Saturno's Boys

[saturno7777]

RP Wanted

Hey there! I'm looking for brave guys to rp as the hunk, the jock, the bodybuilder or the alpha they have always wanted to be.

So this is the deal: just go to my DMs and be the guy you have always wanted! Let's have some fun! 😏

We can always continue at Discord (far more active there)

[jerkingnerds2jock]

DO YOU FEEL THE RUSH

(A commission story for a client!! Please enjoy, if anyone wants early access to anything join the patreon and the patreon server!!!, enjoy the porn!) _____________________ PJ and Theo were at the top of their game. Not just in football where they had gotten their university scholarships that not only kept them enrolled but kept the school very happy with their star athletes. But also in partying, lifting and scoring bitches every time they went out for pussy patrol. Tonight would be no different, a fraternity mixer between Beta Omega Upsilon (BOY) and a rival fraternity Kappa Omega Kappa (kok) was happening. Sure it meant they had to deal with the campus fags a little bit but it also meant all their progressive besties that BOY’s had trouble getting a chance with would be there tonight. So they were going to suck it up, drink their pansy ass alcohol and have a good time.

PJ was almost done getting ready, he was a total cleancut jock. The kicker on their football team and one of BOY’s cleanest (reputation) guys on campus. He was your typical finance bro who would tout big numbers but struggle in almost any science or humanities course leaving him slightly lack luster in everyday conversation. So sure he could score a hookup, maybe even a date but most people seeking courtship, relationships, would ditch him as soon as they could. Which had obviously led the jock to develop some type of chip on his shoulder. An insecurity he couldn’t shake so he would just overcompensate, flash money and cash whenever and wherever he could or have more meaningless hookups.

Wearing a letterman jacket with a simple white t-shirt and chain. He was giving more football fuckboy than anything else and with those tight jeans wrapped around his legs like ceram wrap it's not hard to imagine him getting some attention. Attention that he didn’t know would be the last thing he wanted.

“Fucking hell trying to get you out of the house is worse then trying to get a chick to leave!” PJ says as they walk down the frat row. A lot of the CO-eds were already getting drunk, music blaring in the air creating that noise complaint atmosphere cops just LOVED.

“Bro chill the fuck out i just wanted to look good tonight for the chicks is that so bad?” Theo asks as he takes a few quick steps ahead. Theo, while dumber than PJ, was not an idiot. He could always tell that his frat brother was annoyed and or jealous of him. For whatever reason he couldn’t discern but he did know that feeling so he did his best to navigate it.

“As long as you don’t poach one of my babes were good bro. You can’t pull what you did last time at Gamma Gamma Gamma’s Luau celebration!” He says it like he's trying to bitch slap Theo, like Theo had committed some ultimate sin at a frat party instead of just having fun!

“Bro, i didn’t poach shit, they have free will and a mind of their own. Its not like anyone or anything was controlling them or making them want to sleep with me bro. That shit is not on me. Would be kinda hot to have control like that though bro!” he tries to lighten it up at the end, Theo isn’t a guy for conflict its just not in him. The two have been bros for basically ever and he doesn't want to ruin that with some silly fight.

“Would be kind of hot, listen I'm just asking for you to not cramp on my game okay! I need tonight!” They are at this point infront of FAG house- KOK’s Frat house, the openly gay frat on campus. They both said silent, homophobic prayers before stepping foot on the grounds, the beats were pumping in the air. The front lawn had plenty of people half naked, dancing, drinking and smoking. Sadly for these boys it was majority men on the outside, more than half brandishing some level of pride flag as they danced together in drunken revelry. 

When they had seen the pride flag they had initially been repulsed, their “anti-woke” mindset not loving the idea of sharing a space with anyone who is different then them but free booze, possible new chicks to bang and a night not wasted. Sign them the fuck up, PJ could get the fuck over it if he was drunk enough and it seemed like there was plenty, just no fag should hit on him if they wanted to keep those pansy faces nice. Theo was again a much nicer, kinder being! It would be a shame to not let new people gaze at the glory of him. Sure he didn’t like fa- gay men but they always praised his muscles and bought him drinks so as long as they fed his ego he was okay with teasing and flirting back. Still uncomfortable but a different flavor.

“I swear to god dude the booze and babes better be bangin or i’m out in the first hour!” PJ quickly tells theo, his wingman who has a history of in Pj’s mind staying in places too long.

“Dude come on, its the start of an all night RAGER, you know KOK throws some of the biggest parties on campus, live a little, relax, plus they apparently have a great DJ scheduled tonight.” Theo says before he runs ahead being waved inside by one of their frat mates while PJ scout’s outside, going along the side of the house to the backyard where a DJ a dj setup is certainly being put up. He gets lost in all the equipment and decorations. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.It might be better than the lame as speakers they have at their own parties.

“Admiring the equipment!” An effeminate blonde haired twink lisps out, he’s in a mesh long sleeve neon green crop top, his midriff a fully toned stomach with jeans that look painted on. His ass barely contained by the denim prison he calls pants. His hands are covered in rings and his wrist adorned with so many bracelets it could probably all be used for reps if he tried working out. This was not the vibe PJ would go for. Hell he was pretty sure this was not the vibe any of his frat would go for.

“Uh… uh yeah bro it's really nice, can’t wait to hear the DJ’s set!” nice conversation PJ thinks to himself. Last thing he wants is to get kicked out and as long as the fag freak doesn’t come onto him they are both more then fine! If only he knew more about who or what this fag freak was.

“Oh I think you will LOVE my set, I geared it towards both frats tonight, KOK’s president, Everrett. Such a doll I owed him a HUGE favor from another gig and so I was happy for him to cash it out here!” Fucking great the bigot thought. This fairy freak is the DJ. It's going to be all pop nonsense, no good music whatsoever. He didn’t realize his surface thoughts could be heard by the DJ. How could he, PJ exists in the belief that everything was normal, mundane and the most magical thing he believed was in church but only on holidays. Ofcourse PJ’s mind latched onto the favor part, imagining that fag on his knees for a slightly bigger, toned masculine fag that he had made up. The thought made his stomach twist and turn but it was enough ammunition for the twink.

“I’m sure I will bro, but are you sure you’ll play any real music, music BOY members will know? I mean me and my bro Theo probably don’t even know any of that gay shit, no offense” he was picking fun at the twink. It really was just another way of talking down to him which is all PJ really knew how to do at the end of the day, talk down to people! Something that would be his undoing, especially if he kept doing it to this specific waifish dj twink.

“Oh I’m sure if you don’t know any, then by the end of the night you will!” he said it with a wink, thinking that would be the end of it so that he could walk away and just start his set. The music was going to change minds, open people up, make them receptive but this jack ass just had to keep talking. PJ loved talking.

The goal tonight was to promote unity and undo division between the frats. The entire campus had been feeling tense since last Halloween when ASZ had to be quarantined due to a himbo oil outbreak. So this was one way to try and make everyone relax, two of the major frats meeting up and partying with booze, music and each other.

“Nah bro, atleast put on some edm or rap dude. You can play your pansy ass pop shit when I manage to grab some pussy and dip!” PJ laughs it out to himself like what he’s saying is hilarious and not entirely insulting and possibly derogatory. 

The DJ twink just grins, his back was turned to PJ as he had been making his way to his station so he couldn’t see the malice spreading on his face, or how his fingernails which had an assortment of designs started to glow. He didn’t see a need in letting this asshole talk himself deeper into a hole or insulting him more, he would fix the problem, sure some other people (did douchebag frat boys who were bigots really count) would be caught in the crossfire but who didn’t want a more inclusive campus.

“You know, I think I’ll be able to get you something we both want!” His voice somehow echoes as he gets into position on the lifted stage. PJ just shrugs taking it as a win, maybe the fucking twig or twink or whatever they are called can actually do his job and entertain him is what he’s thinking when he makes his way inside the frat house trying to find Theo. It seems like he’s talking to some ridiculously buff dude in just some obnoxious neon pink shorts. He was taller then both of us, super tan with tattoos, a literal adonis, if it wasn’t for the classic “gay voice” i wouldn’t have got that he was a fag and asked if he wanted to hit the gym.

“.... I promise none of the guys at KOK bite, we’re just wanting to reach out and build more community and solidarity with you guys at BOY.” He puts his hand on Theo’s shoulder, flashing a bright smile. Theo lets out a laugh, maybe even a giggle, he never giggles, was he being flirted with by a fairy and falling for it. PJ had to step in to intervene somehow right? Wasn’t there something in bro code about not letting bros become cocksuckers. About only banging chicks and if need be saying no homo before a quick brojob.

“No, no I believe you. I think this is a good idea, I mean a party between us… BROS yeah between us bros and getting to know each other beyond just frat identities is so great dude, god I don’t know what it is uh..” He pauses before the man speaks.

“Everett!” Everett, literal golden adonis informs him of his name, his hand running down from his shoulder to the small of PJ bro’s back. PJ swore he could almost see Theo shiver, biting his lip and holding back a whimper. God his bro was fagging out hard. Maybe if both of them fell for the KOK president

‘I mean I get it, this man screamed… well he screamed man. Even his smell, this pure, unadulterated earthy musk that made me sniff the air was the epitome of masculinity. Maybe I was fagging out to as I looked him up and down, admiring the curvature of his muscles, the way his shorts were straining not just against this massive bulge in the front, but his ass made the fabric look painted on. God the idea of ripping those shorts off with my teeth, the image of his cock slapping against my face PULSED in my mind, over and over again like a blight camera flash, disorienting me. Fuck, stop it, okay lets get Theo out of here,’ The thoughts racing through PJ’s mind are so loud and panicked. The pulsing magic of Faggy pres over there frightened him and made him want to leave. Before Theo could say another word PJ acted fast and slapped his hand on Theo’s other shoulder. Grabbing both attention.

“Hey dude I think i saw a keg out back, mind helping me tap that! Sorry to interrupt Everett!” The adonis, the head of KOK (as he would soon learn) just smiled and waved me off, Theo looked confused as I pulled him away, his eyes blinking rapidly as I made our way back to the backyard. The DJ looked like he was finishing setting up, a few others had made there way out here.

“Dude theres… There's no keg!” Theo sounded even dumber than I remembered him to be, his head shaking. God that guy was like frying his brain somehow, or maybe he had been roofied? Did gay guys roofie people? I decided tough love was the only solution to save my bro. Tough love equals a slap to the face, something I had wanted to do forever.

“Snap out of it Theo!” PJ’s hand hits across his face with a loud smack, the way his cheek recoils and his face turns leaves the jock stunned. A red mark making itself clear on his once pale pristine porcelain skin but it all seems to do the trick. He looks genuinely concerned, one hand on his cheek, his eyes wide while the other one points to him and then Everett and then himself again. Gobsmacked by the actions just taken at the KOK frat house. No one could have prepared him for this, for falling prey very quickly and briefly to the ancient horny magics of a fat president.

“Fuck dude, i was like totally gaying out there. I was like half a second from getting on my knees and trying to suck his cock through his shorts. You like totally saved my life dude thank you!” He puts his hands on PJ’s shoulders, smiling like a damn idiot, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. God he was also feeling that strongly. This place was dangerous, they needed to leave. Not just now, yesterday otherwise they were gonna become some fags plaything.

“Don’t thank me yet, lets get out of here, and quick maybe hit up a bar. This is no place for alphas like us!” PJ puffs up his chest as he says this, trying to appear bigger, stronger, maybe even taller then his friend Theo. For someone smarter and with more use of their brain it wouldn’t have worked but PJ knew he was working with a himbo. Theo nodded, accepting his role as follower and willing to do whatever PJ said or did.

The boys were starting to walk away, their footfalls heavy and stride long, hell they were almost out of the backyard when the speakers came to life. Static filling the air making the soon to be captive audience stand still. PJ and Theo’s escape was halted and as PJ took deep shallow breaths all he could think from the slight feedback of the sound system was that the damn twink was going to play some fruity bull shit. So self absorbed and “mighty” he forgot that he and his friend had almost been converted by a gay magic frat president.

“Hello my party people, girls gays and theys I hope you are ready for a fun night and for all those who I didn’t address don’t worry I’ll get to you soon!” The DJ gives a quick hand signal before beginning his set. His mic turns off and a basic beat starts to play. Some of the audience is already getting into it, the PULSE of the base thrumming through the crowd. The electronic sound gets past everyone's ears and magically syncs with their brains as it makes it to where anyone within vicinity of the initial music will always hear it.

The boys, the alpha males they are, immediately feel something off, something faggy about this beat. With their initial experience with KOK’s Frat president being so fret with danger they quickened their pace. But no matter how far they got the music stayed the same volume. Same PULSING! They stopped in their tracks, trying to speak to each other but couldn’t hear each other underneath all this music. Their voices drowned out by synth that only PULSED louder, their hands racing up to cover their ears in vain

“Get ready for the RUSH!” The twink says as the actual song starts. Troye Sivan blaring in everyones ears, the gay frat members already dancing. Grinding against each other before Troye even gets to sing the first line

cock

I feel the rush

Addicted to your touch

PJ feels that PULSE again, now being carried by Troye Sivan’s silky voice, feeling a breath on his neck as his hips start to move against his will, perfectly in beat with the song. His hand leave his ears, his eyes are wide as his body has a mind of its own. His arms move down, his hands going underneath his shirt to feel up the muscle he worked so hard for. He cringes so hard, this isn’t how he moves, he’s not some flaming FAGG- PULSE PULSE PULSE- the word dies in his mind, losing most of its negative connotation. But still he doesn’t move like some fairy twink, hips going side to side, ass jiggling as much as it can when its tightly wrapped in denim.

Theo was experiencing something very similar, although where PJ was moving in place, hips swinging back and forth Theo found himself walking behind his best bro. His hands going to the side of PJ’s torso as they ran against the fabric. His crotch being rubbed against as his bro kept moving back forth almost grinding.

PJ was trying to tell him to stop but the words “Addicted to your touch” PULSED in his mind and he couldn’t help but feel excited, and thrilled. “Nothing Gay or faggy about me and bro dancing right… fuck no”

Big communication, tell me what you want

Theo’s voice starts to break through, groaning as his bro keeps stimulating his cock. His voice getting deeper, gruffer, he feel the PULSES raking through his body, his mind on fire. The thoughts the Frat Pres implanted earlier come back, louder, hornier but less specific. Less centered on serving Everett, more focused on men, all men. His mind is blurring as everything heats up, losing himself quickly to the sound. His lack of intellect is a terrible defense as he submits to the DJ’s Mix wicked desire. Giving in more and more to its superior horny gay music. Why think when you can dance?

“Fuck, clothes feel tight, bro… you.. Feel… good…take, clothes… off” he manages to get out. PJ is stunned. What the fuck, thats not his friends voice he thinks, and he def wouldn’t be telling him to disrobe infront of all these gay guys. No wya PJ would.. Fuck his hands were allready stripping his shirt off of him. Showing off his scruffy, built torso. His pectorals glistening underneath the party lights, his pelt of hair sweaty, arms flexing as they throw the shirt away. He feels his position changed, Theo’s arms on his shoulder as he thrusts back his muscular globes stressing the blue denim to their limits. God he loves when Theo touches him, the more contact he makes with Pj’s body, the better PJ feels.

Translate your vibration, let your body talk to me

Baby love, if you wanna show me what

You've been schemin' up, if you wanna (Let go)

Trust the simulation, don't you let it break

Every stimulation, promise I can take

What you wanna give? Boy, you better show me what

You've been schemin' up

PULSE

Both the boys feel the verse PULSE through them, PJ is trying to fight, his heart beating faster, unsure of how to escape this terrifying power. His friend obviously lost. He wills his legs to let him turn to face his friend. It takes all his strength but as he gets there. Instead of his friend's gorgeous boy next door looks, piercing eyes staring back at him, there is this glowing pink blur overtaking his features. It PULSES brighter and brighter till PJ has to close his eyes and realize nothing has changed right? His friend's once pale complexion was replaced with a perfect sunkissed tan, but that makes sense Theo loves working outside under the hot sun at the beach, he hasn’t been pale in years. His face is now covered in facial hair, it's always been that way though, Theo always has a full hot sexy…. Not sexy… not gay… SEXY BEARD. Cheekbones are so much higher, lips perfectly plump and nose strong and sturdy… WEVE ALWAYS WANTED TO FEEL HIS FACE PRESSED AGAINST OURS….. His eyes somehow were even more empty and dull, his brow bone extended further giving him this neanderthal look. His hair is hidden underneath his classic baseball cap he always has turned backwards… IT MAKES HIM LOOK SO MASC.

Theo’s hands find their way to the small of PJ’s back, before finally landing on his ass. Hands that start to blur just like his face did, fingers growing longer, thicker, palms becoming wider as they take up both cheeks. Fingers digging in becoming more possessive, hungry, the denim prison containing PJ’s best asset starts to unravel leaving him in his underwear allowing his best bro better access to his ass. PJ’s thick, delicious ass, always attracting the wrong attention PULSES, as if the thing infecting his friend, changing him is spreading with touch. He has to bite his lips, moans and groans fighting to escape from sheer pleasure. 

He feels his body betray him. He panics more, this heavy, hot pleasure from his bros touch is making him squirm, his hips now grinding his crotch into Theos. His cock is getting so hard, its leaking all eight inches of pure masculine, straight, virility now leaking pre as he's forced to grind against his fully clothed bro in his underwear. He should be horrified, screaming, throwing up but his face refuses to emote that, when he’s not biting his lip, he is smiling like a fool or his eyes are rolling in the back of his head. He can feel himself getting smaller, his inner voice, his consciousness getting drowned out by the music. Its louder then his thoughts, its just so easy to give in, to submit, to do what the music is saying.

You got my heartbeat racin'

My body blazin'

They both light up in pink gay horny magic, their bodies pulsing. Theo’s neck grows thicker to match his more masculine face. His shoulders start to broaden, his spine stretching as he grows taller. His pecs inflate as pounds of muscles pile on, fat melting from his body as his abs cobble themselves into a six pack and his waist trims out , the red shirt he’s wearing strains as his biceps BULGE and his triceps become perfect corded muscles that lead to his thick hands. He finds himself picking up PJ who stares in confusion, the last vestiges of himself witnessing his bro, the boy next door becoming an adonis before his eyes.

PJ’s heart starts beating faster, he feels this PULSING HEAT thrum through him, the pink glow on his skin, on his friends skin and the sudden growth and realizes just how fucked he is. It only gets worse as the PULSE gets hotter, his heart faster and he sees the pelt of hair, all of his body hair disintegrates. Years of lifting and hard work vanish as his body becomes slim, any excess fat from his torso, his face, his legs vanishes or redistributes as his ass becomes fatter, more round and bubblier. His voice, his moans become whinier as he’s slowly carried into the house. His face, once masculine in a privileged douchebag way, softens, his nose becomes button like, his brows perfectly manicured, his lips perfect dick sucking lips. His hair which had been short lengthens and styles itself perfect.

I feel the rush

PJ feels himself get thrown down onto a mattress face first, his body landing with his ass in his air. Like it just naturally knows its purpose.  PULSE He doesn’t know how quickly they found the room, or what's happening or what he’s doing. PULSE. PJ actually DOESN’T KNOW ANYTHING. His mind starts to feel foggy, his eyes take on this pink tinge. The entire situation which had been so worrisome, so scary,. The loss of agency, him and his bro transforming, basically being naked was just… FUNNY. He couldn’t help but giggle.

He hears a belt being undone before it's tossed to the floor and a man raises a gruff voice. “Move your head here bitch!” he turns to see Theo his best BRO- FUCK BUDDY pointing to the edge of the bed, one hand unzipping his pants before letting his cock flop out. Commando was SOOOO HOT. PJ couldn’t help but listen, but thats cause PJ doesn’t think, PJ FOLLOWS PJ OBEYS.

Addicted to your touch

PJ moves his head to the edge of the bed, and feels his fuck buddy, his DOM TOP, his MASTER arrange his head so that his head is upside down on the bed, his jaw wide open. That below average cock theo has glorious, amazing leaking dick above him is glowing pink, just like PJ’s own monster- PATHETIC DICKLET. PJ needs to feel it in his mouth, in his throat he’s desperate for it. His throat feels so empty. The way it just wags back and forth teasing him as Theo’s balls are just out of reach of his nose and tongue is so unfair.

Oh, I feel the rush

“Are you gonna be a good boy and take all ten inches boy?” he asks PJ, Pj nods furiously, too dumb to talk when a dick is out. It makes his master laugh. PJ was such an idiot smetimes, good thing he had an idiot master to lead him around too.

It's so good, it's so good

When Theo finally does plunge his cock deep into PJ’s throat its like heaven the way it just glides in. the PULSE erasing PJ”s gag reflex. His throat horny, hungry, desperate to be filled that it flexes around the fuckstick.

I feel the rush

PJ’s eyes start to roll back, the pleasure so intense. Its everything he ever wanted. Sinking all the way until Theo’s balls are right on his nose, this deep masculine musk and sweat melting his mind as he rests there. Letting his fag adjust. 

Addicted to your touch

Untill he starts to slowly pull out till just the head of his cock is on the fag’s lips. PJ immediately starts to lick the head, his nose breathing for him as he catches his breath, he even tries to reach for more of his masters cock but feels him hold him back, one hand on his chest as he stops and lets him start the real fucking.

Oh, I feel the rush

It's so good, it's so good

So good when we slow gravity, so good

It's so good, it's so good

Breathe one, two, three, take all of me, so good

It's so good, it's so good

Theo taking more control decides to slam back down into his twink, memories of fucking him senseless start to play in his mind. Of claiming this bitch freshman year, of rushing KOK together. Of taking him for dates, sharing him with the frat. Nights out after exams at the park, fucking on the beach. A full life replaces the old dreadful one as he starts seesawing into HIS FAGGOT’s EMPTY THROAT. He can feel the vibration of PJ’s moans on his dick. The way his boy loses control as he’s used and abused, god it gets him to close. But he doesn’t just want to cum in his throat, he pulls out with a plop. His cock slick with saliva, a trail following after he leaves. He motions for his boy, who looks so tired to flip over. He does so without any question, presenting his brief covered ass into the air, his back arching and face pressed against the strangers bed.

PJ’s Mind is on fire, memories of being some alpha male being burned to ash as the center of his world becomes servicing and pleasing cocks. Falling head over heels for the most masculine man he had been roomed with freshmen year. Sneaking into that man’s bed late at night, pulling off the covers and taking slow licks along his shaft, daring him to wake up with every single one. The way his lips felt wrapped around that shaft, how much better it felt when he felt Theo’s hand firmly grasp his head and shove it all the way down to the hilt. How it felt when he first fucked PJ’s bussy.

Pass your boy the heatwave

, recreate the sun

Take me to the feeling

, boy, you know the one

Kiss it when you're done, man, this shit is so much fun

Pocket rocket

 gun

Theo Tears PJ’s briefs into two. Split right down the middle, the fabric already weak from holding back the biggest thing on the thin twink’s body, his ass. He doesn’t waste any time does he? No Theo spreads those cheeks, looking at that beautiful, still tight pink hole, it was winking, PULSING at him, begging to be played, he started to lean forward. The bristle of his beard already tickling the twink, making him giggle and moan with anticipation.

We finally manage

You got my heartbeat (Heartbeat) racin' (Racin')

My body blazin'

I feel the rush

Addicted to your touch

Oh, I feel the rush

It's so good, it's so good

I feel the rush

PJ could feel that emptiness that was in his throat start to grow in his hole, he was moaning and groaning hands finding their way to his own ass as he spread it further, thrusting back right onto Theo’s Face. His lips and tongue making contact as another PULSE rang through them. Theo and PJ felt that same addictive rush, the need to feel eachother this same way again. Theo Taking long, sensual licks around PJ’s hole before spearing it slightly with his tongue. PJ’s hands grabbing the back of Theo’s head to get him to do more, to hurry as his ate was eaten. It went on for minutes but it felt like lifetimes, to both men, heaven as Theo kept Pj right on the edge like a good dom top should, PJ’s pathetic dicklet just a constant stream of pre. Even though the bottom wanted more, deeper, harder he now craved the feeling of theo’s beard on his cheeks and tongue deep in his hole.

Addicted to your touch

Oh, I feel the rush

It's so good, it's so good

Theo eventually pulled away, both boys saddened to leave their new favorite activity, but Theo knew they were both too close and he needed to feel that tight hole wrapped around his dick. He grabbed onto both hips, his twink whimpering begging, mind fully numbed, eyes glassy forever with a pink twinge and smiled. Before thrusting all the way in. They were both prepped, they were both lubed and PJ was so loose from all the foreplay that all ten inches of monster cock slid right through him. But Theo wasn’t satisfied with one thrust who would be.

So good when we slow gravity, so good

It's so good, it's so good

Breathe one, two, three, take all of me, so good

It's so good, it's so good

It's so good, it's so good

It's so good, it's so good

With the tightest grip he ever had, he start see sawing into his boy’s hole. Pressing deep against his prostate, crushing it. Thrust after thrust, powerfucking his boy, his hole, his fag he could feel his balls tightening, he could feel his boy losing control. Both of their former lives just cum waiting to be fired, they let go. Load after load firing from both of them till they collapsed in bed together. Theo on top of Pj, as they always would, the strong dom top’s arms around his lithe twinks body. Keeping him warm and protected through the night.

[anonymous1233211]

Return of the tickling sand hands

Hey everyone. As we know, these AI chatbots can be such temperamental little bitches with their policies and shit, and I attempted to recreate previous hypno themed tfs but ChatGPT decided it was now suddenly for no good reason against their policies, just like everything! So I decided I'm gonna take a bit of a break from making ChatGPT TFs for a little while, but I want to share you this as I go on this break. The sandy hands that tickled Link and turned him into a moblin are back, tickling and transforming their victims. Enjoy the TF

[kemerooter]

Manly Experiments: Molecular Muscle Enhancer

Ron just came back from the latest mission where he, once again, had to be the bait so that Kim could do her thing and save the day.

“Man am I exhausted” he said as he walked into his messy room. He laid on his bed to rest up before having to get ready for bed

Ron looked absolutely exhausted and could barely move a muscle from all the running and dodging he had to do to get past some of the henchmen.

See he was given two tasks - distract the guards and try and take back as many of the stolen tech as he could carry. Lucky for him most of the tech were small gadgets - rayguns, spy glasses, etc.

While at the secret hideout, he ran through the base yelling at the top of his lungs “I don’t think this is a good idea!!” he said as he ran around to get the guards’ attention. Lucky for him, he found a quick hiding spot as Kim snuck her way inside.

Ron managed to get inside after a few minutes and bag most of the gadgets while the guards were busy outside looking for him.

At the end of the day, the bad guys got what was coming for them and both him and Kim saved the day again. He turned over the gadgets that were stores in his backpack to the local enforcers to have them handle the rest from there.

Back in his room, Ron now mustered up the energy to tidy up his room and start changing to get ready to go to bed. After that, he rummaged through his backpack to clean it out and ready it for tomorrow.

After pulling out some books, he noticed a ring that he wasn’t able to turn over to the police

“Shoot! Missed one!” He said “I guess I could turn this over tomorrow but I wonder what this is?”

He pulled up the mission log and checked the list of stolen tech that was part of his duties to recover. Running down the list, he saw it listed as theMolecular Muscle Enhancer Ring. “Used to increase overall strength and size of your henchmen to ensure utmost safety and security” he read aloud

“Shouldn’t really mess with this” he said. After a few minutes of thinking though, he thought he’d try it out for himself. “What’s a little added security for the team am I right?”

Ron really had dreams of being able to self-sustain or even lead some of the missions he and Kim would go on but he never really had the athleticism or physicality for the job, unlike Kim who could summer sault and land a high kick to the face. “Shouldn’t hurt, I hope” he said as he inspected the ring further.

He stood infront of his mirror and slid the ring on. Initially it didn’t work but after a few minutes of checking the mechanisms on it, he figured he had to twist it for it to activate.

Almost immediately after twisting it, it did what it was described to do. It started right where he had the ring - his hands and arms

Right then and there his arms started inflating like balloons. His arms packed on muscle on top of muscle to the point that his shirt sleeves were stretched to their limits. He acted quickly and rolled them up before they could tear through the fabric.

He caught himself in the mirror, he was amazed by the sight. His arms looked like they belonged on a bodybuilder with huge forearms and biceps most would be jealous of. He tried flexing to see the muscle rise, “with guns like these, I’m sure I could fight some of the bad guys instead of running away as a distraction” he continued while still gawking at his huge arms.

He checked the ring again to see if it was reacting in any way to the changes. After a thorough inspection, he saw that the ring had levels and he only turned it up by a fraction of what it was capable of.

“I wonder what’ll happen if I twist it all the way?” He said as he was already twisting it more - his body gradually gaining more muscle with every move he made with it

He could feel every sensation imaginable as he twisted the ring to its maximum limit.

If he had to describe it, it felt as if he was being inflated with air. Much how like a basketball gets inflated, it starts out really soft and malleable but ends up being tough and hard once it reached its intended shape.

“This is gonna be great for missions” he said as his body packed on more and more muscle. Once he hit the limit, he looked down at his body in awe

First, he noticed his point of view was now significantly higher as compared to before “must’ve gained some height” he said

He then started feeling up the sensations of his now muscle-bound physique. No longer a thin man, everything now felt tight - as if his movement was restricted by something. He raised an arm and saw what was causing it, it was himself and his arm that could nearly be as thick as his (old) waistline

He inspected his arm and saw it was now nearly 3-4x the size he was used to and absolutely packed tight with rock hard muscle and veins. He tried feeling them up with his now thicker hands and felt how solid they were. With just a minor flex they were already rising into a ball and were as hard as steel. What more if he really exerted effort.

He tried looking down to see what else got changed and he couldn’t see anything — his pecs were blocking his view almost completely “Man, can’t see past my pecs” Ron said as he flexed his chest and saw the mounds of muscle respond by jumping

He saw his shirt was now already in complete tatters so without thinking, he pulled the entire thing off in one solid motion “didn’t think the fabric would be that easy to rip off” he added as he assumed his strength also multiplied ten-fold alongside his physique

He could now feel the air in his bedroom as the transformation also gave off heat. His body started sweating to compensate and cool off.

Now with his shirt gone, he could now clearly see his torso in the mirror.

Just like his arms, his entire torso matched their size and strength. The oecs he flexed earlier were massive and were jutting out by more than an inch from his body and created the perfect divide in between. What surprised him though is his chest now sported hair, something he never had before nor was it part of their family genetics “Not even dad has this kind of dusting” he said as he felt up the muscle in his chest. Feeling his massive bicep brush against his torso sent shivers down his now massive back and spine

He felt up his stomach and relished how solid the abs were. “Didn’t have this before! Could have had this in handy when that one guy kicked me in the stomach, now I think not even a baseball bat would make a dent in these” he said as he tensed his now solid 8 pack abs

He went on to inspect the rest of himself in the mirror as the night went on - massive wide back, boulder shoulders, lats that could eclipse a person, and legs that could support a cars’ weight

Checking himself in the mirror, he also saw the ring had changed his face a bit. Gone were his boyish charms, the person looking at the mirror looked like one of the henchmen he ran away from

“This can’t be me” he said as he inspected his now lantern jaw and stubble. “I can’t believe this all came from the ring” he said as he looked at it as if to say thanks for the technology

“Can’t wait to test run this version of me out on the field!” He said as he posed in front of the mirror again giving a double bicep pose — at full effort it looked like his biceps alone were the same size as his now-handsome head

Just then his beeper went off - it notified him of an urgent mission again, this time downtown, another group of robbers were trying to hit the local tech giant company.

He ran for his closet to try and put on another shirt and bolted out the door. Luckily his parents were already asleep so he didn’t have to explain why there was now a 6 foot 8 in behemoth of a man bolting through their household

Ron rappelled down the side of the building to try and reach the breached floors. Previously he would’ve had difficulty in maneuvering this equipment but his newfound strength and stamina did all the work

His muscles bulged and flexed with every movement as he scaled down the building. The intruders just on the next floor below. He paused and talked over to Kim who was waiting for him at the roof, not knowing Ron was already about to engage.

“Ron where are you? I’m waiting for you so we can hatch a distraction plan again to sneak in and catch them by surprise” Kim said

“Already on it” Ron replied

“What do you mean you’re already on it?! Don’t go in there alone without me, we know you can’t handle this many henchmen!” Kim scolded

“Oh don’t worry, I think this time I can manage muscling my way through” Ron replied as he kicked the glass down and charged straight for the robbers, each forceful step almost vibrating the floor.

After an hour the coast was clear and Kim finally saw what Ron meant by ‘muscling his way through’ — “Ron! How did you even get to this size? Don’t tell me you got exposed to something before without telling me?” She said

Ron could only flex his bicep again and confidently reply back “I guess we won’t need that many distraction tactics anytime soon with this amount of brawn” as Kim just shrugged it off and took note of trying to fix Ron before the weekend is over in her logbook

“You’ve got until this weekend” Kim told him “That’s plenty enough time to work this out” Ron said as he bounced his pecs, their heft clearly noticeable through the skintight shirt

Ron went ahead home excited for the days to follow as he adjusted into his new life as a main hero and no longer a sidekick

=================

Enjoy! Heavily influenced by the infamous episode of Kim Possible - Ron The Man. I don’t think I need to describe what that episode is to everyone

[kemerooter]

Honoring this and the few posts that would follow to O’Melissokomos from the original CYOC.net who made the earliest comics I’ve ever been exposed to for muscle growth and transformations — I fully know that these may be directly based on the drawings they made over 2 decades ago but to share them again would mean having more people know about their work — https://www.cyoc.net/index.php?set_albumName=Ozone-01&name=NS-Gallery&include=view_album.php

————————————————————————

Maxwell Biggerman: Cop of the Year

Max Biggerman, one of the tenured cops of New York, was on his regular rounds around his section of the city.

Max wasn’t exactly the poster-image of the perfect cop but his record and reputation walked into the room before he even got in. With over 20 years of dedicated service to the precinct, what would you expect? But, now that he was 43, all the donuts throughout all those years have caught up to him.

His weight and cholesterol have been pulling his performance down a few notches and the captain had assigned him to do regular rounds — both following that he knows what to look out for and so that he could get some exercise.

“Calling for backup on 107 and 32nd, we got a big group” Max heard over on his radio “On my way” he replied.

As he got to the scene, it looked to him like it was a drug bust. What perplexed him was it wasn’t normal for these things to happen in broad daylight.

“What do we have here?” Max asked one of the lieutenants handcuffing some of the suspects “Just a regular bust sir, though we assume they tried hiding this in daylight to avoid suspicion” the lieutenant replied. “I’m new to this sort of thing Max, mind if you take over logging in evidence?” the lieutenant asked. “Sure but you owe me a dozen donuts when we get back” Max said jokingly

As they brought over the suspects’ cars over to the precinct for further inspection and cleaning, Max collected each item from their cars. “What were these guys trying to do? Mix up a cocktail or something?” he said.

As he reached in again into the cushions of the cars he immediately winced in pain

As it turned out, one of the suspects purposefully hid one of the syringes into the backseat. “WHAT THE HELL!” Max shouted as the syringe deposited its remaining contents into his bloodstream

“Fuck, gotta get this checked stat” he said as he rushed back inside the precinct to get first aid. Luckily some of the rookies were trained in some first aid. He stayed in the precinct for hours to see if the syringe had an impact on him or anything, luckily for him again nothing happened (for now) but the captain told him to get checked at the hospital first thing tomorrow.

It was already late when he finally got home but he couldn’t stop thinking about that syringe. “Damn it, what could’ve been in there?!” he wondered as he inspected his hand again. “Thankfully I don’t feel anything” he said but promised himself to get to the hospital tomorrow morning

As he laid in bed to get ready to sleep, he then started feeling intense heat and pain

“Okay this must be fucking it then” Max exclaimed as he clutched his pillows tight from the intense pain. The heat his body was generating was making him sweat profusely “GAAAAAAAHHH FUCK!” he continued as he tossed and turned in bed

He reached for the pills he prepared ahead of time on his nightstand and drank as much as he could — he assumed it would help him ease any pain he’d encounter if the syringe did anything to him at night.

It got to a point where his body just gave up and caused him to quickly pass out

What was interesting was the contents of the syringe was really just a junkie’s own concoction but pairing that with years of donuts, a (very) high cholesterol and fat storage, and the meds Max took, that all resulted into something new altogether.

As he was passed out on the bed, the changes started occuring like clockwork throughout the night.

First, his body started deflating. Years of accumulated fat started melting away from his body through his sweat until he was barely recognizable.

Second, his body started slowly creeping longer vertically. Over the course of 5 hours, his body stretched from his 5’10” to a commanding 6’5”. Thankfully the clothes he had on were big enough to cover him up, following they were all 3XL and all.

Third and finally, the major changes started manifesting just before sunrise. The amount of fat he’d lost came back 3X stronger in the form of pure rock hard muscle

His once flabby arms were now absolute cannons, thankfully he had a gun owner’s permit for being a cop. Each bicep were as big, if not bigger, than his own head. His pecs were now so obscenely huge that they would block his view downwards while rested. The deep valley they made practically stretching the shirt fabric to their limits. His neck practically packed on so much muscle that it flared a bit wider than his now chiseled jaw

His shoulders and back didn’t disappoint either as he now occupied more space of his bed than before.

It was already 6:30AM and his alarm went off. Max woke up with a start as he felt the damp bedsheets. He immediately stood up from bed, getting virtigo in the process.

As he got his bearings, that’s when he finally saw what had happened to him

“N-no this can’t be real” he said as he looked down and saw nothing but his shirt - his pecs stretching the fabric so far out that he couldn’t see his feet. Something only his stomach would’ve done before

Max continued and felt up his chest only to be met with 8 cobblestone abs and a deep crevasse that lined his now prominent pectorals.

After that realization he rushed to his mirror to see things more clearly

In the mirror stood a man he couldn’t recognize at all — it wasn’t him per se. The man in the mirror no longer had the weight of a thousand bear claws and beaver tails and cups of coffee, the man he saw was practically perfect in every way and then some.

“This can’t be me can it?!” He exclaimed as he raised an arm to flex. The man in the mirror followed suit. The bicep he flexed now in full view “Jeez that’s a gun violation right there” he said as he gawked at the sheer size of it

“Shit what’re the boys and the chief gonna say about this when I enter looking like an absolute behemoth” he said as he continued inspecting his now massive physique. He had so much energy that he felt like he could run a marathon “God, look at me thinking I could run a marathon” Max exclaimed as he felt how light on his feet he was — all thanks to his now massive tree trunk legs.

As he got ready for work, he tried on his uniform. He was afraid it wouldn’t fit him but luckily it did “Thank God I wore a 4XL uniform” he said as he barely could fit his arms in and close the buttons. Unfortunately his pants didn’t fit so he had to settle for the uniform shorts

At the precinct, all eyes were practically glued onto him with jaws all on the floor. Not everyday you get a man that had to duck and pivot to get inside

“Hey fellas, I’m looking for the captain. Anyone seen him around?” Max asked some of the policemen there. All of them shaking and staring in fear and bewilderment. “He’s in his office” one of them finally replied.

“Ah Biggerman, you done visiting the hospital after yesterday’s fiasco?” the captain said before looking up from his paperwork. “Not yet I’m afraid, something came up” Max replied. “Well I told you to go there fir— HOLY SHIT WHAT HAPPENED?!” The captain exclaimed as he looked up to the new and improved Max. “Growth spurt chief. Can I ask if I could get the case files from yestersay? Wanted to figure *this* out myself” he said gesturing at his bicep that was struggling with the 4XL sleeve

“Here be my guest man, take all the time you need” the chief replied “Be sure to still get checked alright, I don’t want this precinct to be liable for creating The Hulk”

“Got it boss” Max replied back holding the case files

Max made his way out of the office immediately after getting the files to check who the suspects were and what they were mixing and concocting

Max went on to discover the total sting operation by uncovering a cult trying to genetically force their way into superhero-hood via a special mix of chems that would’ve altered a person’s physicality (and libido). Unfortunately their work ended up being inconclusive until Max.

Max went on to eventually get named Cop of the Year by the chief for uncovering the entire operation but he’s thankful that he now had Max, the absolute unit of a man of precinct 7 on the job to make the city safe

Secretly though, Max had successfully acquired a booster shot from one of the uncovered labs. “Gotta get a boost” he said as he inspected another syringe waiting to outgrow the office

[keozrb]

Sora - Rich Italian (swimming v8)

oversize muscle bodybuilder

[raxero-malemetamorph]

The Hookah

Johny and Cash sat on the worn-out couch of their cluttered student apartment, surrounded by the familiar comfort of NASA and sci-fi posters. The room, usually filled with the frantic energy of upcoming exam stress, felt different tonight. Johny had just returned from his travels across the Middle East and laid out on the coffee table was his prized possession: an ancient, ornate blue water pipe and a rustic, weathered tin of tobacco he had bartered for in a hidden corner of an old bazaar.

With curious excitement, they set up the antique hookah. The charcoal glowed a deep crimson in the dimly lit room as they prepared to test the mysterious blend.

Cash reached out and took the heavy wooden hose first. He inhaled deeply, pulling the thick smoke through the bubbling water. The moment the vapor hit his lungs, he gasped. The sheer, intoxicating strength of the tobacco rushed through him, washing away his thoughts. It tasted of rich spices, ancient earth, and desert heat; for a fleeting second, he could vividly feel the vibrant heartbeat of the Arabian world.

Smiling through the rush, Cash exhaled a dense, white cloud of smoke and handed the hose over to Johny, who took a long, deep drag of his own, instantly mirroring Cash's dazed, euphoric expression.

As Johny held the smoke in his lungs, Cash suddenly rubbed his jaw. A strange, prickly itch spread across his skin. Right beneath his fingers, a dark, coarse stubble began to rapidly sprout from his smoothly shaven face.

A similar dark stubble began to appear on Johny’s face as well.

Cash’s heart quickened as a wave of heat surged beneath his skin. He realized, with a mixture of shock and arousal, that something impossible was happening.

The prickly stubble on Cash's face didn't stop growing; it quickly thickened into a lush, heavy, midnight-black beard. The bright red shade of his hair darkened rapidly, shifting into a deep, glossy black and curling into thick, unruly waves. He gasped as a shadow of dark, virile hair began to bloom from his collarbone, spreading thickly across his chest.

Johny finally noticed the changes. His hand raised up and felt his jaw. His golden blonde hair started turning to a rich black, and a thick, masculine beard now framed his face, altering his reflection entirely.

A strange, warm tingling sensation spread across their skin. Looking at their hands, both young men watched in awe as their pale complexions began to deepen, shifting into a rich, warm, sun-kissed olive tone.

Panicking yet deeply thrilled by the sudden rush of heat, they scrambled to their feet. They pulled their geeky t-shirts over their heads and tossed them onto the floor. Standing chest-to-chest in the middle of the room, they watched each other’s bare torsos. Beneath their darkening skin, their previously slender, soft frames began to shift.

Small, soft muscles began to flex on their own, hardening and carving out deep, defined lines along their shifting midsections.

As their bodies warped, a powerful pressure reshaped their skulls. Their soft, boyish features melted away, replaced by strong, sharp Arabian facial structures—prominent, noble noses, fiercely defined jawlines, and dark, smoldering eyes hidden beneath thick brows.

The transformation reached its peak as a massive surge of testosterone flooded their systems. Their shoulders broadened forcefully, and thick, veins began to throb along bulging, heavy biceps. Their chest muscles swelled outwards into massive, hairy slabs of muscle, and their abdomens rippled into a rock-hard, deep eight-pack.

The growth wasn't limited to their upper bodies. Beneath the denim, a sudden, heavy throbbing made both men groan. Their manhoods thickened and lengthened significantly, filling out the fronts of their jeans with thick, heavy, unmistakable bulges.

Their denim jeans groaned under the immense strain, stretching dangerously tight against their newly thickened, powerful thighs and massive, muscular glutes. The fabric threatened to rip at the seams with every slight movement.

As their physical forms solidified, their minds underwent a radical shift. The anxiety of university life, the stress of exams, and all their complex, nerdy thoughts evaporated into thin air. A blissful, simple fog settled into their minds. Their thoughts narrowed down to the pure, primal joy of their massive size, the intoxicating feel of their heavy muscles, and a newfound desire to flex and admire their raw masculinity. They had completely transformed into two massive, muscular, thick-headed Arabian himbos.

The two newly forged giants stood inches apart, the air heavy with the scent of spice and raw male pheromones. Johny looked down, a slow, dim, but incredibly confident grin spreading across his face as he reached out a massive, veiny hand to grip Cash’s bicep. Cash let out a low, guttural chuckle, his dark eyes locked onto Johny's chiseled chest. He pressed his heavy palm flat against Johny's rock-hard abs, feeling the thick muscles twitch under his touch. They slowly moved their hands over each other's massive, hairy chests, utterly captivated by the raw power of their new bodies.

A fierce, consuming flame of raw desire ignited between them. The simple, heavy thoughts in their minds focused entirely on the massive man standing in front of them. Without a word, Johny tangled his thick fingers into Cash’s curly black hair, pulling him in. Cash gripped Johny’s thick waist, and the two muscular giants slammed their lips together in a fierce, passionate, and incredibly heavy kiss, sealing their transformation in the middle of the smoke-filled room.

[raxero-malemetamorph]

WishApp

The heat of the late summer evening pressed down on Marcus like a heavy blanket. The air in his cramped apartment was still and humid. He lay across his bed, stripped down to nothing but a pair of faded yellow briefs. They were loose, standard cotton things, typical of the plain, unnoticeable life he led. Sweat pooled in the shallow hollows of his collarbone. He was scrawny, a constellation of sharp joints and pale skin, his arms thin rods holding his smartphone. He was just mindlessly scrolling through social media, a digital life that mirrored his empty social life. Girls didn't notice him, and he’d resigned himself to a life of digital voyeurism.

An ad for 'WishApp' flashed on the screen. His thumb hovered, then pressed. Why not? he thought, a flicker of curiosity momentarily cutting through the heat-induced lethargy. He downloaded it.

The interface was minimal, almost clinical. A simple text box appeared with a direct question: What is your desire?

Marcus let out a self-deprecating snort. He knew exactly what he didn’t have. Confidence. A presence. He stared at the box.

“What do I want?” he said to empty room. He was a skinny, shy straight guy. He wanted a relationship. He wanted to be able to just be with someone. And he wanted a body that meant something, a body that people would respect. He started typing rapidly. He wanted a relationship so he could have sex every time he wanted it. And also, be a proper big muscle guy. He hit send, not even noticing the tiny, fateful typo in the word ‘guy’.

We appreciate your request. Processing will take some time, the app replied.

He stared at the blank screen, expecting… something. More options? A confirmation code? Nothing. He sighed, disappointed. Thinking it was just a silly gimmick, and he closed the app. Tossing the phone away, Marcus rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and quickly drifted off to sleep. He had no idea that as soon as his consciousness faded, his body and mind would begin a profound, unstoppable transformation.

His dreams, once filled with vague images of unapproachable girls, began to change. Instead, his subconscious was invaded by images of beautiful, powerful, muscular men. The shapes were defined, the lines confident. He was surrounded by them, not as threatening figures, but as icons of adoration. The dreams felt different—heavier, thicker, filled with a desire he couldn't quite articulate.

The first physical changes were subtle. His skin tightened. A faint rasp of stubble began to push through on his previously smooth jaw. On his chest, where there had been only pale skin, fine, soft hair began to sprout. He writhed in his sleep, the clean sheets now sticking to a body that was growing in density, in volume.

The process accelerated. A deep, resonant hum seemed to vibration through his bones. The app’s 'processing' was intense. His skeletal structure didn't expand dramatically, but his muscle fibers hyper-growth. His deltoids broadened, becoming wide, powerful shelves. The biceps and triceps definition sharpened, his forearms hardening. His chest, once a flat expanse, became wide and massive, the new hair becoming dense and curly, spreading down his sternum. His core tightened into hard, visible blocks of muscle, a six-pack etching itself above a wider, stronger abdomen. Thick, natural hair now covered his chest, abs, and legs.

As the first faint hues of dawn began to bleed through the open window, painting the room in a warm light, the violent crescendo of the transformation finally reached its peak. The frantic shifting and tossing in the bed subsided into a heavy, rhythmic breathing. The skin-and-bones Marcus was completely gone.

In his place lay a magnificent specimen of pure, raw masculinity. His shoulders had expanded into a massive, heroic V-shape, his traps sloped steeply down into wide, boulder-like deltoids that seemed to strain against the very fabric of the mattress. His biceps and triceps muscles were now thick and full, carved with deep, branching veins that pulsed with a newfound, powerful circulation.

His chest had risen into two massive, heavy slabs of muscle, so broad and deep that they shook slightly with each deep breath he took. A thick, masculine carpet of dark, curly hair now completely blanketed his torso, running in a dense line down his defined, rock-hard abdominal wall and disappearing into his waistband.

The change was so absolute that his yellow briefs, which just hours before had hung loosely on his boyish hips, were now stretched to their absolute limit. The cotton fabric was pulled over his heavily thighs and wide hips. Up front, the pouch of the underwear was incredibly tight, straining against a noticeably larger, heavy bulge that pulsed with the intense morning heat. His legs had transformed into thick, powerful pillars,

The transformation was absolute, leaving no trace of the fragile youth who had fallen asleep the night before.

When he woke up, he sat up with a groan. The first rays of morning light illuminating the messy sheets. He didn't immediately notice his change. His mind was still tangled in the powerful, intimate images of his dream.

“Why do I have morning wood after this strange dream?” he muttered. The sound of his voice shocked him. It was a deep, gravelly baritone, completely unlike his usual tenor.

He tried to clear his throat, but the deep pitch remained. He finally looked down.

"What!" he roared, the deep voice echoing in the small room.

He ran for the mirror in his bathroom, his now powerful legs nearly knocking him off balance. He stared at his reflection, his eyes wide in absolute disbelief. The face staring back had sharp, chiseled features. A full, well-maintained beard, short-cropped and styled, covered his jaw, matching the neat, styled hair on his head. He looked like an immaculate, well-defined muscle bear. His eyes were wide, taking in the massive chest covered in hair, the sculpted abs, the thick arms, and the deep muscle strength. He ran his hand over his new body, his fingers pressing into hard muscles. He noticed his yellow briefs, now extremely tight, with a very prominent, powerful bulge. His initial panic began to morph into something else—a strange, thrilling sense of self-awareness.

Suddenly, he heard sounds from the kitchen. The sizzling of eggs, the clatter of a pan.

Marcus slowly pushed open the bathroom door and walked into the hallway. The kitchen door was slightly ajar. He peeked inside. Standing by the stove, his back mostly to Marcus, was another man. The man was massive, a fellow muscle bear with incredibly well-developed muscles. His deltoids were wide, and his biceps bulged as he expertly flipped an egg in a frying pan. His chest was covered in dense hair, matching the hair on his arms and legs. Marcus froze, the sheer, imposing presence of the other man dominating the space.

Marcus watched him. What a man, he thought. Wait, why am I thinking that? I’m not gay. Or am I? The realization of his typo on the app hit him simultaneously with the new, powerful feelings swirling in his core. The dreams had prepared him.

The other man turned around, a friendly expression on his face. He was bearded, with neat, light-colored hair, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of tight red briefs with a nice, round bulge.

"Good morning, sleepy head," the man said, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. "I just made breakfast. I hope you want some."

Marcus took a step forward, the unfamiliar sensations in his transformed body now commanding his actions. His desire for this stranger, this fellow icon of power and beauty, was primal.

"There is one thing I want," Marcus said, his deep voice thick with newfound intent.

He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. The man smiled as Marcus approached. Without a word, Marcus took the other man's body in his powerful hands and kissed him passionately. The man immediately dropped the spatula, his arms wrapping around Marcus's broad shoulders. They pulled each other tight, their muscular bodies pressing together, hair on hair, muscle on muscle, in a sudden, intense embrace.

"Let’s get back to bed…" Marcus whispered against his lips. The other man simply nodded and pulled him along.

As they left the kitchen, Marcus’s phone buzzed. A new notification appeared on the WishApp: Enjoy your wish!

[whateverilike-dk]

[satynski]

Beautiful 💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

[mikemuscles314]

Good looking guy!

[transform4u]

If I had to choose a sin, between many, is there a world where I wouldn't choose lust?

Perhaps the tragic thing is that my life is moved by lust wholly, yet I rarely put into practice what it inspires. The dark influence of lust is limited to my imagination alone, as I'm too afraid to ever pursue the pleasure of the flesh in company of other men.

Just worshipping them from afar, within the safe compounds of my brain. So removed from my own self that I wished to be them, to have sex as them instead of being with any of these men. Regardless of how achievable was to get with any.

I just wish I was able to live my erotic fantasies. I don't care what sacrifices it would mean. I don't care how much it'll change who I am. How much I would have to lose is so utterly irrelevant to me...

Why would I want to keep being this tall, skinny fat man? A latino that's so pasty I may as well be white? Intelligent yet a testament of unfulfilled potential? Why be that when I could be so much better? So much hotter? So much sexier?

The bass vibrates through the sticky floor of the Abby, a pathetic name for a place that smells like cheap vodka and desperation. Your skinny-fat frame—six-foot-two but built like a string bean with a potbelly—sways awkwardly near the edge of the dance floor. Your eyes, hungry and desperate, devour every piece of man-meat that passes by.

"Jesus, Miguel," Maria sighs, swirling the olive in her third martini. "You're practically drooling. Close your mouth before you catch flies."

You can't help it. Your gaze locks onto a beefcake dancing on the bar, thick and hairy in all the right places, his body glistening with sweat as he grinds against the air. Your dick strains against your jeans, and you shift uncomfortably.

"He's perfect," you whisper, more to yourself than to Maria. "I'd give anything to be him."

Maria rolls her eyes. "You're fine just the way you are, you know. You'll find someone."

"No woman gets it," you snap, turning away from her. "None of you understand what it's like to want something so badly it hurts."

As you turn, you bump into another pair—a twink and his fag hag. They stare at you, and the girl wrinkles her nose.

"Sorry," you mumble, the apology barely audible above the pulsing bass that seems to match the frantic rhythm of your heart. But she's already turned away, her words a venomous whisper to her friend that somehow cuts through the noise with surgical precision. "Such a waste. All that height and nothing to show for it. Like a clothes hanger with a beer gut."

The words land like physical blows, each one striking a different part of your consciousness, reshaping you from the inside out. You feel a strange tingling sensation starting at the base of your skull, spreading down your spine like warm honey. The skinny-fat Latino who craved the touch of other men begins to dissolve, molecule by molecule, replaced by something else entirely. Something harder. Something stronger.

The twink beside her giggles, a high-pitched sound that grates on your suddenly sensitive ears. "He looks like my dad, actually. A sad, divorced dad who still thinks he can hang with the cool kids."

Divorced dad. The phrase echoes in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your consciousness like a pinball. Suddenly you're remembering a marriage that ended—no, that's not right, you've never been married, have you? But the memory feels real, tangible: signing papers in a sterile office, the cold satisfaction of knowing you'd won, kept the house, the business, the respect. The memory of a woman's tears, and your indifference to them.

Maria pulls you away, her hand feeling smaller suddenly, more fragile in yours. "Pay them no mind," she says, but her voice seems distant, muffled, like she's speaking to you from underwater.

The words are distorted, muffled, meaningless. Her face, once a source of comfort and camaraderie, now blurs at the edges, her features softening into an indistinct mask of concern. You can't focus on her. A pressure builds behind your eyes, a physical ache as if your very skull is reshaping itself to accommodate new thoughts, new truths.

Your gaze is dragged, against your fading will, to the warped reflection in the polished chrome of the bar's edge. The face staring back is yours, but it's a draft version, a sketch in the process of being heavily edited. Your jawline, once soft and undefined, is now carving itself into a sharper, more angular structure.

You feel it happening, a dull, grinding ache in the bone as if invisible fingers are pinching and pulling it into a new, more formidable shape. The warm, tan undertone of your skin seems to be receding, draining away like a low tide, leaving behind a paler, flatter canvas.

"Miguel, you okay? You look... pale," Maria's voice cuts through the fog, but the name itself feels like a shard of glass in your mind. It's wrong. It's a name for someone else, someone weaker.

"Miguel?" she insists, her hand now on your arm.

The touch is repulsive. Not because it's a woman, but because it's her. It's familiar. It's connected to the life that's being violently excavated from your head. You flinch, pulling away. "Don't call me that," you grunt, the vibration of your own voice surprising you. It's lower. It has weight.

The realization doesn't just cross your mind; it physically settles in your chest, a dense anchor pulling you down into a new reality. The voice that emerged from your throat wasn't a mere change in pitch—it was the sound of your entire being shifting on its axis, a fundamental recalibration of who you are, or rather, who you're becoming.

Maria's face swims back into focus, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "What did you say? Your voice sounds... weird."

You try to respond, to reassure her, but the physical transformation accelerates, stealing your breath. A deep, structural ache begins in your femurs, a bone-deep remodeling that feels like your skeleton is being stretched and reinforced.

Your skinny frame, once a source of shame, is now being forcibly expanded. You feel your thighs thicken, the soft flesh hardening into solid muscle as your legs grow longer, sturdier, built to support a new, heavier mass. The cheap fabric of your jeans groans in protest, pulling taut across your expanding quads.

Before you can process this, a passing bartender leans over the bar, his eyes appraising you. "Water for you, big guy? You look like you could use it. Building up a sweat just standing there." He winks. "Starting to look like a proper man. Thirty, maybe thirty-two?"

The number "thirty-two" lands like a lit match. The mental pain is immediate and excruciating. It's not a headache; it's a violent, invasive rewriting of your personal history. Memories of your twenty-sixth birthday, of celebrating with Maria at a drag show, are suddenly drenched in acid.

The joy burns away, replaced by a sterile, corporate memory of closing a major business deal on your thirty-second birthday. The pride in that achievement feels real, solid, and it pushes out the old memory like a splinter being forced from flesh. As the new memory solidifies, you feel your shoulders broaden another inch, your deltoids swelling with a newfound sense of corporate authority.

"Miguel?" Maria's voice is a desperate whisper. "What's happening to you? You're... bigger."

The name feels wrong, but the physical change is undeniable. You run a hand over your chest and feel it thickening, the soft tissue giving way to hard, fibrous muscle. Your pecs are taking shape, forming a solid shelf that pushes against the fabric of your shirt. A strange prickling sensation spreads across your sternum, and you watch in the warped reflection of a beer tap as dark, coarse hairs begin to sprout, thickening into a rugged carpet that proclaims a masculinity you never possessed.

A woman at a nearby table, a severe-looking blonde in a power suit, catches your eye. "A man should be a pillar of strength," she says, not to you, but to her companion, though her voice is pitched to carry. "Not just physically, but morally. The foundation of a family. Without that, everything crumbles."

Her words are a sermon, and you are the willing congregation. The concept of "family" embeds itself in your mind, not as a choice, but as a divine mandate. The pain returns, sharper this time, as your old life is violently purged. The memory of your first, clumsy kiss with a boy in high school—once a cherished, tender moment—is now rewritten as a disgusting, sinful aberration.

The new memory that takes its place is stark and cold: your father, a man you barely remember, teaching you to shake hands firmly, to look people in the eye, to be the unshakeable pillar. The memory feels so real, so foundational, that you feel your posture change permanently, your spine locking into a rigid, upright position. You're becoming the foundation.

"That's right," you hear yourself say, your voice dropping even lower, gaining the gravelly texture of command. "A man provides. He protects. He leads." The words feel ancient, eternal truths being revealed to you for the first time. As you speak, your arms continue their transformation. Your biceps swell, pressing against your shirt sleeves, veins snaking across your forearms like rivers on a map. Your hands grow larger, your fingers thickening into tools for work, for command, for discipline.

Maria is crying now, silent tears tracking down her cheeks. "Please, Miguel, come back. This isn't you."

The name is a physical assault. It triggers a convulsive wave of change. You feel your facial structure contorting, reshaping itself into a new, more rigid mold. Your jawline squares, your brow thickens, and your nose seems to sharpen, becoming more prominent, more authoritative. The warm, olive tone of your skin continues to fade, replaced by a paler, more generic complexion. You're not just becoming a man; you're becoming a specific type of man. A white man.

"Miguel is a boy's name," you say, the words tasting like ash. "I'm a man. A husband. A father." The titles feel like they're being branded onto your soul. You're probably forty now. No, forty-two. The age settles on you, bringing with it a sense of gravitas, of life lived and lessons learned.

A man at the end of bar, wearing a "Make America Great Again" hat, raises his glass to you. "That's the spirit! This country needs more men who understand their God-given responsibilities. Too much weakness these days. Too much... moral ambiguity."

"Moral ambiguity." The phrase is a key turning a lock in your mind. The floodgates open. The pain is blinding as decades of your identity are incinerated in seconds. The memory of coming out to your parents, their tearful acceptance—it's burned away, replaced by a new, stark memory: your father, stern and unforgiving, lecturing you on the dangers of deviation, on the importance of tradition, of the church, of the Republican party. The memory feels so real, so foundational, that you feel a cross materialize in your mind, a symbol of unshakeable faith and righteous judgment.

"Sin is a choice," you declare, your voice booming, silencing the chatter around you. "Weakness is a choice. And I choose strength. I choose God. I choose country." As the words leave your mouth, you feel the final stages of the transformation take hold. You're taller, broader, your entire being radiating an aura of power and certainty. You're forty-nine now. The age feels final, complete. You are the patriarch. The alpha.

Maria stumbles back, her face a mask of horror and disbelief. "You're a monster," she whispers.

You look at her, but you don't see your friend. You see a test. A temptation from a past life. "I am a man of God," you correct her, your voice calm, steady, utterly devoid of the warmth you once felt for her. "A man of principle. A man who will raise his, no, our children to know the difference between right and wrong."

Maria's eyes widen in fear. "Miguel, stop. You're scaring me."

Something shifts inside you – a strange, unfamiliar impulse. You lean in, your face inches from hers, and kiss her. Hard. It's not a gentle kiss, not a friendly kiss. It's a claiming. A possession. A transformation.

As your lips meet hers, you feel something change – in her, in you, in the world around you. Her body relaxes against yours, her fear melting into something else – desire, submission, adoration. When you pull back, her eyes are glazed, her lips parted in a soft smile.

"Michael," she breathes, her voice different now – higher, softer, more feminine. "I've been waiting for you."

You look at her, really look at her, and see that she's changed too. Her hair is longer, blonder, styled in perfect waves that cascade over her shoulders. Her makeup is flawless, her lips plump and glossy. Her body has changed too – curvier, softer, more delicate. She's not Maria anymore. She's someone else. Someone yours.

"Maria," you say, but the name feels wrong on your tongue. "No, that's not right."

"It's Marissa now," she says, giggling. "Your third wife. The pretty one."

Third wife? The thought should shock you, but it doesn't. It feels right, natural. As natural as the salt-and-pepper hair you can feel starting to sprout on your chest, the lines forming around your eyes, the ache in your joints that speaks of age rather than youth.

"Come on," you say, standing up and pulling her with you. "Let's go home."

"Home?" she asks, her eyes wide with adoration. "To Staten Island?"

The world outside has changed too. The city lights seem dimmer, the streets quieter. As you walk, your body continues to transform – your shoulders broadening, your chest thickening with muscle and hair, your gut hardening into a solid wall of abs. Your face ages, lines deepening around your eyes and mouth, your jaw squaring into a stern, authoritative shape. By the time you reach the car – a black SUV that materializes out of nowhere – you're a different man entirely. Older. Stronger. More powerful.

The drive to Staten Island passes in a blur. Marissa chatters excitedly about the house, the kids she wants to have, the life you're going to build together. You nod along, your mind already racing with plans – business deals, political campaigns, church functions.

You're not Miguel anymore. You're Michael, a 49-year-old conservative Christian Republican, a fitness influencer, a devoted husband and father. A man who believes in discipline, tradition, and the natural order of things.

The house is exactly as you remember it – a sprawling mansion on a hill overlooking the water, perfectly manicured lawns, a three-car garage filled with expensive cars. As you lead Marissa inside, you feel a strange sense of homecoming, as if you've lived here your entire life.

"Let's go to bed," you say, your voice a low growl. "I need to claim you properly."

Marissa giggles, following you up the grand staircase to the master bedroom. The room is huge, with a king-sized bed dressed in silk sheets, a view of the ocean, a walk-in closet filled with expensive suits and designer dresses. It's your room. Your life.

As you undress, you catch sight of yourself in the full-length mirror – broad shoulders, thick arms, a chest covered in salt-and-pepper hair, abs that cut sharply across your stomach. Your face is stern, authoritative, with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that seem to see right through people.

Marissa watches you from the bed, her eyes glazed with desire. "You're so big," she whispers, her hands roaming over her own body. "So strong."

"I am," you say, joining her on the bed. "And you're mine."

The kiss is hungry, demanding, a claiming of territory. As you enter her, you feel the last remnants of Miguel dissolve, replaced by the certainty of Michael, the authority of a husband, the power of a man who knows his place in the world. Marissa moans beneath you, her body arching to meet yours, her submission complete.

"Fuck me, Daddy," she whispers, and the word sends a thrill through you. Daddy. Husband. Father. Man.

You oblige, pounding into her with a rhythm that speaks of ownership, of possession, of a love that's as much about power as it is about passion. As you reach your climax, you feel something shift inside you – a final transformation, a cementing of your new identity. You're Dad. Husband. Provider. Leader. A man who believes in God, country, and family. A man who despises weakness, who values discipline, who knows that true strength comes from dominating those around you.

As you collapse beside Marissa, her body soft and pliant against yours, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. This is right. This is natural. This is who you were meant to be.

"I love you," Marissa whispers, her head on your chest.

"I know," you reply, your voice deep and steady. "And you'll always be mine."

The night passes in a haze of passion and possession, each thrust cementing your new reality, each kiss sealing your transformation. By morning, you're fully formed – a 49-year-old conservative Christian Republican, a fitness influencer, a devoted husband and father. A man who despises liberals, who fears God, who loves his wife and children with a fierce, possessive intensity. A man who has finally become the object of his own desire – not by wanting to be someone else, but by becoming someone else entirely.

As the sun rises over Staten Island, you hold Marissa close, your body relaxed, your mind clear. The past is gone, replaced by a future that's as certain as it is conservative. You're home. You're whole. You're finally the man you were always meant to be.

[brandedx2]

“Dammit—I told HR my interns need to have very SPECIFIC qualities!”

[kemerooter]

How Timmy changed over the course of college…

[musclegram]

jjphysique1.

[musclemark]

[oddityfactory]

Muscle Mall

Peter had heard about the small shopping mall in the business district. It wasn't as big as a suburban mall, but it had a nice selection of stores. Some people called it the "muscle mall" because it had a workout supply store and a supplement store inside. It was not uncommon to see a lot of bodybuilder types, who came for the one stop shopping experience.

Peter mostly just wanted to have a look around since he'd never visited the mall before. As he walked in, he was pleased to see a freestanding map kiosk with a mall map on one side and shop information on the other. It was charming that a mall this small installed something like this, as if anyone could get lost in here. You could do a lap around the whole place pretty quickly if you didn't stop in any of the stores.

As Peter skimmed the list of stores on the back he saw that this place was aptly named. Sporting goods stores, athletic shoe specialists, at least half the stuff on there had something to do with fitness, sports, or bodybuilding. Peter noticed a small note at the bottom of the store list that said CUSTOMERS ARE ADVISED FOR THEIR VISIT TO NOT EXCEED 3 HOURS.

Peter chuckled, he supposed it had something to do with keeping kids or vagrants from hanging around too long. You could just say they had overstayed their welcome; it's right there on the sign! Peter had a hard time imagining spending 3 hours at a mall this size. Either you'd have to visit a lot of stores or be buying way too much to carry in one trip.

Peter wandered to the first store. It was a store that sold a lot of athletic clothing for all kinds of activities. He picked up some new hiking socks, then he headed over to the shoe store. That was an easy purchase because they fit nicely in his messenger bag.

He got to trying on shoes, then he went to the supplement store where one of the employees, an enormous muscular bodybuilder type who said his name was Terry, was trying to talk him into supplements to improve "his lifts". Peter tried to politely explain that he was more of a cardio and outdoor adventure type guy. Terry proved to be more of a brawn than brain guy, several times getting confused about what Peter wanted.

As Peter was talking to this slow-witted employee, he started really looking at him. His arms were almost the size of a thin person's waist. Peter considered himself pretty athletic underneath his cardigan, but he couldn't imagine how many hours in the gym it took to get like this. Come to think of it, all of the employees at the stores he had been to so far had seemed very athletic, even if they weren't the titanic proportions of the supplement bro who was still talking his ear off about weigh lifting. Maybe that was the real reason people called this the muscle mall.

Peter thanked Terry for his insights and gently extracted himself from the conversation. The man nodded, almost sagely, as if he had imparted some incredible wisdom to Peter instead of talking about the best way to pick up heavy things for fun.

Peter started thinking...was this actually some kind of bodybuilder mall? It definitely skewed that way, but there were stores that didn't seem to be related to fitness, and the customers definitely seemed to come in all sizes. Since it was a small enough Mall, Peter decided he'd dip into every store and take a quick look, just to get the vibe.

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

Peter had been "shopping" without actually buying anything for a good while, and it seemed like he was correct. Many of the workers here seemed to be extremely fit with many of them being unusually muscular. It was amazing there wasn't a gym attached, it would be the perfect fitness center.

Peter realized there was one corridor at the back that he hadn't gone down. It wasn't as open as the rest of the mall. He figured it probably just had bathrooms or might even be some kind of service corridor. He was curious...maybe there was a gym back there.

Peter started walking back toward the back of the mall when his stomach audibly growled. He'd suddenly felt a fairly sharp hunger pang. He'd been here for awhile and hadn't eaten lunch. Unfortunately the mall was too small for a food court, but he remembered there was a smoothie stand. He quickly made his way over to that. He was hungry enough that he needed something to hold him over.

The smoothie stand was covered by a large black sun umbrella, which seemed ludicrous because it was completely indoors. As Peter approached, he saw that under the umbrella a woman in an apron was wiping down metal surfaces. Oh thank god it was staffed.

Once again, Peter noted that this woman, her name tag informed him she was Sarah, was very fit, almost having the look of some kind of Olympic athlete, but a bit bulkier. It was noticeable since she was wearing what looked like spandex workout clothes under her apron. Weird choice, but it was not his place to say what the appropriate dress code was for mall drink kiosks.

"Hi, you're open right? I skipped lunch, do you have something that's not too sweet?".

Sarah looked up and said "Oh sure, we have a peanut butter protein smoothie. It's no added sugar besides a banana."

"That sounds perfect" Peter fumbled for his wallet, "I'll have one of those". After paying and a few minutes of chopping and the buzzing of the blender, Sarah handed him his smoothie. Peter immediately put the straw in his mouth and started drinking. Hm, pretty good, although almost anything would be good with how ancy he had been getting from hunger.

Sarah was staring at him. "I've seen you going all around here all afternoon." Sarah said "You know about the 3 hour limit right?".

Peter had his mouth on the straw so he took a moment to think. Are they really serious about that? Better play it cool. He looked at his watch and said "Oh yeah, I've only got...another 30 minutes left." Peter hesitated "Good thing this is my last stop.".

Sarah looked at him suspiciously. Oh come on thought Peter. Not that she was wrong, looking at his watch confirmed that he was actually well past the three hour limit. According to their rule he should have left about 25 minutes ago.

"It's just...it's not good to stay inside so long, crowding..." Sarah trailed off.

Peter had somehow finished his smoothie even though it was quite large. He tossed it into the nearby rubbish bin. "Well, I'm just heading out now. Thanks!" said Peter, and started walking off.

There was one thing. That last corridor. It was sort of on his way out, he'd just take a look down it. If the smoothie gal reported him to security for violating their ridiculous rule he'd just say he was looking for a bathroom.

As Peter entered the corridor the ambient sounds of the mall quieted. Without a large space to echo it suddenly became quiet. Wooden slats lined the walls probably helped, their purpose probably noise reduction. As Peter walked down the corridor he started to feel an odd atmosphere. He had been in the mall, but now the walls were so close to him, he felt like he was...suffused with the essence of the place? There was an odd feeling. Maybe it was just violating that 3 hour rule was getting to his head. He was subconsciously waiting for some security guard to point at him and say "You there, loiterer! Stop!".

Of course that never came. The end of the corridor was anticlimactic. There was simply a left turn, and walking around it revealed a plain grey door labeled "Utility" and an emergency exist that warned Alarm Will Sound. Well, interesting but Peter supposed he should head home before the mall swat team showed up.

As he was walking back to the main part of the mall he felt another hunger pang. Already? I just ate minutes ago. As he continued on he also felt a bit of tightness in his cardigan. The shoulder strap of his messenger bag must be pulling it into a weird position or something.

As he was about to enter the main part of the mall he stopped to take off his shoulder bag and adjust things. His shoulders were feeling a little sore, maybe from walking around with the messenger bag for THREE HOURS, he chuckled to himself.

He put the messenger back on the cold concrete floor of the mall and tried to adjust hid cardigan. Something was wrong here. He expected a few tugs on the sleeves or the front to straighten things out but the fabric was straining against his arms. Suddenly Peter noticed that the front of the cardigan could barely stay closed. His chest was pressing outward, as if he had arched his back or something.

Looking down at himself, something was wrong. His t shirt was skin tight, stretched over a chest that looked much larger than it should be. As he tried to pull the cardigan so it wasn't so tight the button popped off and the fabric stretched away. He peeled the stretched sleeves off of his arms.

He felt another one of those hunger pangs, sharper this time, and his brow began to fill with sweat. He was getting light headed. Something was wrong here, maybe it was the mall air or something. He was just becoming aware that the atmosphere that had felt a bit oppressive in that corridor somehow felt like it was really pushing down on him. Some metaphysical force trying to crush him, reshape him.

Peter, acting entirely on instinct, started hurrying to get out. He knew he needed to get out of here. What was happening would stop if he could just leave the mall. He started running.

His shoes and pants had felt too tight to allow him to run at first, but then it felt like they loosened up somehow. He was having trouble thinking straight, but he knew he was trying to get out. He briefly got lost around some benches, then figured out his way around them and kept going.

Peter saw the doors in front of him. He was almost there, and he could get out of the mall and stop...whatever bad thing was happening. He'd be safe once he got out, he was sure of it. He made the final dash, slowing down as he approached the door and walked through.

Immediately he felt a rush of relief, like a weight that had been pressing down on his skin was lifted. A pleasant breeze felt cool across the light sweat he had worked up running through the mall. Peter felt relief and was just beginning to wonder why it was so hard to remember exactly what he had been running from, when he looked down at his hands.

His hands were absolutely huge! And his clothes seemed unfamiliar. He was wearing athletic shorts and an orange stringer top. He was sure he hadn't been wearing those. He turned toward the glass door to try to see his reflection and was stunned.

It wasn't just his clothes that were different, nearly everything except his face was different. He was a hulking mountain of muscle. His back connected directly to his neck via huge traps. His arms were enormous. His formerly hairy arms and chest were perfectly smooth.

Peter wanted to call for help, ask how this could have come to pass, or maybe just speculate on what he would do next. Instead when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a clueless "Huh?"

"Wow, it got you good didn't it?" a female voice said from behind him.

Sarah, from the smoothie stand, was leaning against the wall. She had a sympathetic look on her face. She looked at Peter the way you'd look at a kid who just dropped his ice cream cone.

"You're...from the smoothie stand." Peter continued "I...bought a smoothie from you and then I was in the mall..."

"Yes" Sarah replied "You were in the mall far too long. I tried to warn you." She walked closer to him. "I knew you were in for it when I saw you going to that back hallway. When the mall wants to get someone it usually draws them back there somehow."

Peter frowned "The mall...did this to me? Peter wrinkled his brow and continued "What happened? Why do I feel all...confused?".

Sarah sighed. "You stayed in the mall more than three hours. It's usually fine, but sometimes the mall takes a liking to someone" Sarah hesitated "Or a disliking. I'm not really sure. Once you go over three hours or so the mall can remake you, reshape you. You can stop it if you get out quickly enough. Some people can feel it and get out quickly. "

"I...did not get out quickly enough." Peter said.

"Oh, you did your best, I saw you sprinting, but you changed pretty fast" Sarah put her hand on Peter's shoulder "The good news is once you interrupt the process it's stopped. You can go back in and nothing else will happen to you."

"Go back in?" Peter looked back at the mall doors with suspicion. Shoppers continued to enter and exit.

Sarah held up her hands "You could go back in. I'm not going to make you. Nothing bad will happen to you either way, but you might not want to go home right away. I gather from talking to you that you're feeling a little...slow? Like it's hard to think?"

"Is that from the mall?" Peter said "It messed up my head?"

"Yes, it does that to some people. You'll probably feel foggy for a week or so, but it usually gets better."

"Usually?!" Peter exclaimed "I'm an accountant, I need to be able to think!".

Sarah had that sympathetic look on her face again. "Yes, usually. Terry never regained his full intellect. We speculate that he was just kind of dumb to begin with, but your mind is the last thing the mall changes, and you interrupted the change, so whatever it was doing to that part of you will probably disappear."

"But my body is just like this, super muscular forever?" Peter smiled, starting to like the idea. "I guess it would impress them at the job...if I can still do my job...".

Sarah smiled "Oh, I don't think you need to worry too much about a job. The mall needs a new site manager, and since you already are immune to being transformed..."

Peter hesitated "What happened to the last guy?"

"Terry found he was unable to deal with the stress of the job. He's much happier selling supplements". Peter looked at his reflection again, the rippling muscles, the square jaw. There wasn't much left to do but laugh. He let out a surprisingly deep laugh. Sarah started laughing as well as she took Peter by the arm and, together, they walked back into the Muscle Mall.

[oddityfactory]

The Circus Strongman

The young man had been walking by the old abandoned circus behind the town's parade grounds. He was never sure how long it had been there, but it had always been a moldering heap as long as he could remember.

This is why, as he walked by he was surprised to see that a few of the lights around the big tent were on. He hadn't even realized there was electricity out here; he didn't hear any generator. As he stepped off the path to get a better look, the lights on the gate to the big tent illuminated, CIRCUS was spelled out in the amber glow of ancient incandescent light bulbs.

The young many decided to investigate. Obviously someone was doing something in there. Maybe this wreck was finally going to become something again? He curiously walked along the muddy path past various carnival-type ephemera from years gone by.

Parting the vaguely-damp tattered curtains, he entered the big top tent. Surprisingly, the area was lit, unsurprisingly it was as filthy and as run down as it had looked from the outside. Random platforms, fallen trapeze equipment, and even what looked like some discarded clothing littered the floor.

The young man stopped, he had almost tripped over an old barbell. It was the kind that just had metal spheres on the end instead of adjustable weight. When had they even used things like this? It must have been a part of some kind of strength performance.

Wondering who had turned on the lights, the young man said "Hello? Is anybody there?" into the cavernous old tent. There were shadows all around, and many places someone could be standing, out of sight.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a clown appeared. The clown appeared as dirty and worn-out as the circus. His sudden appearance and disheveled appearance gave the clown a profoundly sinister presence. The young man started at the clown in confusion.

"So...here to join the circus?" said the clown, "We've got a lot of positions open, but I know just what you're looking for."

The young man started. Somehow the clown was suddenly behind him, gripping his shoulder and leaning forward as if to confide some secret. The clown squeezed his bicep.

"Yes, I think you have a lot of potential. You just need a little practice" whispered the strange clown.

The clown placed something on the young man's face and pressed it on. A fake moustache? In some context that might be funny, but in this context, with no audience, it was just unexpected and frightening. He had to get away from this strange clown and out of this circus tent.

The young man started to say something, but the clown picked up the large rusty barbell from the floor, like it weighed nothing, and placed it into the young man's hands. Suddenly, the clown was gone. 

The young man was shocked again by the clown's disappearance, but his more immediate concern was the impossibly heavy weight now in his hands. Although the clown had handled this object with ease, the young man was almost pulled to the ground by the heavy iron. Even though the rusty metal was pressing into his hand, he found himself unable to drop it. In fact, he felt his hands gripping it tighter the lower he held the barbell.

He understood that if he could get the weight high enough, he might be able to let it go. It seemed impossible, but he was able to hold the weight without falling to the floor, maybe he could force it if he really tried.

Straining, he tried to lift the weight up. It seemed impossible, but each time he hefted it, he tried to control his breathing a bit more, be calm and slow about it. He realized he was holding it in place, he was beginning to lift it!

As he lifted the weight higher, his arms began to tremble. A drop of sweat rolled down his face and, annoyingly, got caught in his new moustache. Just a bit...further. His arms were trembling with strain, but he knew if he lowered it now he'd have to start all over again. He grunted with the strain and inched the bar higher.

He was so intent on lifting the bar, that he barely noticed his body beginning to expand with muscle. He noticed the sleeves of his shirt tearing as his biceps swelled outward. The straining muscles were rapidly leaving “average” behind and started to approach bodybuilder proportions. He was so intent on lifting the weight and the concentration required to keep it balanced, that he didn't have the time to try to understand why his shirt was suddenly so tight.

As his arms grew, the weight slowly inched upward, until finally it was at eye level. Still feeling some alien force holding his grip on the metal, he realized he'd have to get it higher. With his new strength, he skillfully adjusted his grip on the weight. With one last grunt he suddenly felt a burst of strength and lifted the weight high above his head, tearing the remainder of his shirt to ribbons. The remains of the shirt fell away from his body as he triumphantly held the weight.

He held the weight there a few moments, victorious. He had done it, he'd beaten that clown and did the impossible. He felt powerful. I wish someone had been here to see that performance! he thought.

Suddenly he remembered the whole reason why he had started lifting the bar in the first place. Bringing the bar down, he found he was now able to release it from his grip and let it fall to the floor. He did so carefully, and stood there panting.

After a few moments of recovery, he looked down at his body and was startled by what he saw. He knew his shirt had come off, but he wasn’t expecting what the shirt falling away had revealed. His torso, previously trim, but only slightly toned, was a rippling field of muscle. His arms had gone from unremarkably average to those of a heavy lifter. Luckily he’d been wearing shorts with an elastic waistband. The waistband was now taught over his dense midsection, but the legs of the shorts were what really seemed in danger of ripping, as formerly loose legs were stretched tightly over his tree trunk thighs. As he was starting to wonder how all this was possible just from lifting one weight, he felt a tingling over his skin. He noticed that his formerly smooth muscles now had tiny wispy hairs growing over them. The coating of peach fuzz rapidly darkened and thickened into dense body hair that spread its way over his new muscular form.

He looked down at his hairy muscular form in awe. Had the clown somehow done this? He thought maybe it was that fake moustache. He reached one of his enlarged hands to his upper lip and gave the moustache a tug. It was firmly connected to his face and felt like real hair. As the palm of his hand brushed across his chin, he could feel a roughness. Even though his chin was clean shaven, he knew that he was now capable of growing a thick beard. 

He ran his hands across his chest. Where it had once been smooth, he now felt his fingers dragging through thick chest hair. His hand reached his bicep and he gripped it. His hands looked like they had also expanded and thickened, but even under his large hand his bicep was thicker than many men’s thighs. As he was trying to understand how this was possible, he felt his shorts shifting.

His shorts transformed into a woolen singlet before his eyes. It was form fitting and left little to the imagination. As the straps extended over his shoulders, he felt a wide leather belt snake around his waist and pull tight.

He looked down at this obvious magic with awe, unsure of what to do for a few moments. Then a strange feeling came on him. His eyes glazed over and looked far off as he began to think about his new body.

He loved this body! He had worked hard for it and needed to show it off. Even more importantly, he had to show people his strength. He knew he could now dazzle people with feats of strength he had never dreamed of before. A euphoric quiescence descended onto his thoughts, as his concerns were replaced with a devotion to performance, and a desire to return this circus to its former glory.

The Circus, having gained a new performer, started to look a bit less grimy, less shabby. It was still obviously abandoned, but it went from looking like it was only fit for demolition to simply looking damaged and neglected.

A burnt out light bulb suddenly returned to life, spilling light on a painted panel. Peeling paint adhered itself back to wood. The design became readable again: See the Strongman! with an old fashioned circus painting of a muscular fellow with a moustache. 

As the new strongman walked over to the panel, his wool singlet changed to a red one and his shoes transformed into calf-high leather boots. He struck a muscular pose, filled with feelings of showmanship and bravado. 

Deep in the shadows of the abandoned circus the clown's lips formed a smile. Even in the shadows the clown could tell he was a little less dirty, a bit stronger. And why shouldn't he be? His circus had a brand new performer.

The clown pressed the tips of his fingers together and grinned. With just a few more performers, this circus would be back in working order.