Took a second for the foul DELICIOUS taste of the jock to settle in my mouth. I had foolishly tried to push it out with my tongue but each lick, each graze gave me a new flavor of man to savor. Each gulp of his sweat, precum, and cum stains drove my mind mad as I started to crave that taste. I couldn’t stop myself from internally begging for more as I begged for it to stop.
He moves his hands down my torso, each glance against my skin tightens my core, as he slides them down it leaves behind a cobblestone road of abs. Popping up like slabs of perfection All the while whispering my name in my ear over and over again. Topher, Topher, Topher, Topher, god I could listen to him whisper my name in my ear any day. He says it with so much lust and love I want to crea- ITS HAPPENING AGAIN, him saying my name helps him change me.
His hands make a clear v line down before releasing and taking a look at me. “Damn I gave you some Sexy Cum Gutters Topher.” he says walking around me, investigating his work as I helplessly pose for him losing my balance. “But don’t want you looking like a Dorito do we, gotta finish up Babe” he says lovingly teasing my inner thigh. Making them explode rapidly before he moves behind me and slaps me right on the ass. It happens again. That earth shattering feeling as my cheeks Jiggle before he gropes them. My eyes are rolling again as I helplessly beg for him to let me cum. My lips opened wide in shock as he does it again, spanking me. It happens again and again, HARD SPANKS to sensual groping as he creates a perfectly fuckable DUMPTRUCK of an ass that everyone would stare at.
Each time I'm begging to cum as he laughs, egging me on. “God your eyes are crossed BRO, look how the mighty have fallen, just a bit more!” he says massaging my cheeks one last time before his fingers slip between the crack and teases my hole, sending a massive pulse through me that makes my knees buckle. It shouldn’t even budge, no less open easy but the magic coating both of us now lets him tamper, and tease around my hoile before a finger slips in. im gasping for breaths as memories of girls I dated, crushes I had, feelings I bottled up are all erased. Whiting out again, and again as new pleasure centers are added to me.
A new need is demanded by my body, as one of Brad’s Massive, Gorgeous, Amazing hand makes me crave my hole being played with, as the other traces my thighs making them thunder thighs in seconds. His fingers tease and toy with me like I was just an instrument and he was a trained professional. My whimpering increases as he gets a second finger in while his other hand matches that tempo and carves my calves into perfect diamonds and he manages to get a third final finger into my CAVERNOUS, STARVING HOLE as his hand touches my feet. They explode becoming size 14 triple e wides.
“Almost there Bro any last words” He says destroying my world by removing his fingers. He pulls the jock out of my whining mouth, the need is so strong. My pathetic Dicklet is leaking so much precum, my mind is fried and I miss his fingers and the taste of his Dirty Jock.
“Please stop thi- BRO DONT STOP THIS, PLEASE I NEED…NEED..NEED to Cum Please..” he interupts my conflicted begging, his hand wrapping around my dick with ease swallowing it whole. He shushes me and tells me it's almost over as he easily glides his hand along my precum covered cock. The first stroke up feels like I’m getting harder. My cock raging and growing, as he slides it down it only continues the feeling. It goes from four to five in that brief moment as he gets to the root. He’s whispering in my ear how he likes his boys hairy, fur crops up around my chest, fills in my pits and covers my crotch.
His hand moves up again six inches. Down now my balls are sloshing with cum. Up were at seven he’s telling me how pretty I am, how cute I’ll look begging for his loads. Down I’m telling him he’s the hottest man in the world because it's true. Up now were at eight, no nine, I can't count all I feel is him slamming his hand all the way down again and nothing else matters. Its just Up, and down, Up and Down, UP, DOWN, UP ANd Down and now were at twelve inches and he tells me to say please and all i can do is fuck his hand over and over again pleading and begging as his other hand snaps and
Everything
Goes
White
Load after load shooting out. Every Memory, Every straight thought, higher thought or idea of who Christopher was unloading out of his balls as Topher takes over moaning and fucking his boyfriend Brad’s hand. No need to replace those memories, after all with Topher being a meatheaded dumb muscle queer freak he didn’t have the brain power to really remember that.
It was five loads before he was done and just stared at Brad who smiled and asked the him the only question he COULD answer now “Want to serve my Cock now Babe?”
“YES PLEASE!”
______
And that was one of the commission pieces I've done if anyone wants anything similar feel free to dm me I am currently taking coms and I do try to be accommodating to budgets <3
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